Nearly everyone I meet online wants to know how I got this
big, so I decided to write the information down once and for all.
Then I thought I might post it onto Dimensions website. I just
hope people enjoy reading about my getting fatter as much as I have
enjoyed getting fatter.
I'm told I was skinny as a rail when I was very young. I
don't really recall. What I do remember was having my tonsils out
when I was six and then always wanting to have something to eat.
Also -- for those amateur psychologists out there, this is probably
Very Significant -- my mother was hugely pregnant with my little
brother then, and I can remember thrusting my little tummy out and
wishing I was as big as my mom.
I stayed in the "plump" category through my teen years. That
was just when they started calling things "plus sizes." I was also
pretty fit for my size because I used to gallop around a lot (one
of the offshoots of being as fascinated by horse stories as many a
young girl is). When I went to high school, I lived far enough
away to qualify for free bus service, but I wanted to take an extra
class, which meant I would take PE after school and miss the ride
home. The first couple of years I walked home, but my senior year
I rode a bike to and from school. I mention these details to
explain why my legs have always been strong and muscular --
something I appreciate very much now that I have so much more
weight for them to carry around.
I had been raised in southern California, but didn't want to
commute to college, so I looked elsewhere to continue my schooling.
I chose a state college in northern California that had a strong
teacher training program -- that being my career goal at the time.
The student health center required a physical exam before the
admission process was complete, and I remember weighing 180 pounds
just before starting my first semester. (I thought that was rather
interesting at the time because I had weighed 140 or so when I was
14 and I wondered if I were always going to weigh my age times
ten.)
The week before I left for school, a bunch of girls from my
neighborhood decided to go to the beach for one last fling. They
weren't really close friends -- I didn't have any -- and I'm pretty
sure they included me because they all looked thinner compared to
me. Imagine their dismay when the incredibly handsome lifeguard
practically ignored them and spent much of his time talking to me!
His name was Jim and he was going into his senior year at
UCLA. He was 6'3" tall with the proverbial swimmer's build; dark
blond hair and green eyes and a beautiful smile. He was a
management information systems major, but he liked a lot of the
things that interested me -- like baseball and jazz and a little
history and science stuff; action adventure movies and mystery
stories -- that kind of thing. I had never in my life had a guy
enjoy my company for so long, and I loved every minute of it.
The toughest part came at the end of the day. It was time to
leave and my "friends" were obviously getting very annoyed with me.
When I pointed that out, Jim just chuckled.
"They're not used to being ignored in favor of someone they
don't think of as attractive," he observed.
"You think I'm pretty?" I hadn't really thought of myself
that way. I guess I believed he had been hanging around because of
who I was inside; no one had ever shown any appreciation for my
well-rounded form.
"I think you've got the potential to become truly beautiful,"
he replied. "Come back when you've put on another hundred pounds
and then we'll talk about pretty." He gave me a quick hug around
the shoulders and then pushed me towards the girl whose car I had
come in. Of course I never told anyone else what he said. It was
difficult enough for me to imagine someone wanting to see me
bigger. I think I rather dismissed his words as trying to make me
feel better about myself. I certainly didn't plan on acting on
them.
Except that life rarely goes as planned. Being away from my
parents for the first time, and out of sight of maternal
foodwatching, I freely indulged in snacks I had previously had only
in limited quantities. More particularly, I was bringing home
those big bags of M&Ms and the half-pound Hershey bars; I could
drink as much Coke and Dr. Pepper as I wanted; and the housemother
cooked great quantities of relatively cheap but filling foods --
lots of macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes and gravy.
You can pretty well figure out what happened. Because I had
always preferred loose-fitting clothes, it took a while before I
noticed I was putting on a significant number of pounds. I spent
Thanksgiving with my roommate's family because my folks decided to
go out of town for a conference that weekend. When Christmas break
rolled around, my weight gain could not be denied. Even I had
noticed how much bigger I had gotten. My skirts were stretched
tight over the new bulk of my midsection, and my heretofore modest
bosom was starting to overflow my bra cups. My mom marched me to
the scale: 205 pounds. I had gained 25 pounds in a little over
three months.
