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The Dance -- Part 3 of my Autobiography (revised)

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Dec 31, 2005
The Dance -- Part 3 of my Autobiography (revised)
I am a bit of a perfectionist, and I couldn't see how to edit my earlier submission. My friend Jacquie asked if she can submit her side of the story, and revising what I wrote will make our two tales link up better.
While we were dancing at our wedding I thought back to the beginning of our relationship -- before the food marathons and the mind-blowing sex; before we had grown so fat …

Our sixth date was when things really started to heat up. We had both waited so long: it had been nearly a year since we had seen each other...

On the afternoon I first met Jacqui I was shopping for a surprise birthday party for my sister. I had a trolleyful of party food, on top of which half a dozen cheesecakes perched precariously. I was wandering around in that abstracted mood I get into whenever I’m shopping for food. I didn’t notice her coming the other way. Our trolleys collided, and my cheesecakes fell on the floor.

“Whoops!” she smiled; “my fault.”, and then, looking directly at me with her bright green eyes she teased “You don’t look like you could eat all those yourself. Let me help you.” I flushed pink. Had she seen into my soul? I stammered something incoherent about the party, and then flushed pinker as I realised that she had simply offered to pick the cheesecakes up for me. She held my gaze as she picked them up, and in the awkward moment that she finished it was clear that we were both looking for a way to prolong the encounter. “How about …” we stammered together. She finished the invitation: “How about sharing some coffee and strudel?” and I agreed. We spent the afternoon together, talking about all sorts of thing: our professions, our families, but mostly … our tastes in food. Two strudels later we had connected, if not clicked: she offered to send me her favourite cheesecake recipe, and we exchanged email addresses. Life goes on, though, and we both had to be elsewhere, so we went our separate ways.

For the next week I was on tenterhooks: replaying her green-eyed teasing in my mind and impatient for her recipe to arrive —- a good pretext to see her again. It arrived together with an invitation to dinner. Perhaps she really had seen into my soul.

On that first date it was clear that our “feedar” had been working perfectly, although her taut boyish body would be a new departure for me. I had usually been drawn to women who were very much bigger than me -- enjoying their softness and encouraging their appetites; fascinated by their uninhibited relationship with food, and secretly longing to emulate it.

What Jacqui lacked in size she made up for in her determination to encourage me to eat. She was always looking at me like she wanted to eat me; and just one of those long, lip-licking looks, made me want to eat everything she put in front of me.

And she put food in front of me relentlessly — challenging my capacity as well as my endurance. Our dinner dates would last from early evening until nightfall, and one dish would follow another on the pretext that she was teaching me how to appreciate good food. I soon gave up my half-hearted attempts to get her to eat as much as me, and quietly surrendered into my new role.

I had expected to gain some weight, but my body started to expand much faster than I thought it would. This didn't bother me. I had been plump as a teenager; and since puberty I had had vivid dreams of becoming huge. Perhaps this was a reaction to my mother's continued attempts to control what I ate, and her endless warnings that I would get as fat as my sister if I wasn’t “careful.”

On our third date I told Jacqui of these dreams. She smiled as if she already knew what I was talking about … then put the third dessert of the evening in front of me! We made love for the first time that night. She was a gentle and considerate lover, yet as we caressed each other I could not stop myself imagining how much more sensual our lovemaking would be if she were a bit fatter…

Being around her was liberating -- I told myself she was set on helping me grow into my fantasy. Then on our fifth date she told me that she had to go away for a while, and that she couldn't explain why. I thought my heart would break, until she said: "I have fallen for you completely, and I want you to be here for me when I get back. Can you do that? Will you wait for me? Next time we make love I want us both to be ready." What on earth did she mean by us both being ready? Wasn’t I ready enough for her? Wasn’t I fat enough? ”But who is going to take me out to dinner?" I teased: "I could so easily fade away if you're not around."

"You'll find a way.", she said, grinning and looking pointedly at my belly. “You don't seem to find eating difficult at all."

And with that she was gone. Apart from a single postcard from Mauritania saying "Back in May. Don’t fade away! I am aching to see you. You will get a nice surprise.” I didn't hear from her again.


