by Wilson Barbers
Brad looked down at his jeans and frowned. When he'd gotten home from work and gone into the bedroom to change, he'd slipped them on without a belt. But before he could get the belt off his dress pants, the jeans had slipped below his gut.
What the hell? he thought, pulling them back up to his thick waistline. These were new pants; his wife Denise had just gotten 'em over the weekend and had since washed the stiffness out. She knew his size (38 waist, 30 long), but for some reason, these appeared just a tad too loose. He took a look at the inner waistband but didn't see the figure he expected: instead, the waist size was 42. Forty-two! And it almost snugly fit him! What the hell was going on here?
The obvious answer: he was letting himself get out of shape now that he was married. This was understandable. Denise was a marvelous cook who didn't stint on the mealtime servings. Six months of married life with this college Home Ec teacher had added three-and-a-half inches to his waist. Keep this up and they'd be celebrating their silver anniversary on "Jerry Springer." Housebound hubbies of Home Economics majors.
He'd always had a bit of a paunch, and it'd never bothered him before. Dee professed to find it kind of cute; occasionally, she patted his belly endearingly when they lay together in bed. Come to think of it, she had to know about his expanding waistline. She was the one, after all, who'd bought the jeans! Why hadn't she said anything to him? "Brad, dear, I think you need to cut back on the cheesecake!"
Hitting the closet, he took a quick survey of the rest of his wardrobe. Brad had never been one to spend too much time on what he wore: it was one of the reasons he'd gotten in the habit of letting Dee pick up his latest additions to his wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of dress cords that he'd had since before his marriage; close examination showed that they'd been worked on to make them roomier. His wife was quite the little homebody. Not only did she know about his weight gain, she'd been working to hide it from him!
Should he confront her about this? They still were in the process of getting to know each other as husband and wife. How would she react to this? For that matter, how was he supposed to react to this?
Dee loved to cook: it was one of the old fashioned parts of her that had first attracted Brad to her. (That and her softly womanish form!) He'd met her at a potluck fundraiser for the Humane Society; her beef stroganoff had been the night's big draw. Brad had gone back for two and a half helpings, and it'd been on that last attempt at getting a full serving that she'd walked up and introduced herself. "Anyone who likes my food that much," she'd said, a flirtatious look on her round face, "is someone I've got to meet!"
He still remembered the first full look he got of her. Denim skirt and blouse, checked apron circling her tummy, she looked like an image from an early soup advertisement. Her pink and dimpled cheeks spoke of well-fed healthiness; her large eyes looked at him mischievously. Brad fell hard and fast.
They married within weeks of that meeting. She was just finishing her doctorate degree (her work at the potluck had been part of a community service project) and had applied for a professorship at the university. He was a financial consultant for a small independent firm. Their dates together were primarily spent in her apartment, as she tried out various new recipes and table settings. From the very beginning, their relationship had revolved around food.
No wonder he'd outgrown his bachelor pants, after growing so accustomed to Dee's elaborate dinners. It was definitely going to be hard to give 'em up.
He wouldn't say anything to her tonight - at least not until after dinner. Pulling his 42 waist pants back up, cinching his belt, Brad joined his wife in the dining room. His favorite meal: three-cheese lasagna with garlic bread dipped in olive oil, antipasto salad with plenty of black olives, lemon meringue pie for dessert. He had three helpings of lasagna, two of pie. Maybe he'd talk about this with her tomorrow, he said to himself.
Two months later, he still hadn't said anything to Denise. His waist was up to 45 inches now, a definite pot belly. It forced him to regularly hitch his pants up; they kept sliding down under the slope of his gut. He'd also started to accumulate extra fat on his chest. If he didn't watch out, he'd soon have breasts like his wife! His ribs were visible on two small patches between his paunch and chest, but these were growing smaller.
Two things he'd noticed over the past two months. The first was understandable: he'd become hooked on his wife's cooking in a big way. The hearty breakfasts she prepared for them both before he left for the office. The homemade snacks she'd taken to putting in his briefcase. The multi-course dinners after work. The sweets and pastries she kept feeding him until they went to sleep. He couldn't say no to any of it. Brad had been a decent trencherman when he met Denise, but this was something else again. Even at lunchtime when he was away from her, he'd taken to hitting the area buffets and giving them a thorough workover.
