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Old 03-02-2010, 02:28 PM   #1
kamandi
 
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Default Infatuation - by kamandi (~BHM, ~Gay, ~~WG)

~BHM, ~Gay, ~~WG - A chance meeting at a library leads to something more



INFATUATION (part 1)
by kamandi

[Author's Note:] At last, I have written something new. Of course, there will be more, but please let me know what you think.


It is a Saturday morning at the local library, and I know why I am here. If I need to look up something for academic purposes, or out of personal interest, I come here during the week - on the weekend, the library is purely for people-watching. Many an interesting person I have found, and even a few lasting friendships have formed over an exchange of ideas and carrot cake in the café. It may be old-style social networking, but it is a part of my week I cannot imagine...

A smack on the floor echoes through the muted atmosphere, and I look towards where a book has been dropped.

I stop, my brain having fixed myself at this instant in time, commanding me to remember what I see here.

I realise I am seeing my vision of beauty, as a man bends down to pick up his book. From the baseball shoes, through the stretched skinny-fit jeans, the white v-neck shirt and black corded jacket, this was a man that, at least, spoke to my sense of style.

However, it was the way those clothes were filled that stopped me - the denim was stretched over thick, dimpled, fleshy thighs and calves, knees retreating into them, and supported by the roundest, shapeliest behind of its size. The torso followed suit, with soft arms, full breasts, and a belly that curved out and over any waistband, shielding and tickling whatever it tried to hide. Clearly, this was a body that only knew pleasure, which fascinated me so much.

The man stretched his arm to slot the book into a space on a shelf above him. A three-quarter rear view of the body I craved to be nearer towards threatened to send my senses out the way I walked in. His jacket lifted up to show the globes of his ass that much better for me, but his shirt just had to lift along with his arm - his underbelly visible, tanned, hanging and free. Eep...

Job done, the man turned around. Long, chaotic auburn hair, randomly streaked blond, fell around his chubby cheeks and chin, surrounding his plump lips and cute nose, and his trendy spectacles could not hide his translucent blue eyes...

Hang on, is that mascara and eye shadow around them? He’s certainly out to make an impression. Which section of the library is this? “Gay & Lesbian.” For the love of all things, please tell me he isn’t here to study. I’m never here to pick up another guy, but this is too much of a win-win-win situation for me. I want to know your name. You don’t know what you’ve done to me.

“Can I help you?” He could sing alto in a choir if he wanted...

Oh, fuck, reality, say something NOW!

“Erm... I don’t know if you may have seen this, while you’ve been over here, but have you seen a copy of ‘British Queer Cinema’?”

Brilliant save, you idiot.

“I Have, actually. It’s up here.” He pointed to the shelf where he put back his book.

It was now my turn to reach up. We were of similar height, making him five feet, six inches tall, but my average, slim body doesn’t make for much of a spectacle. Having said that, when I fished my micro-exercise, I saw the man’s eyes quickly move back to looking straight ahead. Clearly, I made some sort of impression, but my immediate concern was keeping my composure.

“You know what’s a good one, is ‘My Beautiful Laundrette’. Shows you don’t need a big budget to tell a good story.”

What do I say? “Good thing Daniel Day-Lewis wasn’t famous yet.” Phew. I made him laugh.

“My name’s Oliver,” he said, extending his hand.

“Adam,” I replied, smiling. My hand was shaken. I was shaken.

“Hey I’ve heard this café is quite good. How about it?” I found myself walking with him.

It turned out that Oliver doesn’t usually visit libraries, but he thought that he should find the particular book he wanted, about an old ocean liner, the SS America, before making a purchase - I found that he probably knew more about the ship than the book’s author, as he didn’t have a copy to take away with him. Even more surprising for me, he thought he should check the gay section before leaving - I felt very lucky indeed.

“I like your name, Adam - like Adam Lambert.” Now I can see how the make-up comes into play. “Actually, you look a bit like him too. Confident, knows where he stands.” Really? What are you trying to say? I look like someone you admire, but there seems to be something else.

We talked over our carrot cake, the one contribution I consciously made. We got ready to leave, Oliver saying, “it’s been great to meet you.” I felt that he meant it.

Oliver put his hands in his jacket pockets, searching for something. “Sorry, could you hold out you hand for me?” Without question, I held out my left hand as Oliver retrieved a keyring with a small Sharpie pen on it. He scribbled something across my knuckles, beamed a smile back at me, and with a two-tone “by-eee”, waved farewell. As I watched him walking away, my eyes moving from left to right, I finally thought of looking at my hand - there, in purple ink, was written a mobile phone number.