Time would eventually tell what she had meant by wanting us both to be ready.

I had been eating more and more as our May reunion approached. Part of me was scared that I wouldn’t be fat enough for her, so I was eating everything in sight. Two breakfasts, two lunches and two dinners every day. Sometimes more. My belly would bulge as I walked to pick up my last dinner and dessert —- even though I was already full from the day's gorging. Although the constant overeating would sometimes make me sore or breathless, I was proud of the way I was growing, and had come to love the way my body moved as I walked. I liked the way people stared at me in the park in the evenings, and how embarrassed they would look when I smiled back at them, patting my drum-tight tummy.

I surpassed my sister’s size by September, and by the time Jacqui and I finally saw each other again, I was huge. My appetite was voracious, and I no longer needed the slightest encouragement to eat. I wasn’t shy about eating in public or about showing my size off to the world.

To see how Jacqui would react to the “new” me I had carefully chosen a red knitted jersey mini-dress that was already skin tight, although it was only a month old. It barely contained me; but it would stretch, I hoped, as I ate.

We met outside her local cinema. Our favourite Italian restaurant couldn't seat us before 8pm, so we had planned to see an old horror movie beforehand. She tilted my head and kissed me softly on my cheek. I rested my arms on her shoulders as she slid her hands down my sides towards my hips, squeezing me to feel how much I had grown. How I wished she’d squeeze harder!

She had on a long raincoat with a high collar, and I asked her why she was wearing it in May. She smiled enigmatically, tucked a stray strand of my hair back behind my ear then looked me up and down with eyes like saucers. I felt overwhelmed by emotion, and was drawn to her more than ever. I wanted to show her just how fat I had made myself for her. I wanted to rub myself against her so she could feel how soft I had become. And I secretly wanted her to grab me and prod at my fat in public: to play the humiliation “game” that turned me on so much. In that moment I knew I would do anything she asked.

"You like?" I said; then, as she nodded wordlessly, "This is what six meals a day for a year can do."

"I told you you wouldn't fade away!" she chuckled.


Visions of how that date might culminate flashed through my mind. Perhaps she would be really confident… I pictured her pushing me onto her bed, tearing my dress off, then making love to me like she used to. But what if she’s forgotten how intense we felt before she went away. What if she's gotten shy? What if she needs *me* to make the first move? I imagined us embracing in her room. We'd hold each other for a long time before I decided to take control myself. I would kiss her gently and hug her tight and she’d respond likewise. I would whisper “I want you on my skin. I want you in my hair, I want you all over me.”, then “Feel my body. Tell me how much you want me to grow. Tell me I have no choice. Tell me I’m your fat girl and that I have to eat everything you say.” and finally “Make me enormous.” I would watch as her face went from amazement to acceptance to happiness. She would grab me and bury her face in my flesh, and I would squeal with excitement and delight.


But that hadn’t happened yet. Jacqui took my hand and led me into the cinema. What I was most excited about was the moments I anticipated having an excuse to scream and grab her. I wondered how far I could push it and still seem intelligent and strong… I wondered if she’d like that.

“Yeah, the big bucket!” I chirped as we were picking out popcorn.

“If you can handle it” she replied with a smile.

“You ain’t seen nothin yet” I replied. “Get me two!”

As I struggled to fit into the seat I thought again of the future and hoped that one day it would be far too small to fit me. I smiled because finally I knew I was dating someone who would not only understand this thought but enjoy it.

After the movie we went straight to the Italian place. I was already full of breakfasts, lunches and popcorn but I was determined to show Jacqui how much I could eat.

As we were seated I realised that because I had been so lost in my own reverie, I hadn't noticed that she was no longer the taut-bodied and boyish woman of all those months ago. When she took off the all-concealing raincoat her loose top made it hard to see exactly how big she had become, but I could see that her breasts had grown, and that she had developed quite a belly and more than the shade of a double chin.

