~BBW, Smoking, Occult, ~XWG - A journal of an experiment with enormous consequences.
Unconditional Surrender to Erotic Ruination
by Zosimos
At the age of 28, I finally worked up the courage to undertake the deliberate erotic ruination of my body. The idea of purposely getting fat and unhealthy has always exerted a very strong appeal to me. Concepts of enslavement to pleasure and the resultant ruination of the body have always formed the core of my erotic fantasy life, but it took years before I was willing to make them real. Of course, deliberately gaining weight was something Id been doing on and off for years, but I never really got serious about it, and soon went back to being skinny. Id also taken up smoking in my late teens, but had quit after a few years.
Somehow, as I got older, things began to change for me in subtle ways. On the one hand, the erotic pleasures I experienced from fantasies were no longer nearly as intense as they had been. Time was, I could lie in bed at night for hours phantasizing about being captured and forced to get fat. Now, these erotic phantasies grew weaker, and dissipated into random, distracted thoughts. But on the other hand, I began to realize that these inner urges were a deep and important part of me that I could not ignore or repress. Perhaps the reason I never got really fat was that this erotic, enslaved, decadent part of my personality was often overruled by my more outgoing and healthy tendencies. It took me years to come to really respect my erotic urges, and to realize that giving into them was necessary. Holding back because of societal restraints could only lead to the wastage of my life. I realized I needed to accomplish my phantasies in reality, and that the sooner I did this the better.
Circumstances at the time conspired to aid this unfolding of purposeful surrender to lust and ruination. A small inheritance, combined with my savings, permitted me to stop working and devote my life to my project. I moved out of my communal house, into an apartment on the top floor of an old building. This I furnished in a dark and luxuriant style. Part of my plan required that I not only get fat, but that I do so from a point of optimal health. This was necessary in order to maximize the effect of ruination. When I started off at the end of September I was by no means unhealthy, but still had quite a bit of skinny fat on my body. My life was fairly active, but I never really got any deliberate exercise. Ive always loved the concept of skinny fat, I might mention. Imagine someone looking fairly thin from a distance, but when you have a closer look, you can see that their whole body is all soft and flabby. Theres something decadent and secret I love about that.
I was nowhere close to being overweight, but I still had a fair bit of fat on my body. Starting in October, I began doing regular exercise, while eating only healthy foods. My goal was certainly not to get super strong, or even in top shape, but simply to get to the point where I had no real serious excess fat on my body. I wanted to get in good shape without being really athletic. A few months sufficed to accomplish this.
Before starting off my regime of enforced debauchery, I carefully documented all aspects of my body. I weighed myself, and measured all parts of my torso and limbs. I took over 100 photographs of myself. I went to the local high school track and measured my personal best times at the 100 and 400 meters. I recorded my heart rate at rest and at intervals after exercise. I also measured my lung capacity. I undertook all these measurements because I wanted to fully document the course of my bodys ruination, as it succumbed to the ravishing effects of total surrender to lust.
I prepared my apartment with all necessary supplies, including a DVD player and large television, which I planned to spend a lot of time laying around watching. A video rental shop and grocery store were located a few blocks away, but I planned to venture out as little as possible, visiting these only on occasional supply missions. After living in my apartment for a few months while getting in shape, I made the interesting discovery that by climbing the fire-escape outside one of my windows, I could get up onto the roof of the apartment building, which offered a large, flat space surrounded by a low parapet. This discovery turned out to be very important for the success of my experiment, by allowing me to get outside while staying out of sight. Ive always had a great need to spend time out of doors, which is perhaps why none of my earlier attempts at deliberate weight gaining had gotten very far. And remaining unseen somehow added to the enclosed, utterly self-absorbed fixation on voluptuous ruination that I aimed to distill.
By the end of November, I was ready to begin. I stocked my apartment with a vast quantity of all sorts of super-fattening foods, several cartons of smokes, and enough books and entertainment to keep me supplied for a long time. A little after sunset, in the last of the twilight, I ascended to the roof to make an invocation of all spirits of decadence, surrender, luxury and unbounded pleasure. The full moon rose beyond the bare trees. Clearing my mind, I pledged to all attendant spirits of earth and sky to utterly and unswervingly surrender myself to lust and ruination. Standing tall and beholding the moon, I felt the new strong muscles in my body, the result of two months of training. I deeply inhaled the cool, late-autumn air into my powerful, undamaged lungs. A slow tingle of subtle electricity passed through my tensed body. I cupped my hands over my soft breasts, then let them slide over my lean and muscular form. A late flock of dark birds flew past the rising moon away into the North, and as one of them emitted a solitary squawk, I knew the Powers recognized my mission.
