SSBBW, Sutffing, ~XWG - All it took was meeting the right guy to become a really big girl.
It all started about seven years ago. In my bedroom at my folks house. I'm lying on my bed watching TV. I'd just finished off four chocolate bars, Reeses peanut butter cups, and was halfway through a bag of chips, with dip of course, when my dad walks in.
"What's all this, stuffing your face again I see."
I was too scared to move or speak.
"You just don't get it do you? You're fat enough as it is. Look at you. You gotta stop eating like this. If you don't, you'll be so fat nobody'll want ya."
He turned and walked out, obviously disgusted with me. I really didn't care about what he had said. I'd just got on the scale twenty minutes ago, depressed I was up to 280 pounds, the heaviest I'd ever been.
Four months ago I weighed about 250 pounds. I knew I was getting too fat then, but to be completely honest it didn't bother me that much. I had to squeeze into my size 18 jeans, which wasn't easy, but I thought I looked pretty good with them on. I'd had a few comments about my butt, so I knew I was still shapely. Gaining weight was the last thing on my mind.
How I managed to put on 30 pounds in four months wasn't a mystery. I love food and I love to eat. Besides being a pig and eating way too much of every goody I got my hands on, I'm probably one of the laziest people alive. I'm so lazy it's not funny. It's just the way I am.
Anyhow, a friend calls me up the next day and says she's got a guy she wants me to meet. Great, I say to myself. Another blind date with some guy who I know the second he sees me will be thinking, "I'm not going out with that cow." It's happened before, and now that I'm up to 280 pounds I expect to be dumped after the first date so I'm hesitant to accept her offer.
"Don't worry," she tells me, "he likes big girls."
Yeah right. This I gotta see and it's set up for Saturday night.
Somehow, someway I get into my size 18 jeans. I remember hoping they wouldn't rip wide open during our date. Thank goodness they didn't. As usual I ate before we went out. That way I wouldn't eat so much later. It didn't work. It didn't matter. When we met at the eatery it was love at first sight. We hit it off instantly. The food was great and there was lots of it. We talked endlessly during the meal and before I realized it, I'd eaten far too much again. I was cleaning my plate for the second time while the other couple and my charming date were still on their first. I stopped eating immediately and, noticing my changed composure, he asked me if I'd like to go for a cruise in his car. I accepted gratefully.
Barely on the road for five minutes, I was totally disgusted with myself eating like a pig in front of this guy on our first date, when he asks me if I'd like to stop for an ice cream. Ice cream? I'm thinking no way, you can't. After all I just ate, my pants as tight as a second skin from overindulging and remembering the cheese burger and fries I ate before going out, I said okay, sounds great. I couldn't help myself.
Here was this guy watching me pig out big time and not saying a word about it. Offering ice cream; I couldn't say no. I polished off the huge sundae he gave me. Thanking him, telling him he shouldn't be so generous. He replied that the pleasure was all his.
We agreed to go out again the coming Friday night. Nothing said about how fat I was and another dinner date next week. I liked this guy. Without even considering the consequences, I ate practically nonstop all week. A day before our next date, Thursday night, I ate an entire Sara Lee cake before going to bed. I was so full it hurt. But it felt good too. On Friday night I weighed myself and learned I'd put on 6 pounds in one week. I was turning into such a pig. My pants were so tight I couldn't get them on. With no time to buy something that fit, I had to settle for a pair of stretch pants that fit a little too snug and showed off a little too much.
When he picked me up, I saw him, felt him, look me up and down. I waited for him to say I looked fat. Instead he said I looked great. The Italian buffet was fantastic. There was so much food that smelled so good, fettucini, lasagna, cannelloni, chicken and more. In a gluttonous display of overeating, I somehow managed to eat four platefuls of food, stretching my stomach to a new limit. I was so full, looking and feeling like a pig yet again.
When he asked me if I'd like dessert, before I had a chance to say no, he'd gotten up and went to retrieve me something sweet. I couldn't possibly eat any more, but when he returned with a plateful of Italian pastries and ice cream, I saw a look on his face that made me melt and gave me a second wind. I finished off the eight pastries and ice cream which left me too full to move.
He took me back to his place. I felt like a beached whale as I laid hopelessly overfull on his bed. He rubbed my belly, soothing its fullness, then made passionate, gentle love to me. This was something out of a dream. A girl could get used to this pampering and I did. Week after week we saw each other. I stayed at his place from Friday to Sunday where he spoiled me endlessly-feeding me, loving me.
Never once did he comment on how much I'd eaten or how fat I was. What I saw in his eyes and the way he'd smile at me was something I'd never known before. He liked me, the way I ate, all my fat, everything about me. Gone were the guilty feelings of eating before a meal, hiding the snacks no one saw me eating. I gave up worrying I was getting fatter. I couldn't believe it, what I'd been hiding for years, he seemed to appreciate. I started saying yes instead of no when it came to his offerings. That alone made both of us happier.