Thus began a pattern that was to continue throughout my
college years. Whenever I was home, my food intake would be
restricted. I would lose five to ten pounds over summer, then go
back to school and regain the weight and add a little more. I had
to put up with this because my parents were funding my education,
and I knew I could not hope to get a decent paying job without it.
But I loved the way my little pot belly continued to grow. I loved
how it felt to smooth lotion over my skin -- too late to prevent
the stretch marks I had acquired during my first year's fairly
rapid gain, but an extremely pleasurable experience nonetheless.
I also became aware that I had long been fascinated by fat
people. I began to buy the tabloids that featured stories about
extremely fat individuals, and would always check each year's new
Guinness Book of World Records under the subject of Fattest People.
I wondered what it would feel like to be so huge, to carry such a
great amount of fat around, especially in the form of a big, round
belly (which was where I was accumulating fat the most).
My studies kept me fairly busy, however, and I never put on
weight quite as quickly as I had my first few months at school. By
the time I graduated in June of 1992 with a degree in liberal arts,
I weighed 250 pounds. When I put on the rented graduation gown, I
realized that my belly now bulged out beyond my bosom. When I
walked across the stage to receive my diploma, I did so with that
belly proudly thrust forward. (As you might imagine, my mother
hated my graduation photos. I rather liked them.)
That summer, I went to work for a temporary agency doing all
kinds of word processing work. I thought it would a temporary job,
until I could complete my fifth year of school for my teaching
credential. What I learned was that employers would ignore my size
in favor of my fast, accurate typing -- as long as I worked through
an agency and did not threaten their health and safety statistics
directly (and as long as they had some cubbyhole to tuck me away in
so customers wouldn't have to see me).
When fall rolled around, I was earning pretty good money, and
I decided to put off returning to school for a year. I also moved
out from my parents' house. I couldn't stand the constant
yammering about my weight. At my own place, small though it was,
I could eat what I wanted -- and I did. I began to put on more
weight, slowly, but surely.
My apartment also featured one of those hand-held shower
massage units, and I learned how very, um, stimulating a shower
could be. I had been concerned about my personal hygiene because
with my belly growing bigger and bulkier in front of me, it was
becoming more difficult to reach where I needed to in order to keep
clean.
Having learned how to pleasure myself, I began to fantasize
about what it would be like to grow my belly fatter and fatter.
Stroking my belly, especially the extremely sensitive underside,
would turn me on. I would seek out more pictures of fat people;
looking at them and imagining myself growing to that size would get
me excited, too. I found a letter in an old Penthouse whose author
admitted to liking fat women, and I began to imagine such a man
caressing my belly and encouraging me to grow even bigger.
I attained 300 pounds in February of 1994. I remember how I
enjoyed looking down at how fat I had become. My belly not only
jutted out in front of me, but was beginning to hang down in front
of and alongside my thighs an inch or so. And, those "love
handles" were wide enough to hide my hands when I slid them
underneath and hefted my belly -- meaning they were about four
inches wide on each side. It was beginning to dawn on me that I
was really getting big.
Oh, and I was extremely pleased that most of my added weight
was going into my belly rather than my hips and thighs, although I
would've enjoyed having bigger breasts, I think. I was up to 3X
shirts and dresses, size 50-52 on top -- mainly because of my broad
shoulders and expanding girth rather than any great quantity of
bosom. I measured 54-55-60, as I recall. I remember telling
myself I was five feet around -- no wonder I started feeling fat!
And I wanted to get much fatter, that I knew.
