~BHM, ~MWG - A fattening approach to going to the gym.
I’m not a big fan of fast food burger places in general, but it happened that one of them was on my route to my new home--the chain with the actually kind of yummy and pretty cheap ice cream sundaes.
One warm spring day, not long after I’d bought the house, I got off the bus at the usual corner, stomach just rumbling in anticipation of getting filled soon. The only problem was that I still had to cook dinner and that would take a while. I decided to grab a sundae to keep myself going. Of course, I mused while in line, that wouldn’t stop me from having dessert again after dinner . I’d accepted that what pleased me wasn’t going to please anyone else, so I’d moved on with my life, pleasing myself. It so happened that pleasing myself had a lot to do with substantial amounts of food and growing my already noticeable belly.
I received my sundae, making sure to push out my gut so that anyone paying attention would realize that the sundae was just going to add to that, and I wandered off to find a table to sit at. I noticed at the back of the seating area someone had left the newspaper out on one of the tables, so I went and sat there. Glancing out the window at the back of the restaurant I found myself looking across a fifty-foot courtyard at the fitness club in the next tower of this complex. I hadn’t realized it was there before; it didn’t face the street, and I wasn’t exactly looking for such a place. It seemed a bit ironic that one tower would have fast food on the main floor, and the other a fitness club.
I ended up ignoring the paper, and instead watched people on the row of machines facing the windows--stair-masters and treadmills--puffing away. There was a definite perverse pleasure in sitting there, actively getting fatter, while they worked so hard at the opposite. When I was done I went home and cooked up a substantial supper, then still jazzed from my calorific voyeurism I demolished half a cheese cake before finally feeling fully sated.
I suppose it was inevitable that I’d go back. Soon, every week night I’d look to see if the back couple of tables, the ones with the view I wanted, were free. If they were I’d go in and have a sundae.
Well, at first it was a sundae, but soon I was buying a hamburger combo meal and a sundae, so I could sit there eating junk and watching them for even longer. I’d go home eventually, hungrier than ever despite my thousand calorie snack. I figured some people would see me gawking at the exercisers, and figure I was some pathetic fat man, lusting after the hard bodies he’d never have. That really wasn’t the case, but I didn’t really care about their misconceptions. Anyway, it was true that I was a fat man, getting fatter as the weeks went on; the fast food and fat lust super-charging what had been a slow and steady gain up until then.
In July I realized that I recognized the regulars at the exercise machines, and I began to have my favorites. The petite young woman who ran so smoothly on the tread mill, or the heavier, somewhat bottom-heavy, woman near my own forty years who seemed committed to twenty minutes each day on the stair master, even though it was clearly a struggle. The elderly, wiry, guy with the military style crew cut, however, I didn’t care for so much at all, he looked like a sour old bastard.
To better watch, and time their work outs, I had to start eating even more. Two full combo meals and a sundae was enough to keep me going for half an hour if I paced myself. That was enough to dull my appetite for supper somewhat, but I didn’t let myself eat much less once I got home. In a perverse way, I felt like I had to push myself as strictly as the exercisers did, even if to opposite effect. The rate of growth of my belly was consequently impressive, if a little expensive as it necessitated an even larger size of clothes from the big and tall store.
I went on vacation for a couple of weeks at the end of July and into the beginning of August--I treated myself to a cruise up the Alaskan coast. The scenery was good, but I really didn’t find cruising too exciting otherwise. I guess I’m just not social enough to enjoy being organized into activities with complete strangers. However, the food was plentiful, so I tried to get my money’s worth by simply eating as much as I could. I spent a lot of those two weeks so gorged that I could do little but lie back and rest while I digested in preparation for the next meal. By the time I waddled off the ship after two weeks, even my new clothes were feeling a little snug.
My first day back at work was torture. I was used to eating more heavily and more frequently than I could manage at the office. By the time I was heading home I was ravenous. I marched into the burger place as swiftly as my jiggling belly would permit then ordered two combos with their biggest, most loaded, burger--then super-sized those for extra fries and larger drinks.
I noticed when I sat at my usual table that my belly was beginning to push against it, which just encouraged me in eating even faster. I was most of the way through my massive load of greasy food before I even started paying much attention to those at the fitness club. The woman near my age had a new lycra top that revealed that her ‘top’ wasn’t so far behind her ‘bottom’ in proportion, but it didn’t seem to be making the stair master any easier for her.
The next day I made sure I was better provisioned with snacks at work, but I again ordered the super-sized, super-burger combos. By the time I finished off a slab of lasagna, a big bowl of spinach salad, a loaf of garlic bread, and a big bowl of ice cream at home that night my belly was sticking out so far I couldn’t believe it. I stood in front of the mirror and admired how soft and jiggly it was, then sat down and marveled how much of my lap it was covering. I realized that there was no denying it, it wasn’t simply that I enjoyed eating and didn’t mind being fat, I totally loved being fat, and the fatter I was getting, the more I loved it.