I opened the pack of cigarettes that I had brought up with me, and took one out. Although I hadnt smoked for years, I knew my addiction was latent, waiting to re-entwine its dark, dusky tentacles into my life, and the core of my body. I remembered the first cigarette I had smoked as a teenager. Unlike so many other people, I had loved smoking from that first drag. Now I lit up and inhaled as deeply as possible. As I blew the smoke out into the night air, I felt a deep, trembling shudder of mind-dimming lust ripple up through my body. Dark, voluptuous ruination and utter surrender to lust rose shimmering before me through the clouds of my smoke, like black idols smiling slyly in the fumes of sacrifice.
Later I descended to my apartment and indulged in a massive binge of ultra-fattening foods. It soon became clear that I would have to work on expanding my capacity, as months of dieting had made binging difficult. Before long, I fell headlong into a soft and contorted coil of dreams.
Soon my life came to assume a pattern. I would wake up, smoke, shower, do about a half hour of gentle yoga, then fix and consume a massive breakfast, which generally left me so stuffed and bloated that I would lay back down immobile, and often fall asleep briefly again. During the rest of the day, I would eat as much as possible, while lying in bed and watching movies, or looking at the internet. For dinner I would generally eat an enormous plate of pasta, with lots of olive oil and butter melted in. Every night before going to bed, I would make sure that I was stuffed utterly to capacity. At least once a day, I would ascend to the roof and observe the sky and clouds. Every few days I would leave my apartment and walk around neighborhood a bit while gathering supplies. Once a week I would permit myself to take the bus into downtown, where I would generally watch a movie in a theater, buy a few books and magazines, and of course stuff myself silly at a restaurant. I also was careful to smoke a cigarette each hour on the hour, taking care to inhale deeply, and to completely fill my lungs with every drag. I liked to smoke out on my fire-escape, which, although it was up on the third story, was almost completely obscured by a heavy growth of evergreen laurel foliage.
The effects of this regime were not long in making themselves abundantly apparent. Every morning I would stand before one of my full-length mirrors and weigh myself. My abs, which had once been clearly discernable, softened, lost definition, and vanished. The muscles on my arms disappeared under a layer of fat. My breasts grew noticeably larger, and my hips, thighs and ass all first softened up, then began to pillow out with new fat. After several weeks, I noticed that sitting in a chair felt distinctly different, far more cushy and soft. After a month, I had gained a little more than 25 pounds, and although I still didnt look fat, my whole face and body had softened up quite a lot. All the former angles had been replaced by soft curves. My hipbone was buried under a layer of fat, and I could grab a little roll on my belly. My addiction to nicotine had re-asserted herself rapidly and completely, so that I scarcely needed to consult my clock to note the hours. As yet, I didnt notice any real difference in my breathing. Looking at myself in the mirror, or running my hands along my body, I felt a distinct species of exotic pleasure in knowing that I had purposely made myself like this, softer and heavier.
During the latter part of the second month, I started to notice a few more significant effects. I first began to find that a bit of effort was required in getting up from lying down. Previously, getting up from bed was rather like moving my arm or finger- I just did it without noticeable effort. Now I had to position myself a bit, and exert some effort. I started to look distinctly chubby, with noticeable love handles, and the beginnings of a little shelf butt. My shoulders and upper arms had rounded out, and I found that I could pinch some new fat there. My thighs started to rub together when I walked, which admittedly was not often. My belly began to bulge out over my pants, and I could feel all the fat on my torso jiggle when I took a firm step. Wearing a T-shirt, I at first started to look a lot thicker and more solid, then at some point that thickness verged over into looking actually fat and overweight.
By the end of the third month, I had gained 70 pounds, and was unmistakably fat. It was time to do a full measuring and comparison session. When I started, gaining, I had measured not only all parts of my body, but also my lung capacity and best times at running various distances at the nearby high school track. Early on a Sunday morning, I found my stopwatch and pulled out my spandex athletic gear to suit up for a re-trial. I was able to pull on the shorts, and was delighted to find that they created a wonderfully accentuated bulge of flab, and compressed my newly-chunky thighs, so that some soft fat puffed out where they ended just above my knees. My sports bra also still fit, although it cut into the fat around my back and armpits. Putting on the spandex top was definitely a struggle, but I did eventually cram myself into it, and found that the constricted, enveloping feeling it gave me was rather pleasant. It tended to roll up, however, exposing my ample flab, so I pulled a long T-shirt over it, grabbed my cigarettes, and headed out of my house for the track.