For as long as I could remember I'd always sought after more to eat to feel full and satisfied. Nowadays being stuffed to the brink of bursting happened more often than not. Consequently, my over consumption had me growing bigger by the week. I'd reached 300 pounds and past it in the blink of an eye. In less than a month I'd put on 27 pounds. Every weekend was a virtual buffet crammed full of everything I loved to eat. Every meal became longer, portions grew larger. The more I ate, the more I wanted.
Breakfast blended into mid-morning snacks, which led to considerable lunches, which became afternoon delights that were warm-ups to heaping platefuls of dinner that left me achingly full but still interested in TV treats at night.
Within six months I was at the 400 pound plateau and only too happy to continue. I was getting so fat. With the right guy I never dreamed getting fatter would be so much fun. The poundage slowed me down a bit and made me even lazier. Getting up from sitting wasn't so easy anymore. I avoided almost anything physical that might burn too many calories.
Boy, did I begin to spread,wider and wider. My hips measured 73" and my thighs were over 40" apiece. When I sat I came close to filling the entire love seat. Reinforcing some chairs, the bed, and lowering it as well was necessary. I was so fat I could barely climb into bed. Even though my escalating weight was limiting some movement, it was a bit of a turn on knowing that I'd gotten fat enough to cause that. Sitting on my butt for most of the day, my idle hands were feeding me bags of cookies, boxes of ice cream sandwiches, trays of pastries and brownies and other fattening treats.
My eating was at an all-time high. At times I even amazed myself at how much I was eating. It felt so good, so right, gorging, stuffing, pigging out to the max. Feeling the fat surrounding me, enveloping me in layers, rolls and bulges. How my belly grew outwards and down into an apron of fat, spilling between my legs forcing them apart. Massive thighs that shook like Jell-o, folds of fat creased and hung from them. Upper arms segmented with rolls and stretchmarks measuring 27" around.
I'd secretly dreamed of eating myself to circus fat lady proportions and glancing down at all my rolls of blubber I knew I was well on my way. Too lazy and too fat to get up for my snack refills, it was the ultimate pleasure to know that my guy would bring me anything I asked for. Talk about lazy! But oh what a feeling it was. It was something I'd always wanted to do. There was no number I set as a goal, but 500 pounds always seemed to be an intriguing number when I was stuffing my face and thinking how fat I was gonna be if I didn't stop eating so much. Just as my insecurity of how much I'd eaten on our first date had worn off, so were my thoughts of becoming too fat. I wanted to eat to the max everyday. I wanted to feel what it was like to be so fat I could barely walk.
(Continued in post 3 of this thread)
Becoming a Big Girl
by Robbie G.
by Robbie G.
It all started about seven years ago. In my bedroom at my folks house. I'm lying on my bed watching TV. I'd just finished off four chocolate bars, Reeses peanut butter cups, and was halfway through a bag of chips, with dip of course, when my dad walks in.
"What's all this, stuffing your face again I see."
I was too scared to move or speak.
"You just don't get it do you? You're fat enough as it is. Look at you. You gotta stop eating like this. If you don't, you'll be so fat nobody'll want ya."
He turned and walked out, obviously disgusted with me. I really didn't care about what he had said. I'd just got on the scale twenty minutes ago, depressed I was up to 280 pounds, the heaviest I'd ever been.
Four months ago I weighed about 250 pounds. I knew I was getting too fat then, but to be completely honest it didn't bother me that much. I had to squeeze into my size 18 jeans, which wasn't easy, but I thought I looked pretty good with them on. I'd had a few comments about my butt, so I knew I was still shapely. Gaining weight was the last thing on my mind.
How I managed to put on 30 pounds in four months wasn't a mystery. I love food and I love to eat. Besides being a pig and eating way too much of every goody I got my hands on, I'm probably one of the laziest people alive. I'm so lazy it's not funny. It's just the way I am.
Anyhow, a friend calls me up the next day and says she's got a guy she wants me to meet. Great, I say to myself. Another blind date with some guy who I know the second he sees me will be thinking, "I'm not going out with that cow." It's happened before, and now that I'm up to 280 pounds I expect to be dumped after the first date so I'm hesitant to accept her offer.
"Don't worry," she tells me, "he likes big girls."
Yeah right. This I gotta see and it's set up for Saturday night.
Somehow, someway I get into my size 18 jeans. I remember hoping they wouldn't rip wide open during our date. Thank goodness they didn't. As usual I ate before we went out. That way I wouldn't eat so much later. It didn't work. It didn't matter. When we met at the eatery it was love at first sight. We hit it off instantly. The food was great and there was lots of it. We talked endlessly during the meal and before I realized it, I'd eaten far too much again. I was cleaning my plate for the second time while the other couple and my charming date were still on their first. I stopped eating immediately and, noticing my changed composure, he asked me if I'd like to go for a cruise in his car. I accepted gratefully.
Barely on the road for five minutes, I was totally disgusted with myself eating like a pig in front of this guy on our first date, when he asks me if I'd like to stop for an ice cream. Ice cream? I'm thinking no way, you can't. After all I just ate, my pants as tight as a second skin from overindulging and remembering the cheese burger and fries I ate before going out, I said okay, sounds great. I couldn't help myself.