I walked on air throughout my way home, the crowded London streets making no impact on me, unlike Oliver. I called him that very evening, and the first in a string of dates began.

Like the library café, we found somewhere we could eat and be sociable, and Oliver always took care of the former - no wonder he was the size he... has become? I was intrigued by his intimate knowledge of West End restaurants, and even more by how he once visited all its Angus Steak Houses within a three-month period. This man loved his food more than most.

“Do you usually eat out?”

“All the time - it’s the only way I know I’ll get something I like. I never mastered cooking beyond what is merely edible.”

“Tell me about it. So long as I know the right stuff is going in, I know I’m doing well.”

“That’s fine if you just want fuel, but if you are given something where you can savour the flavour, that means more than anything to me.” Oliver’s special fried rice looked more appetising than my vegetable chow mein, and I wished I ordered it too.

“Come on, have some.” Oliver spooned up a colourful morsel of prawn, pork and rice. He held it to me, and as I leaned over, devoured it, and sat back on my seat, I was examined for my reaction. Oliver quietly smiled as my eyes opened.

“You keep telling me about your job. No-one should work in a call centre, least of all taking complaints. Quit, quit now - let me help you, Adam.”

Oh fuck - I know I am going to listen to him, but only because I know he is right.

My plan was set. After leaving work for the last time, holding my head high, carrying my placard with a photo of my hand raising my middle finger - Oliver advised just showing your finger isn’t enough these days - I opened the envelope Oliver gave me when we met for breakfast. In it was a card for an address overlooking Trafalgar Square, and a simple message saying, “see you there.”

Two bus journeys later, I arrived at the ornate entrance to a grand old building, receiving instructions to take the lift to the top floor. Once there, the corridor had but one set of double doors. I walked to it finding one door slightly ajar. Walking in, I was confronted with an elaborate art-deco entrance hall, a style that continued through to a library packed to the ceiling with books, picking up arrowed cards.

The trail ended in a plushly upholstered, vividly-coloured lounge, specifically designed to induce sensory overload. Strewn across a wide wooden table were all the edible delicacies I could imagine, and stood before them was their master - in an expansive blue silk robe, matching his eyes, was Oliver, clutching a spoon, with a knowing smile across his face.

“Hi.”

I dropped the placard I couldn’t believe I was still carrying, and ran around the table, and wrapped my arms around him. We both laughed.

“Congratulations. I want today to be the first day of the rest of your life.”

He thrust the spoon into my hand.

“Feed me, Adam.”

I knew what I wanted to feed Oliver, and it wasn’t food at all. For the first time, we kissed “I love you,” and not just “hello.” I fed him my tongue, my fingers, my entire body to him - I wanted to be swallowed whole by this man and his world, and Oliver wanted me to enjoy it. As we shed our clothes, my body felt the warm claps of skin against abundant flesh, surrounding, cushioning, comforting me.

When we finally convulsed ourselves into climax, returning our senses to us, I realised I was behind Oliver, thrusting myself into his behind, hugging onto it for dear life, as he lay on the table, shovelling a New York vanilla cheesecake into his belly. We laughed for a good five minutes, before supporting one another to Oliver’s plush silken bed, where we slept off our exertions until dinner time.

When I awoke, I found Oliver had already left the bed. I blinked my eyes back into focus, and saw my new boyfriend at the door, in as seductive pose as he can make, wearing the outfit from when we first met four months ago. I don’t remember it being so tight, and I definitely didn’t see his belly stick out from under his shirt when standing still.

“Just to let you know, I have gained twenty pounds since the library, and I want to thank you.”

Confusedly, I said “OK.”

“Everything you see is mine, Adam, and I want to share it with you.”

Putting my hand to my mouth, my voice broke. “Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Just follow your heart, fulfill your dreams, and keep making love to me like you did earlier!”

I admitted what happened was more the result of imagination than practice, and that was what did it for him.

Oliver bounded onto the bed, lying close to me, kissing me until the shaking stopped.

“Adam, I love that you love me for being me, and I am glad I found you. I love that you love my body. Obviously, I wasn’t always this big. Let me tell you about it.”


Continued in post #4

Last edited by Lou Grant; 03-20-2010 at 01:53 PM.
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Old 03-10-2010, 04:23 PM   #2
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This is my second time reading this and I love your descriptions....keep up the good work.
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Old 03-11-2010, 04:54 AM   #3
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Thank you for your kind words - I thought no-one was going to say anything! Part 2 should be up in the next few days.
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Old 03-18-2010, 02:09 PM   #4
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INFATUATION (Part 2)
by kamandi

[Author’s Note:] Better later than never - again, please let me know what you think, as I'm sure there will be a part three.