The next couple of weeks were an ever escalating eating experience. Each day I’d try to out consume the day before. I was constantly excited by the massiveness of my belly. By late august it was getting physically difficult to slide into my table at the burger place, and once I had inserted myself a roll of flab bulged out onto the table. The petite young runner didn’t seem to be using the club at the same time anymore, but I was adequately entertained by my age-mate, who I fancied was fitting less well into her lycra. It was hard to tell at that distance, but I thought I was seeing signs of a double chin. Then again, I was so eager to see signs of fat that I figured I was probably just projecting.
On the Labor Day weekend I went shopping for yet a larger size of clothes. Looking in the three way mirror at the store I couldn’t believe how big I’d gotten all around. I was so wide, and so deep. My belly was of course massive, but my backside had presence that surprised me, and even a dress shirt couldn’t cover the fact that I had substantial breasts. My arms, legs, and neck had all puffed up, encasing my whole body in thick pads of fat. By now you won’t be surprised to know that I left the store and went straight to an all you can eat buffet, and gorged myself until I could barely waddle any more.
Back at work on the Tuesday following the long weekend I reveled in the looser waistband. I ate well all day, and dreamed of how big an after-work snack I would manage; dare I try three combos? When I got there I decided I did, but made them the regular hamburger combos. The pile of food barely fit onto one tray, and I was happy to get it to my table without dumping any. I squeezed into my seat, unwrapped the first burger and ate in a few bites. It was only then that I looked across to the fitness club, and saw that it was empty. I looked more carefully, and saw the “for lease” sign on the door.
I was downcast. As I mechanically started gobbling up the fries, I glanced around the restaurant in a daze. There was a sweetly plump twenty-something gal that normally I would have enjoyed gazing at. Another woman somewhat older checked out tables, and as she left I could see she filled out her skirt nicely, but it failed to improve my mood. I had a hard time deciding why I was so blue about it. It wasn’t as if I knew any of the people, or had used the place myself. In a sense it was a loss of entertainment, but it was more than that. I’d finished one ginger ale and was working on my second burger when I realized that I’d lost my inspiration. Perverse though it was, I’d enjoyed pushing my appetite as steadily as they’d pushed their muscles.
I was still musing over this, when the lady with the well filled skirt came back. I noticed that the jacket of her suit couldn’t fully camouflage fairly generous curves up top. To my surprise she came up and asked if she could sit with me. I was surprised, but agreed.
I’d gotten as far as hoping that she was going to give me a lecture on nutrition, given the amount of junk food on my tray, and thinking that there was something vaguely familiar about her, when she said “After watching each other for months, I figured I should at least come and say hello.”
It took me a couple of seconds to understand. Then my cheeks flamed red as I realized why she seemed familiar: she was the bottom-heavy woman from the stair master.
“Oh,” I said inanely, then “I hadn’t realized you could see me as well as I could see you.”
“You mean you weren’t deliberately taunting us?” she asked.
“No! Ummm, I was enjoying the contrast between your dedication to fitness, and my, uh, well, I guess dedication to fatness, you could say.”
She laughed a bit, then said, “And here I thought you were doing it deliberately, taunting me with your total disregard for society’s demand to be thin.” She paused, then added “Not to mention with that growing belly. Anyway, even if it wasn’t deliberate, it worked. Despite working out five days a week, I’ve gained ten pounds this summer, and I’ve said the hell with it, I’m not going to spend the money for a new membership. So I get fat, it isn’t like all my time at the gym had helped me get any dates anyways.”
Her words could have sounded bitter, but her tone of voice said more that she was amused by her own decisions. I found that I wanted to talk to this lady. “That was sort of the conclusion I came to after my divorce.” I admitted. “At first it was just that I didn’t want to have to watch what I was eating or if my waist was increasing. But after a while I realized that I like being fat. I couldn’t really tell you why, I’m sure there are all sorts of reasons why I shouldn’t be fat, but,” I patted my belly for emphasis “this makes me content, so I’m going with it.”
She stared at me for a moment, then said “I never introduced myself properly. My name is Mary. By any chance would you like to go out to dinner and talk?” Then she glanced at the empty food wrappers on my tray, and said “Oh, uh ....?”
I cut in quickly. “I could manage dinner. Umm, after all this, I actually do normally go home and have a healthy dinner.”
Her eyes widened. “Really! Well, in that case I would definitely like to take you out to dinner. Did you want to finish what you have here first?”
“I might as well.” I replied, “It will keep me from being too hungry before we get served at the restaurant.”
Mary picked up her drink and said “No problem, I’m willing to be patient for this.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by “this” but I had an inkling I’d enjoy finding out.
I was right, I did.