Here was this guy watching me pig out big time and not saying a word about it. Offering ice cream; I couldn't say no. I polished off the huge sundae he gave me. Thanking him, telling him he shouldn't be so generous. He replied that the pleasure was all his.
We agreed to go out again the coming Friday night. Nothing said about how fat I was and another dinner date next week. I liked this guy. Without even considering the consequences, I ate practically nonstop all week. A day before our next date, Thursday night, I ate an entire Sara Lee cake before going to bed. I was so full it hurt. But it felt good too. On Friday night I weighed myself and learned I'd put on 6 pounds in one week. I was turning into such a pig. My pants were so tight I couldn't get them on. With no time to buy something that fit, I had to settle for a pair of stretch pants that fit a little too snug and showed off a little too much.
When he picked me up, I saw him, felt him, look me up and down. I waited for him to say I looked fat. Instead he said I looked great. The Italian buffet was fantastic. There was so much food that smelled so good, fettucini, lasagna, cannelloni, chicken and more. In a gluttonous display of overeating, I somehow managed to eat four platefuls of food, stretching my stomach to a new limit. I was so full, looking and feeling like a pig yet again.
When he asked me if I'd like dessert, before I had a chance to say no, he'd gotten up and went to retrieve me something sweet. I couldn't possibly eat any more, but when he returned with a plateful of Italian pastries and ice cream, I saw a look on his face that made me melt and gave me a second wind. I finished off the eight pastries and ice cream which left me too full to move.
He took me back to his place. I felt like a beached whale as I laid hopelessly overfull on his bed. He rubbed my belly, soothing its fullness, then made passionate, gentle love to me. This was something out of a dream. A girl could get used to this pampering and I did. Week after week we saw each other. I stayed at his place from Friday to Sunday where he spoiled me endlessly-feeding me, loving me.
Never once did he comment on how much I'd eaten or how fat I was. What I saw in his eyes and the way he'd smile at me was something I'd never known before. He liked me, the way I ate, all my fat, everything about me. Gone were the guilty feelings of eating before a meal, hiding the snacks no one saw me eating. I gave up worrying I was getting fatter. I couldn't believe it, what I'd been hiding for years, he seemed to appreciate. I started saying yes instead of no when it came to his offerings. That alone made both of us happier.
For as long as I could remember I'd always sought after more to eat to feel full and satisfied. Nowadays being stuffed to the brink of bursting happened more often than not. Consequently, my over consumption had me growing bigger by the week. I'd reached 300 pounds and past it in the blink of an eye. In less than a month I'd put on 27 pounds. Every weekend was a virtual buffet crammed full of everything I loved to eat. Every meal became longer, portions grew larger. The more I ate, the more I wanted.
Breakfast blended into mid-morning snacks, which led to considerable lunches, which became afternoon delights that were warm-ups to heaping platefuls of dinner that left me achingly full but still interested in TV treats at night.
Within six months I was at the 400 pound plateau and only too happy to continue. I was getting so fat. With the right guy I never dreamed getting fatter would be so much fun. The poundage slowed me down a bit and made me even lazier. Getting up from sitting wasn't so easy anymore. I avoided almost anything physical that might burn too many calories.
Boy, did I begin to spread,wider and wider. My hips measured 73" and my thighs were over 40" apiece. When I sat I came close to filling the entire love seat. Reinforcing some chairs, the bed, and lowering it as well was necessary. I was so fat I could barely climb into bed. Even though my escalating weight was limiting some movement, it was a bit of a turn on knowing that I'd gotten fat enough to cause that. Sitting on my butt for most of the day, my idle hands were feeding me bags of cookies, boxes of ice cream sandwiches, trays of pastries and brownies and other fattening treats.
My eating was at an all-time high. At times I even amazed myself at how much I was eating. It felt so good, so right, gorging, stuffing, pigging out to the max. Feeling the fat surrounding me, enveloping me in layers, rolls and bulges. How my belly grew outwards and down into an apron of fat, spilling between my legs forcing them apart. Massive thighs that shook like Jell-o, folds of fat creased and hung from them. Upper arms segmented with rolls and stretchmarks measuring 27" around.
I'd secretly dreamed of eating myself to circus fat lady proportions and glancing down at all my rolls of blubber I knew I was well on my way. Too lazy and too fat to get up for my snack refills, it was the ultimate pleasure to know that my guy would bring me anything I asked for. Talk about lazy! But oh what a feeling it was. It was something I'd always wanted to do. There was no number I set as a goal, but 500 pounds always seemed to be an intriguing number when I was stuffing my face and thinking how fat I was gonna be if I didn't stop eating so much. Just as my insecurity of how much I'd eaten on our first date had worn off, so were my thoughts of becoming too fat. I wanted to eat to the max everyday. I wanted to feel what it was like to be so fat I could barely walk.
(Continued in post 3 of this thread)
