The Fat Guy
by RG

The first time I did it, I admit, I was a little embarrassed. I had eaten lunch, and as usual it was a big lunch: double cheeseburger, pasta salad, french fries, a large soda, a couple of cookies, and some ice cream. Still, an hour later I was hungry again; I mean hungry. It was my first year at college and I had been eating like this pretty steadily for a while. I knew I had put on a few pounds, and figured my stomach was just following my lead and getting into this new routine. So, I got another burger. Not a big deal, sure, but I couldn't help feeling self-conscious. If the grill cook recognized me, he didn't say anything, nor did the cashier; in fact, nobody batted an eye. When I got to college I was already 280 or 285, and my six-foot frame carried a big, thick belly. If anyone noticed that I was on my second double cheeseburger, they probably figured it was normal behavior for a big guy like me.

It was an odd sensation, though, needing that second cheeseburger (plus fries and another soda, of course). I've always eaten a lot, and have pigged out unbelievably on several occasions, but this was different. This time I wasn't eating past satiation; my stomach really wasn't full until that last fry. I gave my belly a little rub and chuckled about how much I had just put away, warning myself not to make that a habit.

Well, for the next few days the hunger returned, and within a week the two double cheeseburger lunch turned into a regular thing. I tried not to think about it too much, preferring to believe that no one noticed my eating habits. Then one afternoon a full hour and a half had passed before I got hungry again. As I brought my second lunch to the cashier, she gave me a smile. "I was starting to think you wouldn't make it back today."

That threw me. I blurted out quickly, "I wouldn't miss it," paid her, and left. After the burger, I realized that not only was I still hungry, but my pants were tighter than ever before. I decided against a third cheeseburger, and instead went to my room to change clothes. As I was leaving the cafeteria, I spotted a cute redhead I had seen around campus before. She met my eyes, smiled, and said hi as she passed. I smiled and left.

Back in my room, I took off my pants and let my belly drop. I could feel the food shift in my stomach as I rubbed it softly and rummaged through my drawers. "Gonna need new pants," I thought to myself, realizing that I'd need a size 50. That did it. I had to find out how much I weighed.

The gym had doctor's scales, and as I walked past all the hardbodies and coeds trying to work off their freshman fifteen, I felt fatter than ever. "Of course," I thought to myself as I looked in the mirror, "that's only because I am fatter than ever." My belly looked huge, stuffed with my double lunch and still rumbling for more. In the locker room, I stared at my fat belly, looked once around at the toned bodies, and took a deep breath. My pulse was racing as I saw just how different my body was from any other in that room. No one was as fat as I was. I felt heavy and soft, flabby and round, and instantly I knew: I had broken 300. No need to get on that scale, I thought, I am officially the fat guy here. "The Fat Guy," I whispered to myself, "The Fat Guy." Just saying it put a little smile on my face. No one's going to call me "big" or "substantial" anymore, I thought; I am fat. It was so simple, and yet such a liberating statement. In a flash I had pulled off my shirt. Me, who had stopped going to pool parties years ago. I stripped off those puny size 48's and strode towards the scale. My belly wobbled back and forth, and I even tossed in a little waddle for good measure. Some of the other guys gave me a double take - actually, they gave my belly a double take - but most of them didn't pay me much mind. They gave me that look that says, "Oh; fat guy," and went on about their business. I'm sure many of you know that look, and some of you might even understand when I say how good it made me feel that day. As I walked toward that scale, I realized that this was the end of all diets. The end of all denial. No longer would I deny my tastes or hungers. No longer would I deny my appetites. Most importantly, no longer would I deny that this was my body. This wasn't some temporary state, this wasn't a cage that held a thinner man, this was my fat body. With it, I would eat what I wanted, wear what I wanted, go where I wanted, and do everything I had ever dreamt of doing. "Including," I thought as I stepped on the scale, "having that third double cheeseburger."

My belly growled as I adjusted the weights. 308 magnificent pounds.

The next day I faced the cashier with a smile and two double cheeseburgers on my tray. She raised an eyebrow. "Just couldn't wait for seconds?"

I laughed, and felt my belly tremble in my new size 50 jeans. "So much to eat, so little time," I joked. She was taken aback by my candor, then let out a long laugh. I paid her, and she winked as she handed me my change.

"You've got all afternoon, sugar."

The cafeteria was crowded that day, and as I started my second cheeseburger, I noticed the cute redhead looking for a seat. She glanced quickly my way, and I waved her over, motioning to the empty space across from me. She gave a broad smile, and soon had joined me for lunch. Tracy was her name. She was pretty and had an easy laugh, and our conversation flowed freely as I polished off my meal. She had barely touched hers, and as I leaned back to give my belly a rub, she pushed her plate towards me. "I'm never going to finish this. You want it?"