Oliver took a look around his opulent bedroom.

“I should mention, Adam, that this place is mine. You can move in too, whenever you like.”

I hadn’t thought of asking, with the way he swept me off my feet. Inevitably, I asked the question of just how he can afford to buy the entire top floor of a building that overlooked Nelson’s Column.

“Do you remember that EuroMillions jackpot three years ago?”

My body convulsed, my mind having instantly stripped the pudge from Oliver’s face, revealing a vision half-remembered from a news bulletin.

“Seriously?”

“How else?”

“You mean to tell me you won... What was it...?”

“One hundred and thirteen million, seven hundred and sixty three thousand, eight hundred and twenty five pounds, and seventy nine pence. I don’t know my National Insurance number off the top of my head, but that number, I do know.”

“So you’re Oliver Garland?”

“Yes. Do you remember fucking me five minutes ago?”

After we laughed at how this news caused my brain to fall out of my head, we pieced together the events. Oliver was twenty years old, in the final year of his first degree, and had just bought a EuroMillions ticket while buying his usual copy of “Gay Times”. He hadn’t even thought of checking the ticket until three days after the draw was made, despite the growing tension in the media about the identity of the one person in the United Kingdom who made history by winning the largest ever Europe-wide jackpot, all for himself.

“I spent the seventy nine pence straight away, on a Diet Coke and Mars bar from a college vending machine. I thought it would calm me down.”

What surprised everyone was how unassuming Oliver Garland turned out to be, telling reporters that he had every intention of finishing his degree. Such an amount of money was supposed to be life-changing to the extent that all rules and conventions were voided instantly.

“The interest faded pretty quickly. As soon as they saw I couldn’t sell their papers, I was left alone. Almost sounds like a plan, doesn’t it?”

It wasn’t so - Oliver was always the quiet type, keeping himself to himself, with acquaintances rather than friends. He was only at university for one thing, and that was work.

“It never bothered me, especially when people started giving me a wide berth after winning the jackpot - now they have to do it out of necessity. Even if you know you haven’t changed a bit, money still changes you.”

Oliver finished his English Literature degree, and was able to turn his attention to persuading his parents to accept some of his winnings. An only child, Oliver was showered with love, and his parents did a superb job in raising him. Apparently, they accepted Oliver was gay before he came out himself, having known for so long that they didn’t see any issue with it. However, they had expectations.

“After the investment they made in my education I knew, without them even needing to tell me, that paying them back without lifting a finger was not right. So, what I did was self-publish my degree essays, which still sells well in the academic bookshops, and that made the house I bought them that much easier to move into...”

It turns out that Oliver is now taking a Sociology degree via the Open University, although he admitted he is taking it at too leisurely a pace. The moral of the story, it seems to me, was the money has freed him from work to pursue a life of learning - perhaps that what he wants to do with me...

“Then, there is the stuff I learnt about myself...”

For someone able to live off the interest generated by depositing his fortune in the bank, Oliver still had simple tastes.

“I moved into a flat in Shepherd’s Bush, and started opening myself up a bit, seeing shows, especially with BBC Television Centre down the road, wearing glamorous clothes, walking the walk, having the occasional one-night stands like a gay guy should have done so already. I was enjoying myself, and I was hungry for more.

Living opposite the Westfield shopping mall, which is roughly the size of an airport terminal, Oliver could bound up at a different restaurant for breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday, which is great if you can’t cook very well. He never counted calories, but he never ate enough to bother doing so before.

“Within a year of winning the money, I went from 135 lbs. to 175 lbs. No one ever thought of saying anything, not least my parents, as they were expecting me to enjoy myself. If clothes got tight, I just bought the next size up. But what really did happen for me was when I caught myself in a changing room mirror one day.

“For the first time, I actually took notice of myself, and what I looked like, and noticed the curves gave my body some much-needed character. My face was that of someone who radiated contentment. I jiggled my arm, a boob, a thigh, and my belly. I liked how it felt. I knew this was a felling I didn’t have before, because what was causing the feeling wasn’t there before. I knew then, at that moment, that my chubby body made me feel wonderful...

“...and then I came on the mirror. Good thing I bought some bathroom cleaner in another store. One of my socks was ruined removing the mess, but I still felt great...”