Second thing he noticed was a whole lot stranger. Dee appeared to be getting off on both his eating and his growing waistline. Those little pats of affection had turned into long caresses. More than once he'd looked up from his third or fourth plate at dinner to see his wife avidly watching him eat. The sight simultaneously unnerved and aroused him. Sexual arousal, he found, also recharged his appetite.
One night Brad decided to see how far Dee was into this feeding thing. She'd prepared a four-pound blade roast in a luau style marinade, with a four quart casserole of scalloped potatoes, creamy three-bean salad and two loaves of freshly baked Hawaiian bread. When he grew near the end of his second helping, he stopped what he was doing and said, "Dee, this is one of the best meals you've made. But I see you only had one helping. Why not have another?"
Most women would have begged off, mentioned a diet perhaps. But Brad suspected that dieting was a subject his wife had no intention of ever bringing into their dinner conversation. Dee smiled sweetly, dimpling in the dining room's mock candlelight. "Only if you will," she cooed, reaching for the serving fork.
"Fair enough," he responded. "But I don't wanna see you shortchanging yourself. . ."
Shrugging, his wife speared four slabs of ham and dropped them on his plate, then did likewise with her own. She surrounded both piles with potatoes and slices from the second loaf of bread. Eyes locked and grinning, they both worked their way through their plates.
Naturally, Brad finished first, and though it killed him to wait, he held off until Dee forced her last forkful of potato into her mouth. She was one plate behind him and already flagging, while he barely felt like he was starting. Instead of just plowing on, though, he decided to push again. "That was great," he said. "I believe I could have another helping, if you would, too."
To Dee's credit, she never hesitated. "Sounds good to me," she said, and she replenished both their plates.
"Great meal," Brad said when they'd both finished. "I like to see you appreciating the fruits of your labor. You're such a wonderful cook." He sat back, loosened his belt and drummed his belly demonstratively. As he did, the snap above his zipper came undone, freeing his overfed paunch.
This deliberately provocative sight was not lost on Dee. She licked her upper lip appreciatively. "Glad you liked it," she said slowly. "I've made a cheesecake for later." She stood to clear the table, and as she rose, Brad could see her blouse had come untucked and undone where her belly swelled.
Definitely hot, he thought. The thought of Dee matching him plate for plate while he ate and ate and ate - it was the sexiest thing yet. Who'd have thought it? He tromped into the kitchen, grabbed his wife and pulled her into the bedroom. There they had some of the most explosive sex that Brad had ever experienced.
Halfway into the act of making love, Brad suddenly recalled a movie that he'd seen in college: a British costume comedy where the hero and one of his many women conquests dined together. As the meal progressed, so did the couple's desire for each other, and it showed in the way they voraciously chewed through their meals. That dinner was foreplay for them - just as it'd been for him and Denise.
He almost said as much afterwards, as they lay besides each other in bed, pie plate half full of cheesecake between them. But something kept him from articulating this thought. Maybe it was all those forks of cheesecake Dee kept holding up to his mouth, those loving strokes she kept giving his bloated belly. All he knew for sure was: the night had been fantastic.
And so Dee's husband repeated his tactic the following evening, cajoling his wife into matching him, upping his intake so she'd have to increase hers. Soon Dee was doubling her nighttime meal preparations to make up for all they were devouring. The fuller they stuffed themselves, the more aroused they both seemed to get.
By their first anniversary, the effects of this nightly routine were observable on them both. No longer was Brad able to find clothes on the big and tall racks of your general clothing store. Instead, he used the specialized shops - where the waists didn't hit a fifty inch ceiling. Along with his changing waistline, his upper pant legs had started to get uncomfortably tight. He was widening in the hips and thighs considerably.
Those visible rib patches had disappeared over the months, but to compensate for the loss, his torso had grown more hirsute. As predicted, his chest had become two separate breasts, though they paled in comparison to his voluminous belly. It bulged out ahead of him, a jiggling advertisement for Dee's incomparable cooking. Though he never would have admitted it to any of his acquaintances, a part of him felt strangely proud of his developing paunch.