The plate was loaded with chicken fingers and curly fries, and looked so good, but I paused. She was really cute, and I didn't want to come off as some pig. She hadn't actually seen me eat the first cheeseburger, I rationalized, so I was still safe. "Thanks, but I'm stuffed," I answered.

"You sure? That cheeseburger looked awfully small." She held up her plate and offered it to me.

I tested the waters. "It wasn't that small, and it was my second."

"Your second?" Her eyes widened. That was it - I was sure I'd blown any chance with her. Then she smirked a little - more like a smile to herself - and put the chicken fingers down in front of me. "Well, then. Just in case you get hungry again."

There they were, a whole plateful; to top it off, she then put a big cup of mayonnaise on my plate. I decided to go for it. I glanced at the chicken, then looked up at her. "I probably shouldn't. I want to save some room for dinner tonight, if you'd like to join me."

She didn't miss a beat. "I'd love to have dinner with you." Then she smiled that broad smile of hers, picked up a piece of chicken, dipped it in the mayonnaise, and held it out to me. "But that's hours away."

"This is my favorite part," Tracy whispered as she traced the outline of my belly button. "It's gotten so much deeper."

I only grunted in agreement as I sat in her bed. A tray full of chicken fingers perched on my stomach, and my mouth was too full to talk. She reached her arms around me as far as she could, and I dunked two chicken fingers into my mayo. I knew what was coming next, and I wanted to be ready. Her tongue darted around my belly, and I started eating those chicken fingers just as she slid her tongue into my navel. I shuddered, sending waves through my belly. Her hands ran up and down the rolls of fat on my sides, and I lifted my elbows as I ate so she could squeeze my flabby arms. She moaned softly as I swallowed, and raised her round ass in the air. She was fulsome and ate well, and had added about ten pounds to her small frame. Meanwhile, in the six months that we had been going out, I had eaten my way past 350 pounds. Suddenly, I felt her scrambling up my belly. She grabbed a handful of chicken fingers.

"Finish up, baby, finish them all," she said, panting. "I want you on top of me, so finish these all up." I started eating faster and faster; Tracy was leaning against my belly, stuffing piece after piece into my mouth. Mayonnaise dribbled onto my chin; in one swift motion Tracy licked it off and stuffed another chicken finger into my mouth at the same time. "Come on, baby, fill that fat belly. Get big and fat for me." In no time the platter was licked clean, and Tracy was lying on her back waiting for me.

I moved around as best I could, positioned myself over her, and started lowering my body. I swayed slightly back and forth, letting my belly brush softly against her own pudgy stomach, and her hands reached up and grabbed my love handles. Then, slowly at first, she swung my belly up and down her body. It was all I could do to hold myself steady as she shook my fat faster and faster. Soon I was jiggling all over and Tracy was near orgasm. I had lowered myself down a little more and my flab was slapping at her breasts and her chin. She still had a firm grasp on my sides, but the jiggling was now out of her control. As she started to come, I let all my weight drop on her. She gasped and let out a small cry, digging her fingers into my soft, rolling sides. Our lips met, and we kissed for long, breathless minutes. Soon, she loosened her grip on my fat and began running her fingers through my creases. Her hair was damp with sweat and her eyes were locked on my own, searching. She smiled wide and bit her lip.

"Boy," she said quietly, "you're starting to get really obese." She closed her eyes and hugged what she could reach. "It's nice."

"If a boy wants to eat, then a boy should eat," Tracy was smiling wide, chatting happily with the salesman while I checked out a new shirt in the mirror. It was kind of nice, just not quite big enough. We were at a new fat guy shop that had opened in the mall, and Tracy was in rare form. What can I say? She liked showing me off.

"What do you think, hon?" I called to her, and turned to show her the shirt on me.

She looked me up and down, letting her eyes linger on my wide middle, then said, "The way you've been eating lately, I give it two weeks." I laughed; she was right. "Although," she said playfully, "you bustin' out of that might be kind of fun to see." Then she turned to the salesman and winked, "Might even be worth the forty bucks for the shirt." The salesman smiled back, not knowing what to say. He was a fat man, too - nowhere near as fat as I was, but certainly more blubbery than just a butterball - and Tracy was shameless. She loved flirting with fat men, and to be honest, I didn't mind her doing it. She would never act on anything, and her flirts boosted many a fat guy's confidence (also made them awfully jealous of me).

I went into the dressing room to try on pants, and listened as Tracy talked to the salesman. Inside the dressing room, I looked myself over in the mirror. Once again, I thought, I'm fatter than ever.

"I just love a man with an appetite. A man who sits at life's table and samples every dish. Twice."