Within a week, Oliver was fulfilling himself in yet another way - four weeks in New York, free to enjoy all the cultural highlights, and mix in the atmosphere ingrained in his mind from his comic book connection. Yes, he could have saved and booked a holiday while doing a normal job, but taking the long-way there, in a high-class suite on the Queen Mary 2, would have cost me at least a year’s wages on my call centre job.

“I’m just still annoyed that I missed the change to go there on the QE2, Adam. It’s in Dubai now, so maybe I can see it there sometime, but I feel I would need to keep my hands in my pockets the whole time if the likes of me go there.”

I have heard from relatives about what happens to your waistline when you put buffets and cruises together, but when you can afford to have the buffet brought to you, the answer turns out to be ten extra pounds over the week-long crossing to New York - this is also true for doing the same in your highly-appointed hotel on dry land.

The feeling of stuffing yourself is one thing, but being stuffed is something else entirely.

“That Studio 54 they have there now is more sensible than you imagine. I know it’s not the original one, but that’s me being a gay tourist who did his research. Anyway, I walked in, feeling anonymous, but brightly dressed, and I created my own scene. If Americans love any two things, they are these - an unshakeable, strong sense of yourself, and a British accent. When I walked out of there at two in the morning, a guy on each arm, I felt like Donna Summer must have felt when she was led onto the dance floor on a horse in the seventies.”

“Guy on each arm?”

“Oh yeah - Tom and Andy, already a couple. They loved the chubbier form, but not enough to try it out on themselves. I think they said they met at Kinko’s or something, and they clicked from the start. Now, I was wondering what I had let myself in for, and whether I should be clearing myself for entry at both ends, but they were at pains to point out how they wanted to make friends, ask me questions, and pamper me. It was strange enough a situation for me to say, ‘yes, let’s see what happens,’ as I can always afford security if I have seriously misjudged the situation.

“I had the best three weeks of my life to that point. Tom and Andy made millions in social networking at the start of the dot-com boom, sold to a major corporation, and retired in their mid-thirties. In other words, they had more than enough time to show me all of New York, from Manhattan to the Bronx - they wanted to ensure I experienced the city in full - and we ate at every type of restaurant on offer.

“They were asking me questions about how I got to be fat, why I did so, and how big I wanted to be. At the start, I didn’t know how to answer, but what they didn’t realize they had done was open up the possibility of purposely getting fatter. There was no more eating for the sake of it for the rest of that trip.

“The night before I left for home, I let Tom and Andy did what I thought they were going to do to me at the start. I never thought group sex would be so tiring, let alone with a full stomach. Their hard muscles against my newly squishier form. Now, they could probably ride a thigh each.”

“Are you still in contact with them?”

“Yes - the occasional e-mail, but more of a cultural exchange than anything erotic. I’ve never thought of asking exactly why they were so interested in my body. I guess I was just glad for the attention. So long as they relived it in their mind at least once since, that’s fine for me.”

After the first week in New York, Oliver had not weighed himself - the only figure he had was 195 lbs. He was not prepared to see 238 lbs. appear on his scale once back home, but the trip home on the Queen Mary 2 must have helped.

“I had eaten non-stop, and I now needed to accept the results. Standing in the mirror, thicker all around, belly forming an apron at last, I felt like my old, unassuming self had disappeared - I was too big to be that person anymore. From then on, it was bold and brassy, as that was what felt right for me.”

For the next six months, Oliver schmoozed, ate and shagged his way through the bounty of London. He doesn’t dwell on this period, saying it became too much of a blur. Later, I would see the pictures - it was almost like he was conducting a study into how outrageous he could act. So long as the sex was safe, the drink was free (and it was champagne), then all bets would be off - no wonder he employed a minder during this time. He even tried bondage a few times, but that was enough for him. The last major picture is of Oliver in a hot pink dress and a blond wig, looking like Divine - that was when he felt the need to take another look in that mirror.

“Adam, you would not have wanted to see me then. I was a puffy, bloated mess, with just enough energy to be carted to wherever I next got my urges catered for. None of my clothes fit properly, and I started wearing sweats because it was easier. How I looked didn’t matter. I’m glad I did go off the rails, for at least a little bit, as everyone should some time in their lives. I felt all of my 308 lbs. then, but not now.”

“Wait - you’re at your heaviest weight now?”

“Yes, but I can handle it now. Thanks again.”

I just smiled. “So, what happened next?”

“Well, I simply reconciled my new life with my old life. Invested in some property, as you can see. Cut back on a few things, and did enough exercise to say I was just above average for fitness. I was actually down to 265 lbs. at one point, but that didn’t last long, as I’m too much of a bottomless pit. At least I can say to myself that I’m a well-read guy that hopes he is not too self-aware to be the sort of person I want to know about.”