Much of this could be attributed to the increased attention his wife paid to his billowing body. While they still hadn't openly talked about it, it was clear that mutual feeding had become one of the pillars of their marriage. Brad dreamed about their meals together through most of his work day. And even though he'd taken to stopping for a sandwich or shake on the way home (it was only a fifteen minute trip, but by the time he left the office, he was starved!), he came into the house ready for some serious feeding.
And what about Denise? While she'd entered the eating end of it several months after Brad, she too had grown from their shared gormandizing. Not as much as Brad perhaps, but that was okay. She'd added weight all over, rounding up to the lower fifties in her chest and hips, hitting the mid-forties in her midsection. Dee had taken to wearing clothes at dinner that emphasized her voluptuous form, and the sight of her shimmying in with a tray full of the night's offerings was practically a mystical experience.
On their first anniversary, Brad came home with a gift that would have even greater impact on his broadening midriff. He waddled into the kitchen, where Dee was bending over to pull a pizza stone out of the oven, bumped into her voluminous cheeks with his belly and asked, "You ready to have me home most days?"
Dee rose, smiled, then stretched her arms out to hug her hubby. With their bellies mashed together, they both were only able to reach each other's sides. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Talked to the boss today," Brad told her, "and he gave me permission to do most of my work by modem. Only need to come into the office at the end of the week." It was a good deal and a testimony to his value at the office, though Brad was certain that one motivation behind the move was his present size. At 325 pounds, close to double his old weight, he did not exactly fit the company's desired image. On one level this puzzled him - you'd have thought a fat financial consultant would have been an inspiring sight to a potential client - but he knew enough about people and today's business climate to acknowledge the way the real world worked.
Over the past month, he'd taken to looking up photos of famous fat men and women, perhaps for a preview of the way he might ultimately look. In one volume, he found a photo of an Ed Baum of Wisconsin; at 5'4' tall and 748 pounds, the fortyish man was rounder than his height. Sitting behind a desk, dressed in business clothes and holding a phone to his ear, he looked like a sphere with a head perched on top of it. Behind the desk, you could see one huge leg stretched to make way for his ballooning midsection. Though Baum was obese beyond most people's imagining, it was clear that the man still was going about his business. Brad liked the thought of that.
He'd also gone through all the literature on weight gain that he could find. Most hugely fat folk, he discovered, didn't get that way through the kind of eating he and Dee took for granted, but there were a notable few. As he read their stories, Brad found himself getting as excited as he used to get reading old fashioned stroke books. By tying their erotic life to their feeding life, he had opened himself to a whole new vista of experience.
Now that he was home most weekdays, Brad no longer had to wait between most of his meals. Dee's schedule brought her into campus three days a week, and on those days, she made sure there was plenty of ready made food at home for her husband. Tuesdays and Thursdays, she'd labor all day on food preparation, bringing in tray after tray of offerings to Brad while he worked at his computer. Because he was focused on work, he didn't push Dee to keep up with his eating during the day. Consequently, he shot way ahead of her.
By their second anniversary, Dee's husband outweighed his wife by at least a hundred pounds. At 5'10" and over a quarter of a ton, he was closing in on the Ed Baum ideal: a waistline bigger than he was tall. His home office had been remodeled to accommodate his ballooning size. A wider, sturdier chair. A circular computer table so that he could reach the keyboard past his belly. Less shelving for him to bump into. Serving carts on wheels. All of it was designed to keep him comfortable as he did his job and habitually noshed the day away.
Brad needed the comfort. Once he sat down for the morning, he seldom got off his chair. It was just too tiring to drag his globular body around the house, and why should he? He had work to do and plenty of food within reach.
For months, each morning and night, Dee fed him a tablespoon of weight germ oil, and though she told him it was to aid his digestion, he knew it for what it really was: one of several weight gain tools found in your local health food store. Same thing went for those high protein bars she kept sneaking in among his cookies. And the maximum calorie "bulk-up" formula she'd started adding to his drinks every day. It was fun, catching her at something new, though he still hadn't confronted her about it. He was too busy enjoying the results of Dee's work.