Leaving my house after a few days enclosed there always gave me an unusual feeling. It felt good to be looking at new outdoor things, but I always felt that if I had to talk to someone, I would commit some kind of undefined blunder revealing my inner alienation and strangeness. It was a sunny day in early spring, and the last few raindrops of a brief shower hit me as I reached the high school and opened the gate to the track. I did a few stretches and breathing exercises, then lit up my second cigarette of the day, taking care to deeply inhale each puff into my lungs. After smoking almost a pack a day for three months, I had not really noticed any changes in my breathing, but that was given the fact that I spent almost all day lying in bed. Walking up the stairs to my 3rd floor apartment had indeed gotten to be a bit more of a chore, but certainly not enough to make me short of breath. I smoked the cigarette rapidly down to the filter, taking big, thick drags deep into my lungs, and holding them in, before stubbing out the butt on the starting line of the track.
I surveyed the scene. Nobody else was around. I set my stopwatch and crouched down in a runners start, feeling the unfamiliar, heavy bulge of my belly-flab flopping over my shorts and pressing against my spandexed thigh. The red second hand crept to the top of the watch, and with a sudden burst of energy I leapt off and sprinted towards the finish line 100 meters away. For the first part of the distance I felt fine, noticing the unusual and delightful feeling of my new fat shaking all over my body. But at about the halfway point, a wave of crushing, almost panicked exhaustion broke over me, and it was only the sight of the finish line ahead that impelled me to continue. My lungs felt restricted, like they had lost about half of their capacity, and my whole body was giving out some kind of emergency STOP signal. I involuntarily slowed to a jog, and crossed the finish line breathing heavily, feeling my fat shake with the final exhausted paces. It had taken me almost twice as long to run 100 meters as it had three months ago. As I stood leaning against the chain link fence, trying to catch my breath, I sensed the feelings of exhaustion merging into and being replaced by rising erotic arousal. The unexpected discovery of my severely diminished lung capacity, and the unfamiliar feelings of my newly-fat body struggling and jiggling while constrained by my too-small spandex gear, sent increasing waves of erotic pleasure through my panting body. A sudden, involuntary spasm leapt through my glistening, enervated limbs, and my hand moved between my legs.
I regained control of myself, and paced around under the nearby oak trees, recovering. The prospect of the upcoming 400-meter run was daunting and delicious at once. After several minutes, I felt ready to approach the starting line again. I lit another cigarette and sucked on it hard. Somehow the brief run had opened up my lungs, and the nicotine rush hit me hard, making my head spin with delicious exhaustion. I leaned against the fence again, and smoked the cigarette down to the filter. I coughed deeply and knelt down again on the starting line, once more feeling my flab bulging unfamiliarly over my thigh. I started off at a more measured pace this time, but still hit a wall of emergency, panicked exhaustion at about the same spot. It felt like my lungs had shrunk and tightened. I slowed to a jog and struggling for air, made my way around the track. It was amazing to me how much I had gotten out of shape in only three months. Although my whole body was screaming for me to stop, I forced myself onwards, and across the finish line at last. I collapsed against the fence, sucking air desperately, feeling my weak, plump body quivering with exhaustion. It had taken me more than twice as long to run 400 meters as it had three months ago. When I had recovered, I walked slowly home, went up to my apartment, peeled off my wet gear and sunk into a warm bath, where I mentally re-ran the events of the day, much to my pleasure.
During the course of the next few months, I continued binging every day while lounging about in my apartment. I outgrew most of my clothes, but this mattered little, because I seldom went out. I watched hundreds of movies, and as the summer gathered strength, it became quite warm in my little 3rd floor den of enforced debauchery, and I mostly went topless. I bought a few new outfits to wear on my weekly expeditions downtown, choosing clothes that would accommodate significant future increases in my bulk. On my bus rides downtown, I delighted to notice how my new belly had become large enough to hang over and rest on my thighs. I sat in the back, feeling all my superabundant flab jiggle with each bounce. I noticed how walking around downtown had begun to require a bit of noticeable effort. Previously, I had been an almost indefatigable walker, but now I began to limit myself to a smaller area. I mostly ate at this one Thai restaurant I loved. The servers were always happy to see me, and I think they were not too subtly delighted to see how I was growing. I could just imagine them talking about it back in the kitchen.
After almost five months, I had gained 100 pounds. I loved to lay in my bed for hours, lost in fleeting reveries, running my hands over my new bulging, soft curves, or else simply feeling the delightfully unfamiliar way that my flab pooled onto the bed around me. Walking up the stairs to my apartment finally became noticeably more difficult. One of the chairs in my apartment developed some threatening squeaks and required repair. The summer was a particularly hot one, and the sultry atmosphere assisted in generating the lazy, slothful attitude my project required. The long, warm days and short, hot nights blurred into an endless sequence of ritualized debauchery.