I hugged him, and kissed him, for that is all I felt like doing.

“So, Adam, you’re free from your job. What do you want to do now?”

I always wanted to write a novel, to travel, to do exactly what I want, without asking to anyone. Who doesn’t want their life to be this way? I already knew the rat race was not to my liking, but I now had a man with whom I have fallen deeply in love, who feels the same with me, and is giving me an opportunity to define my world on my terms.

I let a hand stray down Oliver’s belly, tracing its curve, putting a finger into his navel, circling it, and taking it out with a pop, to let my palm feel the softness of his underbelly.

As Oliver knew where I was going, he laid back, stretching his arms out. I nuzzled to his ear, and whispered.

“I want to join you.”

Last edited by Lou Grant; 03-20-2010 at 01:52 PM.
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Old 03-28-2010, 12:54 PM   #5
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HOT! Can't wait for 3!
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Old 05-05-2010, 12:44 PM   #6
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INFATUATION (part 3)

by kamandi


[Author's Note:] It took quite a while to write this, and I know there will be only one part left. Please let me know what you think of it.





The summer sun shines through our bedroom window, telling me to get out of bed. However, seeing my hubby of the last year to my right side means that will take at least a few minutes, depending on our mood. There are some days when we never thought of leaving our bed, feeling the need to test its structural integrity over and over again, save for breakfast, elevenses, lunch, dinner, supper, and snacks.

I kissed my drowsy Oliver into the waking world, and we embraced for five minutes, feeling the warmth of our bodies. Today could be one of those days, but Oliver saves me from the mood.

“It’s that time again, Adam.”

“Your count today?”

“Fine. Brace yourself. One, two, three...”

On the unspoken “four,” we simultaneously lurched into a roll over our sides of the bed, and onto our feet. There will come a day when I need help doing this.

As I look over my body, I know I have fully embraced Oliver’s world. While his weight reached a plateau once we married, mine continued to climb, not that either of us are complaining about that.

We dress for the day. Skinny fit jeans have ceased to be practical, but the moment I speculated about the next logical step, stretch denim leggings, Oliver took the lead that I followed. Free to spread, Oliver’s spherical thighs and ass quake with conviction as he walks, and his seventy-inch belly slaps in consort with his legs, whether kept within his waistline and free to roam. Oliver’s upper body is fully in proportion with the rest of him, and his 430 lbs. of goodness would make such a lustrous pillow for any lucky man, had he not instigated and developed one for myself.

I had matched Oliver’s gain of 122 lbs. in a frenzied year of feeding and fornication, buoyed by my shared feeling that I needed to cast off any reservations that my personality possessed, and Oliver’s recognition that following his path of self-discovery would be beneficial for my comparatively sheltered existence as a plain call centre operative, socialising outside of work, but feeling like deeper connections needed to be made. “Destiny” is an inevitable word when considering us as a couple.

What emerged? As my looks reminded Oliver of Adam Lambert, I outwardly became an exquisitely upholstered, glamorous goth-like creature, complementing Oliver’s more colourful chic, the giddy yang to Oliver’s centred yin. Feeling very sensual, my “thing” was to be fed, rather than simply feeding myself, but Oliver knew I set a boundary on those nights when we invited a friend or two to take part: I could tempt and titillate, neither of which I thought I could previously manage, but there was only man I would allow to take advantage of me at the end of the night. That said, I can provide a good journey, as I now realise.

Accompanying us on my waistline’s quest are two items that fill a chiller cabinet by my side of the bed, and a fridge in my office.

Liking the taste, but wishing to avoid the dual threat of a headache and sugar rush; I can easily down a two-litre bottle of what is, essentially, fizzy and spicy water, but marketed as “Caffeine Free Diet Coke,” during an average day. No-one ever has sparkling white teeth without having paid for them, and my diligently-brushed set are certainly not so, but what had been an occasional treat of a chilled glassful has become a staple of my diet and, as I have found, a way of slowly stretching my stomach - a triumph for a drink with practically no calorie content.

Meanwhile, biting the top off a Cadbury Creme Egg, scooping and sucking out the fondant with your tongue, and finally devouring the chocolate shell is a treat that is usually only available around Easter. However, if you can find post-Easter stock cheaply, snap them up, as they carry a “Best Before” date of July. Furthermore, Cadbury’s “Twister” bar extends the taste throughout the year, but with less scooping and sucking.