He stopped going into the office altogether, though he still dressed each day as if he were at the business office. It was the image of Baum, full-length tie dwarfed by white shirt fabric all around it, that held him. Because he knew his days at the firm were probably numbered, Brad had been building his own portfolio of stocks over the past six months. It was almost as if his money skills were expanding along with the rest of him.
Dee may still have been the little woman, but at 5'6" and 430 pounds, she wasn't little by much. He loved it when they lay side by side, mammoth fronts squashing against each other, though this was no longer a position conducive to more intensive lovemaking. They got around this, though, with some creative positioning. When Dee rested herself on her knees, her belly hung all the way to the mattress. A stimulating sight in itself.
The only thing he missed was her once-large eyes, now reduced by her bulging, roseate cheeks. But this loss was compensated by her ring of extra chin, which Brad found almost as exciting as her great dangling belly. He'd grown to relish other new parts of her, too. Dee's fat-segmented arms, with their deepening folds. Her swelling calves, which were wider than her thighs had been. And her ever widening hips, which pushed out like a bustle.
Perhaps because the university's president was himself a decent-sized food lover, Dee never had any trouble with her position in the Home Ec Department. Once or twice a semester, she volunteered to prepare the meals for a major university function, and it always was a success. His wife was skilled at using her size both sexily and comfortingly. She looked like an idealized old world farm wife: young, efficient and wide, yet saucy enough to drive the farm hands wild. It was the perfect image for a small state university that couldn't afford to come across too elitist in the community.
Which was probably why Dee was asked to be department head when the current grand dame reached retirement. Though it meant more time on campus, Dee willingly took the position, since it also involved overseeing the department's graduate assistants. She gathered three of them under her ample wings: two mid-sized girls who had major culinary talents and a slender young man who had dreams of becoming a hotel chef. Slowly but surely, she introduced the two young coeds into the joys of feeding others. By the end of their two-year program, both girls had managed to hook beaus with admirable appetites. Dee's would-be chef also graduated eighty pounds heavier, with plans to become a food critic.
All three of her grad assistants devoted a tremendous amount of time to preparing new concoctions in bulk. Most of this was kept warm, packed in Dee's van and delivered to her house. Plenty of food for her housebound husband.
Brad's heart always soared when he saw her come through the door: a 600-plus pound beauty in her early thirties with her hair piled up, prodigious breasts and belly pushing through her open denim blazer, bulging calves visible beneath the hem of her skirt, loving smile on her fleshy face. Behind would be a dolly piled high with part-sized serving containers.
Five years into their marriage, and it looked like Dee had reached some sort of a weight plateau. Though she could match him bite for bite, it just didn't stick as well. To Brad, Dee had grown plenty beautiful already, so he didn't mind the discrepancy. As long as they maintained their long nights dining together, things were hunky dory with him.
"What'd you bring?" he'd puff, but his wife wouldn't answer him right away. Instead, she'd slowly sidle up to her husband, lean against his 120-inch waist, press into it and whisper the evening's menu. This rarely failed to arouse him.
Brad's office space had grown cramped, so they'd moved his computer equipment into the dining room. There he sat, on a couch wide enough to seat three ordinarily portly men, taking up all the room. His dress remained the same: white shirt, tie, and lightweight dress pants - all of them made as special class projects. He'd grown adept at putting on his mail ordered loafers without looking down at his feet. This was helpful, since he'd lost sight of them two years back, along with the flexibility to reach that part of himself.
Brad had done away with his computer keyboard and now had all his work in mouse-driven programs. The reason for this was practical: he'd grown too wide to use even a circular desk for any length of time. When he reached for the keyboard, his belly would mash against the furniture, slowly edging it out of easy reach, so by mid-morning, he'd be unable to continue. Thanks to his widened torso, his arms were also unable to reach the desk in concert. With a mouse pad on a tray by his side, though, Brad could do a full days' work without interruption.