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Voyeurcize
by Tad
by Tad
I’m not a big fan of fast food burger places in general, but it happened that one of them was on my route to my new home--the chain with the actually kind of yummy and pretty cheap ice cream sundaes.
One warm spring day, not long after I’d bought the house, I got off the bus at the usual corner, stomach just rumbling in anticipation of getting filled soon. The only problem was that I still had to cook dinner and that would take a while. I decided to grab a sundae to keep myself going. Of course, I mused while in line, that wouldn’t stop me from having dessert again after dinner . I’d accepted that what pleased me wasn’t going to please anyone else, so I’d moved on with my life, pleasing myself. It so happened that pleasing myself had a lot to do with substantial amounts of food and growing my already noticeable belly.
I received my sundae, making sure to push out my gut so that anyone paying attention would realize that the sundae was just going to add to that, and I wandered off to find a table to sit at. I noticed at the back of the seating area someone had left the newspaper out on one of the tables, so I went and sat there. Glancing out the window at the back of the restaurant I found myself looking across a fifty-foot courtyard at the fitness club in the next tower of this complex. I hadn’t realized it was there before; it didn’t face the street, and I wasn’t exactly looking for such a place. It seemed a bit ironic that one tower would have fast food on the main floor, and the other a fitness club.
I ended up ignoring the paper, and instead watched people on the row of machines facing the windows--stair-masters and treadmills--puffing away. There was a definite perverse pleasure in sitting there, actively getting fatter, while they worked so hard at the opposite. When I was done I went home and cooked up a substantial supper, then still jazzed from my calorific voyeurism I demolished half a cheese cake before finally feeling fully sated.
I suppose it was inevitable that I’d go back. Soon, every week night I’d look to see if the back couple of tables, the ones with the view I wanted, were free. If they were I’d go in and have a sundae.
Well, at first it was a sundae, but soon I was buying a hamburger combo meal and a sundae, so I could sit there eating junk and watching them for even longer. I’d go home eventually, hungrier than ever despite my thousand calorie snack. I figured some people would see me gawking at the exercisers, and figure I was some pathetic fat man, lusting after the hard bodies he’d never have. That really wasn’t the case, but I didn’t really care about their misconceptions. Anyway, it was true that I was a fat man, getting fatter as the weeks went on; the fast food and fat lust super-charging what had been a slow and steady gain up until then.
In July I realized that I recognized the regulars at the exercise machines, and I began to have my favorites. The petite young woman who ran so smoothly on the tread mill, or the heavier, somewhat bottom-heavy, woman near my own forty years who seemed committed to twenty minutes each day on the stair master, even though it was clearly a struggle. The elderly, wiry, guy with the military style crew cut, however, I didn’t care for so much at all, he looked like a sour old bastard.
To better watch, and time their work outs, I had to start eating even more. Two full combo meals and a sundae was enough to keep me going for half an hour if I paced myself. That was enough to dull my appetite for supper somewhat, but I didn’t let myself eat much less once I got home. In a perverse way, I felt like I had to push myself as strictly as the exercisers did, even if to opposite effect. The rate of growth of my belly was consequently impressive, if a little expensive as it necessitated an even larger size of clothes from the big and tall store.
I went on vacation for a couple of weeks at the end of July and into the beginning of August--I treated myself to a cruise up the Alaskan coast. The scenery was good, but I really didn’t find cruising too exciting otherwise. I guess I’m just not social enough to enjoy being organized into activities with complete strangers. However, the food was plentiful, so I tried to get my money’s worth by simply eating as much as I could. I spent a lot of those two weeks so gorged that I could do little but lie back and rest while I digested in preparation for the next meal. By the time I waddled off the ship after two weeks, even my new clothes were feeling a little snug.
My first day back at work was torture. I was used to eating more heavily and more frequently than I could manage at the office. By the time I was heading home I was ravenous. I marched into the burger place as swiftly as my jiggling belly would permit then ordered two combos with their biggest, most loaded, burger--then super-sized those for extra fries and larger drinks.
I noticed when I sat at my usual table that my belly was beginning to push against it, which just encouraged me in eating even faster. I was most of the way through my massive load of greasy food before I even started paying much attention to those at the fitness club. The woman near my age had a new lycra top that revealed that her ‘top’ wasn’t so far behind her ‘bottom’ in proportion, but it didn’t seem to be making the stair master any easier for her.
The next day I made sure I was better provisioned with snacks at work, but I again ordered the super-sized, super-burger combos. By the time I finished off a slab of lasagna, a big bowl of spinach salad, a loaf of garlic bread, and a big bowl of ice cream at home that night my belly was sticking out so far I couldn’t believe it. I stood in front of the mirror and admired how soft and jiggly it was, then sat down and marveled how much of my lap it was covering. I realized that there was no denying it, it wasn’t simply that I enjoyed eating and didn’t mind being fat, I totally loved being fat, and the fatter I was getting, the more I loved it.