When working out my next sentence to write, my mouth occupies itself with either of the above in the bespoke office Oliver ordered to be built in my honour, complete with a brass “Adam Brookes” nameplate sitting on the desk, since changed to “Adam Brookes-Garland”. Built when I moved in with Oliver, I entered it with a notebook of ideas for a slushy romantic pot-boiler of a novel, written from the woman’s point of view - if E.M. Forster can do it in “Room With a View,” then so can I, but the substantial royalties received when my intended writing exercise was published last year meant I would be far bolder with my fan base next time around, which turned out to be mainly men who understood where I was writing from. The fact I keep a notebook on me at all times means I am never short of a springboard to the next fantasy scene, but not before my now-agent, Oliver, checks it is not too true to life for me to share.

Once we married last year, my track was set. We enjoyed the states of mind we reached in our own ways, and when Oliver’s body, still happy to move without a complaint, rounded out at its 430 lbs. limit, his care and attention over my form increased further, becoming ever more similar to his own. Now 393 lbs., I have gained more this year than last, with no end in sight but to willfully gorge on life’s bounty forever.

As we sit in a restaurant at lunchtime, preparing ourselves for the upcoming appointment with my publisher, I contemplate Oliver’s proven point that we do not have to deny ourselves a single thing for the rest of our lives. The orgasmic bliss of this statement was a simple reassurance that you are only behaving in a decadent manner if you allow someone else to set the rules...

Last edited by Perry White; 05-05-2010 at 06:17 PM.
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Old 05-06-2010, 02:21 AM   #7
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Very good read. I will look forward to the next chapter. Thanks
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Old 05-06-2010, 08:40 AM   #8
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fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!fat hiker has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!
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Great chapters!
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Old 06-26-2010, 04:54 PM   #9
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See, I've been on the fence about being also interested in men, AND in gaining weight myself - but this, this is so pretty and wonderful I may just have been turned. Or possibly just turned on. Mm...two fatty hairy boys in the same big bed...your words are doing strange things to my sexual identity. Congratulations.

Cannot WAIT for tge happy ending!
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Old 06-27-2010, 01:34 AM   #10
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Thank you very much, JimBob! As a gay man, I like to think I have that effect on people, but I now have written evidence.

It's taken a while to think on how to write the last part of this story, which I am now about to write - it will be set in five years' time, when both Oliver and Adam are both thirty years old, the status quo having changed again.
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Old 08-25-2010, 10:50 AM   #11
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[Author's note:] At last, another part. Now I've written it, I can see this story going on indefinitely.

Part 4



I don’t know how to start this, because fiction is not my usual line of work, but I thought our silence needed to be broken.

This is Oliver writing, and while Adam is dictating the latest draft of a story to our secretary, I have been instructed to bring our little story up to date.

I feel the best place to start is about this time last year. Adam and me continued in our own orgiastic vein, punctuated by stuffing our faces with whatever food or non-alcoholic drink we liked. I know Adam hadn’t yet mentioned that we don’t drink, and I think it may have been because we need to know what we are doing at all times - you don’t get as big as we have in a passive manner.

Feeding my furnace of a belly was going to lead to a point where my weight would stabilise, and it did at 440 lbs. This may be because I do like to take a walk, to keep my mind clear, which uses a lot more energy than before. I have found my place in life is to ruminate upon it, write up maxims in the Friedrich Nietzsche style, publishing them quietly before going insane, also like Nietzsche. That is the plan, which is always best to try when your wealth frees you from any other pressing matter.

Adam, however, prefers sitting on that beautifully fat ass of his, raid his brain for fantasy, and write it up as a narrative - all I ask is that, while he does that, he works his gluteal muscles to stop his behind from going flat. I want its roundness to be preserved, especially while the rest of Adam surges outwards. A year go, he was at 550 lbs., having passed my weight the year before. Fuck me, I love to sink into him. “Fuck me,” Adam asks me every time.

As I pointed out, our household is no longer us two alone. The story of how we acquired a secretary is more interesting than these words can ever create by themselves, especially with how it began on one of my walks.

On a particular bench in Green Park, across from Buckingham Palace, I usually need to stop and take a breather, and I like to watch the spandex-clad joggers fly past, saluting them with a raised eyebrow, and a respectful disdain for their regime.

For about a month, I was noticing one jogger more than the others. At five feet, four inches tall, and 150 lbs. the jogger’s build is far more common than mine, but that little bit more in shape than the average.