She had ordered for us both. Three Osso Bucco, and several side-dishes. She already knew of my two-dinner habit, so I had assumed that most of the food was going to be for me. When the food came I looked up at her in anticipation as she commanded “Eat.” And I began eating immediately, first sucking all the marrow from an Osso Bucco, and then picking up morsel after morsel of the veal with my fingers. Heavenly! Messy! Every so often I would lick my fingers -- my favourite tease. I watched intently as Jacqui tried to act naturally, but I could see that my finger-sucking was getting to her. She was matching me mouthful for mouthful, and soon began to whimper and to squeeze and pat her tummy. It was a gesture I knew well. Could it be a signal?

As my own belly started to swell I was excited at the thought that others in the restaurant would see how turned on we both were. I began to feel constricted by my dress. Heavens! I even heard the elastic creak as it
reached its limit. The dress wasn't going to stretch to fit me after all!

Without any warning, the elastic snapped and the dress rode up to just below my bosom. Jacqui noticed what was going on on my side of the table, and grinned. Nobody else had seen yet, and I could tell that it was all she could do not to laugh and draw attention to me; but in truth I would have enjoyed the attention.

My engorged belly dropped onto my lap, and I felt a surge of pleasure as its full weight was borne by my thighs. I sighed and took a big gulp of my soda, holding her eyes with mine. Jacqui looked back at me and took a big gulp of hers. This tit-for-tat game was new, and I had to explore it, so I responded by refilling my glass and draining it in one chug. Jacqui did the same: wincing a little as her waistband cut into her belly, then giggling as the button on her trousers popped off.

She was looking at me with a beam on her face. I appreciated her admiration for the fatty she had found lurking within me: I’d never known someone who enjoyed me quite as much as she did, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. Still, here I was. I had dived head-first into obesity for this gal that I had not really spent much time with. And here she was, belly hanging out of her trousers, and eating up a storm. Could she be doing the same?


“You’re trembling” she said as she grabbed me from behind and pushed her swollen tummy comfortably against the fat rolls on my back. We had finished our dinners and gone back to her place for an extra dessert, but my stomach was so bloated and sensitive by then that her every touch excited me. I really needed to sit down —- my back was hurting. But her hugs and her gentle stroking of the sides of my distended belly felt really good. I wanted her to go further -- much further!

“That's because I’m excited” I said. And as she pulled me in tighter, trying to see how much of me she could get her arms around, I snuggled into her, wriggling my bottom a little as I did. She had been good at getting me horny, and I was so aroused by this time that I was moaning with desire. My belly was big enough to overflow her hands and she was caressing every inch of it. Then suddenly, lifting it as high as she could, she let it drop. As I felt its full weight bounce back I moaned even louder. I wanted nothing more than to be her huge piggy: helpless as she made love to me. "For God's sake take me", I whispered, "before I explode."

Wordlessly she grabbed me by my wrists, and looked quizzically towards the bedroom. I nodded my agreement and she led me there. As we got to the room I began to realize that there might be more in store than lovemaking. Attached to the wall above her bed was a keg connected by two wide tubes to a pair of mouthpieces. It was full of something that smelled like melted vanilla ice cream. On the floor beside the bed were a dozen empty containers. "That's our next dessert.", Jacqui said, nodding at the keg: "And we're going to have to polish it off before we can even think about anything else!”


“We?” I said, gesturing at my swollen body. “Just how much more do you think I can fit? And do you really think you will be able to finish what I leave?”

“We’re about to find out, love.” she said, shrugging off her clothes. Now it was my turn to make saucer eyes. Her blouse had hidden just how big her belly had grown in the past year and how fat her breasts were now. She was as large as I had been when she went away! Her turn to show off: “You like?” she said, echoing my earlier question as she gestured towards her midsection. In that moment I understood what she had meant by “both”.

“Not bad!”, I chuckled: “But you’re going to have to do a whole lot better if you want to catch me up.” “We’ll soon see who has to do the catching up!”, she said quietly, and began to undress me.


The truth is that we didn’t finish the entire dessert before she made love to me. After we had drunk about three litres each my stomach had been so painfully distended that I had begged her for mercy. “Please Jacqui! Before I burst!!” The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, though I can remember that at one point she astonished me by practically inhaling the rest of the dessert from the keg…

As we lay together in the morning, hugging in our post-orgasmic haze, bloated belly to bloated belly, I asked her why she had gone away. “That’s another story”, she said. And so it is.

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