Keeping the shirt on, I undid my belt buckle. I wear my pants up by my belly button, not under my gut, and my stomach has divided itself into two parts. There's the half below my belt, which sags and rests itself on my thighs. This is all flab, and the crease underneath runs deep, back to my love handles. When I binge, Tracy likes to joke that I'll need a wheelbarrow to carry it all around in.

"Life's a banquet for my man. I've never met anyone who gets so much pleasure from one of life's simplest activities. You should see the joy in his eyes when I show him what I've made for dinner. Do you like to eat?"

The other part of my belly rests on top of - well, it actually spills over - my belt. This part seems a lot firmer, but that's only because it's packed in more and can't hang free like my swag. If I haven't eaten in a few hours (a rare occurrence, to be sure), and my stomach isn't taut after one of Tracy's feeding sessions, you'll see it's quite soft. The part I love, though, is when I greet people. They look at the top half of my belly and assume that's it. It's so big, that it must be all. Then they notice the lower half and I see their eyes focus as they realize just how low the rest of my belly hangs. I tell you, it's like they've never seen a fat man in their life. Not a really fat man.

"Well, you look like you could put it away. Don't be embarrassed; I'd love to see you let go and get down to some serious eating. You should see how much my boyfriend can eat when he puts his mind to it. We've been together almost two years now."

And not only have my appetite, my girth, and my stomach capacity increased, but I love it more every day. In the mirror, I could see the base of my belly hanging lower than the shirttails. My belly was huge, an expanse of fat. I spread my fingers over it and felt it grumble for food. Quickly, I started pulling on the new pants. The faster I'm out of here, the sooner I can get some lunch.

"Skinny little thing when we met. Barely 300 pounds."

Out I waddled. These jeans were gigantic; a perfect fit. Tracy smiled and sprang over to me, running her hands over my stomach. Suddenly, she slid her hands in between my belly and the waistband. Her hands reached down my stomach; she wanted to grab hold by my belly crease, but had to bend slightly to do it. Once she had it, she held fast.

"Good," she said, looking at how her arms fit in the pants with me, "room to grow."

The salesman looked a little flustered after our display. Tracy was making him crazy, and had no intention of stopping. He gave me the once-over, leaned closer to me, and asked, "I hope you don't mind my asking, but how much do you weigh now?"

I smiled, "I don't mind at all. Last time I checked I was 394 pounds."

"Might have been more," Tracy scowled, "but he plateaued at 380 forever."

"She's so impatient," I laughed. The salesman gulped.

"I'm getting you past 400. I am."

"No objections here. I'm starved," and I waddled out happily, Tracy on my arm.

She stood with the last tray in her hands, looking around the table for a place to fit it in. Finally, after sliding it between the fettuccini Alfredo and the German chocolate cake, Tracy surveyed the table. "I think we're ready," she said quietly.

"Please," I was nearly begging, "please start. I can't stand it any more." She had tied my hands to my extra wide chair, and with my belly effectively keeping me far away from the food on the table, all I could do was watch and smell her fantastic cooking. God, I wanted that food.

"Oh, my baby's so hungry. I've kept him away from all this food. That's not good at all. Are you hungry, baby?"

"Please, yes. Feed me. Please."

She put a finger to her lip and looked at all the platters. "What to start with hmmm " She started rubbing her own tummy now, a fat little belly in its own right. Wearing only panties and a cutoff t-shirt, Tracy was letting her belly pudge out and hang. Her ass had grown a little wider too, and was just starting to strain the elastic. "Ohh! This looks good," she cooed as she picked up one of several double cheeseburgers. "Your favorite, baby. Mmmm it looks yummy, doesn't it?" She was holding up the burger, still rubbing her belly, and paying less and less attention to me. "Gosh, I know this is supposed to be for you, but I'm getting hungry too. Maybe I'll have just one bite." She sank her teeth into the burger, and I groaned in protest.

"No please."

"What?" Her mouth was full as she looked at me in mock surprise, "I can't have any? Don't you want me to get a little fat, too?"

"But I-"

"I'm just kind of chubby now. Can't I have a big flabby belly like yours?"

"Well " Any other night I would have jumped at the chance to feed Tracy, but this was different. This was my night. That morning the scale read 443 pounds, and we had both spent the day preparing for my feast.

"Don't you want me to be fat?" She looked at me with big doe eyes and started to take another bite. I could stand no more.

"Stop! That's for me. I'm going to break 450 tonight, and you're here to feed me. So feed me!" I licked my lips; I couldn't help it.

She just looked at me, "You mean I can't have any?"

"No."

"It's all going into you?"

"All of it."

Tracy smiled, held up the cheeseburger, and sauntered over to me. "Well now," she bumped my belly with her hip and it rippled in waves, "I do like your style."