The next couple of weeks were an ever escalating eating experience. Each day I’d try to out consume the day before. I was constantly excited by the massiveness of my belly. By late august it was getting physically difficult to slide into my table at the burger place, and once I had inserted myself a roll of flab bulged out onto the table. The petite young runner didn’t seem to be using the club at the same time anymore, but I was adequately entertained by my age-mate, who I fancied was fitting less well into her lycra. It was hard to tell at that distance, but I thought I was seeing signs of a double chin. Then again, I was so eager to see signs of fat that I figured I was probably just projecting.
On the Labor Day weekend I went shopping for yet a larger size of clothes. Looking in the three way mirror at the store I couldn’t believe how big I’d gotten all around. I was so wide, and so deep. My belly was of course massive, but my backside had presence that surprised me, and even a dress shirt couldn’t cover the fact that I had substantial breasts. My arms, legs, and neck had all puffed up, encasing my whole body in thick pads of fat. By now you won’t be surprised to know that I left the store and went straight to an all you can eat buffet, and gorged myself until I could barely waddle any more.
Back at work on the Tuesday following the long weekend I reveled in the looser waistband. I ate well all day, and dreamed of how big an after-work snack I would manage; dare I try three combos? When I got there I decided I did, but made them the regular hamburger combos. The pile of food barely fit onto one tray, and I was happy to get it to my table without dumping any. I squeezed into my seat, unwrapped the first burger and ate in a few bites. It was only then that I looked across to the fitness club, and saw that it was empty. I looked more carefully, and saw the “for lease” sign on the door.
I was downcast. As I mechanically started gobbling up the fries, I glanced around the restaurant in a daze. There was a sweetly plump twenty-something gal that normally I would have enjoyed gazing at. Another woman somewhat older checked out tables, and as she left I could see she filled out her skirt nicely, but it failed to improve my mood. I had a hard time deciding why I was so blue about it. It wasn’t as if I knew any of the people, or had used the place myself. In a sense it was a loss of entertainment, but it was more than that. I’d finished one ginger ale and was working on my second burger when I realized that I’d lost my inspiration. Perverse though it was, I’d enjoyed pushing my appetite as steadily as they’d pushed their muscles.
I was still musing over this, when the lady with the well filled skirt came back. I noticed that the jacket of her suit couldn’t fully camouflage fairly generous curves up top. To my surprise she came up and asked if she could sit with me. I was surprised, but agreed.
I’d gotten as far as hoping that she was going to give me a lecture on nutrition, given the amount of junk food on my tray, and thinking that there was something vaguely familiar about her, when she said “After watching each other for months, I figured I should at least come and say hello.”
It took me a couple of seconds to understand. Then my cheeks flamed red as I realized why she seemed familiar: she was the bottom-heavy woman from the stair master.
“Oh,” I said inanely, then “I hadn’t realized you could see me as well as I could see you.”
“You mean you weren’t deliberately taunting us?” she asked.
“No! Ummm, I was enjoying the contrast between your dedication to fitness, and my, uh, well, I guess dedication to fatness, you could say.”
She laughed a bit, then said, “And here I thought you were doing it deliberately, taunting me with your total disregard for society’s demand to be thin.” She paused, then added “Not to mention with that growing belly. Anyway, even if it wasn’t deliberate, it worked. Despite working out five days a week, I’ve gained ten pounds this summer, and I’ve said the hell with it, I’m not going to spend the money for a new membership. So I get fat, it isn’t like all my time at the gym had helped me get any dates anyways.”
Her words could have sounded bitter, but her tone of voice said more that she was amused by her own decisions. I found that I wanted to talk to this lady. “That was sort of the conclusion I came to after my divorce.” I admitted. “At first it was just that I didn’t want to have to watch what I was eating or if my waist was increasing. But after a while I realized that I like being fat. I couldn’t really tell you why, I’m sure there are all sorts of reasons why I shouldn’t be fat, but,” I patted my belly for emphasis “this makes me content, so I’m going with it.”
She stared at me for a moment, then said “I never introduced myself properly. My name is Mary. By any chance would you like to go out to dinner and talk?” Then she glanced at the empty food wrappers on my tray, and said “Oh, uh ....?”
I cut in quickly. “I could manage dinner. Umm, after all this, I actually do normally go home and have a healthy dinner.”
Her eyes widened. “Really! Well, in that case I would definitely like to take you out to dinner. Did you want to finish what you have here first?”
“I might as well.” I replied, “It will keep me from being too hungry before we get served at the restaurant.”
Mary picked up her drink and said “No problem, I’m willing to be patient for this.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by “this” but I had an inkling I’d enjoy finding out.
I was right, I did.
If you would like to leave a comment on this story, please create a Dimensions account and follow this link to the board where the story was originally posted.