Everything else about this person made them stick out from the others, most noticeably the smile that came when I come into view, rather than the frown from the other health freaks. With a loose, light grey tracksuit, a hot pink-coloured t-shirt with quite a low neckline, and white headphone cable jiggling about, I am given the impression of watching a laundry basket moving at speed. However, what always struck me the most was that smile, and the transcendent beauty of the jogger’s smooth, unblemished face, framed by long, strawberry blond hair. It could have been the face of a man, or a woman, but it really didn’t matter.

That smile was all the interaction we had, and I was dismayed when the jogger disappeared. I had no idea what I would have asked - most likely, the only possible question was, where did you come from?” Even Adam said I should have asked something, his theory on my reticence being that, as a jogger, this person would ultimately not mix with those of “our kind”.

Taking my customary seat in Green Park was no longer the joy it was until, after three months, the jogger walked up to me.

“I am so glad I found you here.”

A soft, feminine voice came from this person, one that gave you no impression of someone who would concern themselves with anything strenuous like exercise, perhaps even being the sort of person to whom you made love, rather than getting themselves sweaty in the process. The body from which the voice came confirmed this - this jogger could not have jogged in the last three months.

The tracksuit was the same as before, but was now filled and stretched by plump limbs and a thick trunk of a body that had been allowed to recline, rest, and feed. A second chin supported a face that beamed more at me than ever.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

The story that unfolded was elaborated upon later that evening, over dinner with Adam.

Her name was Terri. The last letter of her name changed from “y” to “i” two weeks ago, on her 18th birthday, but only in the privacy of her own head. I have only my second-birth pains from coming out as gay to use for comparison, but I have never heard of such an easy process described of sitting your parents down to tell them that you feel you are transgendered, rather than just a man. Terri’s parents cried, but out of relief - they had known the inevitability of this talk, but did not know how to approach it themselves. They always knew their son was a charcoal-grilled-flaming gay man to the extent that they treated him like a daughter. In fact, Terri was surprised about how easy they took it.

Terri then described the glorious unraveling of her life. She was signed off from work from the stress caused by the shock that revealing her secret caused to her own system, then quit altogether. With orders to take it easy, Terri’s healthy appetite took over. Her hips, thighs and belly flared outwards, burying the work of the jogging permanently. The morning she reappeared to me, she was up to a pear-shaped 220 lbs.

Terri’s thanks to me was, as it turned out, simply for me being on that park bench each day, looking content in myself. If she wanted a worry free future for herself, she had to go out and get it.

I was also a personal example. If I could grow my own breasts, and hide my cock without the need for invasive, incontrovertible surgery to remove all evidence of it, then so could she. I would not have thought of it that way, but I was never likely to do so.

We helped out Terri by providing an opportunity to move out of her parents’ house and into our apartment. Once she got over the opulence of it, we helped her to build her new identity. The spelling of her name, and more importantly her gender, has been changed on everything from her bank account to her passport. The last was needed for a two-week fact-finding mission to New York, armed with a contact book Adam and me had built up over the years. She came back with the report I hoped to have - that she was sure she had definitely made the right decision.

Back home, once she got over the opulence of the apartment, Terri set up as Adam’s hands-free Dictaphone-cum-scribe as he writes his latest story. For Terri, she served as an immediate sounding board for ideas, and Adam found his calorie intake could be increased further when he was freed from the need to type himself.

Nine months on, we are like a family of sorts. Adam and Terri get on very well, and once Adam finishes dictating his customary three hundred words of writing each day. I have had it explained to me that Graham Greene kept to this daily total, but did he usually take a couple of hours to achieve that by eating and chatting along the way? When dine, the need to feed takes over completely. Adam has told me he will try to slow down his growing, as he approaches 700 lbs., but as Terri approaches the 300 lbs. mark herself, any thoughts that she can be a crutch for his getting through the day will have to go by the wayside.

As for me, navigating Adam’s expanding form over my own large frame has benefited from an appreciated third and fourth hand as help every now and then, and we both show our appreciation in return. Seeing 1,400 lbs. or so of flesh try to writhe about together, with all the sloshing, smooching and sucking that sort of thing involves, must be an interesting sight to behold, but it is definitely beaten by being one of those involved.

Seeing Terri revel in her ripened form, a work of her own creation, gives me as much as pride as I have in my sharing my life with Adam. To offer someone the chance to live their life without limits, especially when they need it the most, is the greatest gift I can give. We are all different in our own ways, giving us all reason to celebrate.

