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BBW On growing a belly on purpose

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New Member
Jun 24, 2014
На Набережной
by Peregrin

Sometimes you have to change your lifestyle and embrace the consequences

“You’re coughing more than usual, you know.” Victor remarked one morning.
“It’s a cold, I guess.”
“Might be, but…”
“I get a feeling, you smoke more lately.”
“When we met, you told me, that you didn’t mind. That you actually quite liked it.”
“You smoked half of what you smoke now.”
“And so? People who smoke sometimes smoke more. So now you don’t like me anymore.”
“Actually it’s a bit the contrary. When we met, I saw a wild chick to have fun with. Now I see a person I grow more and more attached to and so the priorities move.”
“From the wild chick to have fun with to one, that doesn’t make your apartment smell of cigarettes.”
“Make it from a short to a long time investment of my feelings. You’re growing on me.”
“That’s sweet. Almost a proposal in disguise,”

Victor grew pale.

“Just kidding. You know; I might - I almost certainly will get fat if I stop smoking. That’s why I started to begin with. Are you ready for a fat girlfriend?”
“Hm. Are you sure you will get fat?”
“Take it for granted.”
“I actually might be. It depends, you know. What kind of fat - and how fat?”
“To judge from my mother, I’d say fat all around - particularly big breast seem not to be in our genetic deck of cards, however. Regarding how fat - only the sky is the limit! Mom stopped smoking two years ago and she has put on around 40 kilos in the meantime”
“I’ll have to give it a thought. If we stay together, at some point, you might want to get fat anyway. Here I see at least a mutual benefit.”
“So you’re game?”
“I’ll give it a thought.”

I stuck out my tongue and that ended the discussion for the time being. During the weeks to come Victor sometimes jokingly brought my attention to the one or other plump or fat girl asking me whether becoming like her would suit me. When I saw one, that was particularly well proportioned I told him, that I might contemplate going for that one - as if it was a suit I could opt for. One day a girl missing a leg and on crutches entered the café we were sitting in and Victor dryly remarked, that this, of course, was also one of the options.

Now that hit close to home, as two years ago our practitioner had confronted my mother with the eventuality of this outcome, given the decreasing circulation in her left leg. That night she came home, chain-smoked a pack and never touched a cigarette again, started hiking - and yet she went through for or five clothing sizes during the last two years. But Victor didn’t know about this - these are stories nobody is keen to spread around. Our bantering about which sort of fat chick I ought to or would become continued and for some reason I suppose, that we both began to warm to the idea. It made it look like something, that was awaiting us in the future as a matter of course. Autumn came and with autumn came another round of colds and some more serious coughing which made it difficult to discern what was due to the virus and what to the pack of cigarettes I smoked every day.

One morning I had a particularly bad cough. Later I sat miserably at the breakfast table.
“You know; I think, I’m ready.”
“What for?”
“To grow a belly.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“No. At least not that I know. You know, how we joked about how fat I would become if I stopped smoking. I think, I’m ready for that.”
“Getting fat?”

He smiled, when he said that.

“Going through withdrawal, to begin with. But your smug grin makes me think, that you’re looking forward to that other half of the equation. No more fags but more of me. I just wonder, whether I ought to make you marry me before I go down this road.”
“Since you propose it yourself - I think I’m game.”
“Ready for having a fat girl-friend or having a fat wife?”
“I think, that at this point I’ll go all the way and opt for the fat wife.”
“Let’s wait, whether I don’t throw you out during withdrawal and decide it then. Dad had a hard time, when mom stopped but they have been together for thirty years.”
“oK with me.”

Now we had discussed marriage before - of course always on an abstract level. You never dare doing it in a too concrete manner before it has been formally decided, but we both agreed, that we would just go to the city-hall, submit our documents and have a party in the evening for our friends during which we would reveal the reason for the party.

“So let’s do it right now.” Victor suggested.
“No. I stop tomorrow. Let’s do it in six months. I want you to get an idea about what you get; what we both get. It’s my body, that’s gonna change after all.”
“Perhaps you won’t even…”
“Nope. Not the ghost of a chance. Take my word.”

I managed to take a week off and eased my withdrawal with a lot of Portuguese white wine. We had bought a five litre box and it was empty after three days. I had wine for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner and in between - a little glass, whenever the urge to smoke made itself felt. We bought another one which lasted four days. After this I was through physical withdrawal - and seven pounds heavier.

“My god; if I continue at this pace, I’ll be an alcoholic in no time. I hardly ate anything, but still…”
“You ate quite a bid, actually. Three full meals, not to count your raids to the fridge. You just were too drunk to notice.”


It had been during one of these raids to the fridge, that at the age of fourteen my mom handed me her pack of cigarettes and told me: “It’s that or it’s getting fat. You choose. As long as you keep it reasonable, I’m good with it.”

That was half a life ago.

I had finally made my choice.

It would be getting fat.


After 10 litres of wine we decided, that “replacement therapy” had to come to an end and alcohol consumption returned to a reasonable level. Actually, so did my snacking and by Christmas I had put on only another three kilos. Then Christmas came, Victor went to see his parents, I went to see mine and when we returned to our flat on the 30th of December, I had added another five kilos. My folks were enchanted, that I had stopped smoking and considering the fact, that I already had a steady boyfriend for some time, they saw this as the last decisive step towards trying for children.


When I returned, we decided to tie the knot after Easter - after all I now wanted to have a belly to show, as it had turned out, that most of my gain of 15 kilos had come to stabilise in my tummy area, making me almost look like five months pregnant. I kind of enjoyed this brand new feeling of carrying something in front of me and during the following months I added another eight kilos at the very modest rate of two a month which however spread more evenly.

So our wedding-party came and went. Our respective parents and siblings were a bit surprised to be invited to one of our parties, but understood quickly. Claire, a friend from school, who hadn’t seen me for some time later told me, that she first thought it would be gender-reveal, when I opened her the door.

Oh, well. You get the picture.


A year has passed.

Victor, who initially had been rather lukewarm about the prospect of me getting fat, takes more and more of a liking in my added padding. At night he gets an immense joy from discovering new squishy parts on his new wife and he frequently makes the sort of remarks, that make me understand, that he has fully grown into the role of a fat woman’s husband. I remember us going to a clothing store, where I used to buy my jeans, and while the -new- size I tried fitted perfectly, he warmly encouraged me to try another size up, since I soon would need them anyways - which put a huge smile on the face of the rather plump sales-girl - and probably on mine as well. He also encouraged me to have some decent clothing, that hid my additional weight as good as possible for the office - but revealing one for more private settings, emphasising especially my big and squishy belly like crop tops and tight t-shirts, that would also put my fatter arms and my angel’s wings to value.

From one-of-the-girls I have grown into our office’s official fat lady. And while this isn’t likely to be a coveted title in general, I’m totally good with it - as Victor is good with having a pretty fat wife.

Fat and pretty, as he points out.

With my stable growth-rate of two kilos per month and about five for Christmas, I’m going to hit 100 kilos this summer. I got the feeling, that I’m about to arrive at the weight I was always meant to be.

Staying thin was just a misunderstanding.

A huge misunderstanding.

To what Victor, who loves my newfound fatness agrees.


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