In five years' time, Brad had managed to make more than a half-million, and he was smart enough to salt half of it in what he liked to think of his "food money fund." Occasionally, just for the hell of it, he'd buy and sell stock in one of the major diet concerns, just to see what he could do to undermine their financial footing. But most of the time he was serious about his work. Though he had several years to go before he reached the age of the Ed Baum in that picture, he was proud of the way he'd managed to live by the image.
By now, of course, he outweighed ol' Ed by at least three-hundred pounds; Dee's husband was in the realm of an even more famous fat icon, Robert Hughes, for years the heaviest man on record. Seated, his paunch came within inches of his feet, its circumference exceeding the height of two Brads. He'd lost two inches of height as he widened to accompany his poundage, but this didn't diminish the accomplishment. His breasts, which drooped to both sides of his torso, rested against his palms when he stood; they also exceeded 120 inches on Dee's super-sized tape measure. His upper arms were over forty inches around, bigger than his waist had when he'd first gotten married.
At this size, he didn't walk around at all during the day; it took fifteen minutes just for him to move from bedroom to office and fifteen more for him to recover from the exertion. After dinner he'd hit the bidet and the step-down jacuzzi, then he'd slowly return to their specially reinforced bed. There, Dee would slowly rub him with aloe cream while he got his breath back. Then she'd hand feed him the first of several creamy desserts, as he sat back with his eyes closed and listened to her endearments.
Over the years they'd finally become up front about the nature of their marriage. The change had been gradual, but when you have to buy a freight scale to keep track of both your weights, you've moved into a region that can't be passed off as life-as-usual. Once that occurred, though, Denise became almost poetic in her appreciation of Brad's half ton body. She'd always, she told him, been attracted to fat men. The fatter the better. Even as a teenage girl, she'd dreamed of fattening every boy she was attracted to.
"Never thought it'd become a collaborative effort," she said the day he reached Hughes' peak weight. She was in a caftan that stretched wonderfully around her torso. "Never thought I could talk to you about my secret desires." Standing on the freight scale in his lightweight robe, he felt a flush of pride when she read his weight, 1070 pounds, from the dial. "But I know we never could've gotten this far so quickly if we hadn't become open about it."
Brad looked down at his forefront. His view was limited, for his second chin, which hung three inches below his first, restricted his head movement. But as they had grown more candid, they'd added mirrored tiles to both bed and bathroom. He could see himself in the reflection: a giant of a man who sent shivers through his layers of avoirdupois even when he spoke. His belly surged past his reach, drooped below his knees. Together, they'd created this regal fat man's body.
He could have stood and looked at this image for as long as his legs would let him. But already his stomach was crying for dessert. Taking a deep breath, he stepped off the scale and slowly made his way into their bedroom. Dee followed, reveling in his majestic elephantine movement.
"You're so huge," she cooed, holding a spoon full of tapioca and whipped cream to his waiting mouth, kissing his second chin as he swallowed. This was the moment she loved the most and found most erotic: a long, full bedtime feeding. "I love every last inch of you."
He didn't answer until he'd finished his bowl. "You're no small chick yourself," he puffed, poking her on a cushiony shoulder.
"I know," Dee answered, without missing a beat. She was used to carrying on conversations around long spans of eating. "I wasn't expecting you to push me into eating so much, but I'm glad you did. It's given us more of a bond, though I'm also pleased to see you so much fatter than me. Call me old-fashioned, but I still believe the man should be big dog in the house."
She opened his robe and started to nibble on his drooping right breast, stretching her free arm towards the dual bases of his belly. They usually kept their bed at a thirty-degree angle - it made it easier for Brad to eat and breathe in bed - but they adjusted it for sexual congress.
"That I am," he said, body quivering all over, erection growing beneath his overlaying belly apron. His mouth was watering. Blocked from view by Dee's super-sized torso were two more fattening desserts.
Though they'd gotten him to Hughes' size, it was only the start. Brad's body, after all, still hadn't stopped gaining, and his appetite continued to thrive. The possibilities seemed limitless and exciting, as boundless as their love for each other.
Smiling, Dee reached over for another bowl and perched it on her husband's paunch. "Ready for some more?" she asked, and, of course, he was. Brad closed his eyes and waited for the first spoonful. As Dee's husband, he owed it to his wife to be the most that he could be. . .