God, I was happy; I ate for hours. I never thought I could eat so much, and Tracy's cooking was brilliant. More cheeseburgers, lasagna loaded with cheese, roast chicken, butter and cream potatoes, and gallons of wine. I ate without pause until Tracy suddenly stopped feeding. "What? Don't stop; I'm not ready to stop," I was getting impatient with her games.

"Hang on, hang on. I'm not stopping," she patted my belly reassuringly. "Just going to loosen things up a little down here. She unbuckled my belt and opened my pants, then lifted my belly gently to reposition it. My hands were still tied, so I just watched her shift around my fat stomach. "How's that? Better?" To be honest, I was focused so much on the food I hadn't even noticed the pain. Now, it was like blinders had been lifted. Everything fell forward onto my lap, and I felt my insides open up. I was ready for more food.

"Spread my legs," I said. She did as I asked, and my belly sank in between them. My shirt then rode up and exposed my navel, and her eyes instantly locked on it. I smiled as she stared, transfixed. She loved my belly button; it seemed to serve as the clearest indication of how fat I had gotten. As my belly had grown heavier, of course, my navel sagged and elongated. Slowly, her hand reached up to touch it, to sink one finger deep inside its walls. "Stop," I said firmly. She looked up, puzzled.

"What's wrong?" She was like a little girl.

"Not until you feed me that cake."

Her eyes narrowed, "You are such a tease." But she knew she had no choice. She stood, picked up the German chocolate cake, and sat it on my belly. "If I can't touch you until I feed you this cake, then you are going to start eating faster. Open up." I obeyed, and she kissed me full on, driving her tongue deep into my mouth. When she finally released me, I was panting for air. That's when the first handful of cake hit my mouth. I started chewing, savoring the chocolate and the coconut, when I saw another handful on its way. "Make room, baby," was all Tracy said as I swallowed just in time to have my mouth stuffed full again. I wasted no time and swallowed as soon as I could; instantly I was filled again. "You can do it, baby. You can eat it all. Don't stop. No one can eat like you can; you're the fattest man I've ever seen, and I just want to make you fatter. Eat, baby, eat." I was gasping for air between swallows, and was finally able to catch my breath when she took the empty cake plate away. However, she soon returned with another.

"Look what I found!" Her eyes were as wide as her smile as she brought over an even larger chocolate cake. "I know how much you like German chocolate, so I made two." She set it on my belly, and I moaned in pain. This time, I was just too stuffed. "Is that too heavy on your big fat belly? Aw, honey," she stroked my side, petting me like a prize hog, "don't worry. As you eat it, it'll get lighter." That's true, I thought to myself, but I just can't eat another bite. I can't even speak, I thought. When I tried to talk, I just grunted. "Baby, do you just want to go lie down? I can massage your stomach, help you relax, squeeze some warm oil into your folds maybe you'll even let me run my tongue around your belly button. How does that sound?" Like heaven, I wanted to say. I could only nod.

"Oh, I think so too. Unfortunately, I am under orders. Can't touch you until I feed you the cake, isn't that what you said?" My eyes grew wide; I shook my head. "Nope. Orders are orders, handsome; open wide."

That last cake seemed to take forever. As soon as she began feeding me, I closed my eyes and just let it all come, but finally, I had to stop her. It was just too much. I mustered all the strength I could and gave her our code word, "Done."

"Done, are you?" I opened my eyes and saw her standing by the table. It had been cleared, and she was wiping it down. "You've been done for a while. Besides, you ate everything - it's a little late for 'done'." She smiled at me and started untying my hands. She spoke in a low and husky voice. "I've never seen you eat like that. You were amazing. I thought you were never going to stop." She ran her hands across my belly and under the shirt that was riding so far up my front. Then she lay her head gently on my stomach and let her red hair fall across me.

"Did I pass out," I asked.

"Mmm hmm," she sighed, "you deserved it. Now how about that massage. Can you move?"

When you get as fat as I have, there are a few concessions you have to make. An odd thing happens sometimes when a person realizes they're friends with a fat guy, and when that fat guy loves eating as much as I do, and engages in it with as much interest as I have, it tends to throw most people off. Some understand. Some will joke with you about it, ask you how it's going, and even encourage your growth. Most won't understand, but we all know about the naysayers. The most important thing to find, of course, is the love of an uncommon woman. Tracy and I have been married twelve years now, and celebrated our anniversary with a feast that lasted for days. My obesity is glorious. We watched happily as the 700-pound mark passed some time ago, and neither of us have any intention of altering the course. She's now pushing 200, and has never been sexier. She says she doesn't mind being a little plump, and she enjoys eating. Who knows what the years will bring?