Last edited by Lou Grant; 08-26-2010 at 02:55 AM.
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Old 11-18-2010, 05:21 AM   #12
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[Author's Note] "Running out of steam" doesn't even describe this, but at least I have an ending.

Part 5

Every so often, I used to suggest that Oliver could easily write a sociology paper based on himself, Terri and me, plus those who know us, as we appear to have formed a society within ourselves.

After recent events, it took me a while to get back into writing, but when I appeared on a weblog, talking about my average day, I had many responses. These were not to pour scorn on a fat man, or even to say they want to be like me, but to let me know that they wished they would conjure the nerve to live the way they always wished to live.

I tried to tell them to just go ahead and live, but it is never that simple - there are too many responsibilities you find you have to society. Perhaps you need an already-enlightened soul to pull you out of society and show you where to go.

Oliver knows he has been this person to me. He will never allow himself to be a self-help guru, or to let himself become the sort of person who insists his beliefs should be heard by all, but the mere fact he exists, and the example he serves to his friends, is that there is nothing stopping you being the person you want to be.

Yes, the millions of pounds that Oliver won on the lottery also helps, but what that bought him was his own time, to become the person he is today.

Why am I wittering on like this? It is to balance a passage I wrote, not long after we had a significant move. I was feeling a bit of a surge in energy a few months ago, having achieved a major milestone - immobility. It took a while to get my head back into position because of it. This was the single piece of writing I did during that time.

It is rather bad - don’t say I didn’t warn you.


“You have not heard from me for a while, and I have settled enough to tell you why. Oliver, Terri and me have relocated to the ground floor of our building in Trafalgar Square, for the load capacity of the top floor was exceeded by myself alone. I lie here, a monolithic 825 lbs., having led myself beyond even Oliver’s idea of self-determination. The heft, the gravity, the sense of place - it was meant to be. Our staff never thought they would ever be in a position to service, in all fashions, people of our size.

“Oliver and Terri have joined me. They will reach my status soon. Once Oliver realised how limitless his wealth allowed our lives to be, there was no going back. The life of the free, with no limit to desire, was our nirvana.

“Oliver and Terri slowly lie down to either side of me, our bodies folding into each other, softness into softness. Oliver broke his weight plateau, Terri’s burgeoning gain a constant companion. It was clear that the mere act of Oliver lifting his belly, brushing his cock into action, signaled there was no going back. His reaching of the quarter-ton mark was a wonder to behold, especially when Terri’s flaring hips are not far behind.

“They move differently, slowing down. They will join me, and have told me as much.”


No wonder I feel Oliver could write about ourselves as our own society. As far as I am concerned, I sounded like I had reduced society down to the three of us, plus anyone who wanted to join in. Clearly, that doesn’t make for a good balance. No wonder Oliver liked to go for walks, reminding him of the wider world, of which he is one part.

Terri, who Oliver met on such a walk, couldn’t be happier, as I overheard him talking to our cleaner one day:

“Hey girl, touch me, feel me, wallow in me. I will never tire of my four-one-five, making me feel alive. Sink into my fat ass and make yourself at home. Caress my peachy flab,. Fuck me, come on.”

By the sounds of what followed, the cleaner did make himself at home, as a 415 lbs. body requires a lot of care and attention.

I think what snapped me back to reality was a passage from Oliver’s diary - I only know this was what it said because he felt the need to read it to me:

“I love Adam, and he loves me. My life revolves around him, as does Terri’s, and those who join us, in a society of sorts. With the life I can afford, I have found there is no need to feel grounded. I think back to how I aroused myself in that changing room all those years ago - I have now outgrown that room, both figuratively and actually, if that makes any sense. Whatever the future holds for us, I cannot wait to find out.”

What we realised together was that self-indulgence had become my reason for living, and that everything, and everyone, had become sucked into my world. I wasn’t getting bigger because I liked it - I was getting bigger because I had defined my existence by it.

Now that I had more time than anyone to sit around, I started reading, then returned to story writing - anything to examine a different world. Forgetting about myself allowed the pieces of me to fall back into place. I may be the size of a small country, but this country is as peaceful as Costa Rica...

...well, it doesn’t have an army, because it doesn’t need one, or something like that...

I realise this has sounded all over the place, but life is like that. Our journey continues, but I will leave to your imagination what three people with a combined weight of a ton will do next. Can I try and end this in a grand way. How about this: “I shall write no more, for words have failed me. Live free and eat well.”


THE END

Last edited by Lou Grant; 11-21-2010 at 07:40 AM.
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Old 11-21-2010, 07:42 AM   #13
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Bump after edit of final installment.
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