One unfortunate side effect of my increasing size, however,
was that the temp agency sent me out on fewer and fewer
assignments. My outstanding skills were being outweighed by, well,
my weight. The branch manager took me aside and asked me if I
might rather enjoy doing transcription work at home, because she
had several clients who needed overflow help but did not have the
space or equipment to have someone work on-site. I thought it was
a good idea for a number of reasons, not the least of which was
being able to eat whenever and whatever I wanted to while I worked.
I wouldn't have to spend so many calories getting around. And I
wouldn't have to spend so much money on new work clothes as I grew,
either.
So it was that one day in February 1994 (okay, it was the
16th, I remember very clearly -- as one does with an emotionally
significant date) that I was dropping off a batch of work to a
client in Santa Monica. I was told that there was another batch of
tapes for me to take, but if I could wait for another hour, one of
the associates would be able to finish one more tape for a real
rush project. It was lunch time, so I said sure, no problem.
I went to a nearby deli and had them make a double meat
pastrami and cheese sandwich on sourdough, then headed to nearby
Palisades Park to eat it. On the way, I stopped at a convenience
store and bought a half gallon of milk to wash it down with, and on
impulse, a quart of Haagen-Dasz vanilla ice cream. I took my lunch
to a bench that looked out over the ocean; the weather had been
ominous earlier but was clearing into fluffy clouds and sunshine,
which was why I was able to find an empty one.
I sat down and spread my legs to accommodate my growing belly
more comfortably -- why I always wear long skirts -- and began to
eat. I finished the first half of the sandwich, relishing the
fatty pastrami and smooth, rich cheese, then gave in to the impulse
to stroke my belly while I drank about a quart of the milk. I had
just started into the second half of the sandwich when I heard a
voice behind me say, "You came back."
It was Jim. I was surprised at how quickly his name came back
to me. It had been how many years -- five and a half? But he had
obviously made an impression. That February day, however, instead
of wearing the red shorts of a lifeguard, he was wearing a very
expensive business suit. I also remembered his last words to me,
and smiled. "I put on those 100 pounds you asked for," I said,
"and about 25 more."
"I can tell," he replied, "and you are even more beautiful
than I expected." He sat down on the bench next to me and
encouraged me to continue eating. As I finished the rest of the
sandwich, he told me how he'd spent the last five years or so. He
had started his own software business during his senior year and it
had blossomed with the growth of the Internet. He had set up his
office overlooking the bluffs of Santa Monica because he enjoyed
the view. "Particularly since that view allowed me to see you
again," he concluded. I knew he was indulging in empty flattery;
he had not been able to keep his eyes off my roundly bulging belly.
Then I filled him in on what I had been doing, including how
I'd come to enjoy gaining weight and growing my belly. He asked me
how big I wanted to get. I said I wanted to double my weight at
the very least; I wanted my belly to bulge out past my spread knees
and hang down towards the floor when I was seated as I was on that
bench. Jim was trying very hard to be discreet, but it was obvious
to me that he was extremely turned on by me, and that was getting
me excited, too. We spent about an hour getting re-acquainted, and
then I left to pick up my new assignment -- but not before making
plans for dinner that night.
And the next night and the next night and the night after
that. Jim made sure I never wanted for food. My body responded by
putting on weight a little faster. When we got married in August,
I was up to 350 pounds. I wore an Empire-design gown that
emphasized the proud bulge of my expanding belly. My girth was up
to 66 inches, and the "traditional" garter around my lower thigh
took nearly a yard of elastic to make. (Jim's groom's men made
sure another fat admirer among them caught it when it was tossed.)
My honeymoon was my first experience making love. In the
course of our engagement, there had been times when we would be
hugging and the firm bulk of my belly would be between us -- and
Jim would suddenly excuse himself and disappear for a few minutes.
Now we could enjoy ourselves completely. Wow! I had been
increasingly turned on by my continuing growth, but it was nothing
compared to what I felt knowing how my ballooning belly was turning
Jim on. To feel his hands caressing my fatness was infinitely
superior to doing it myself. At that moment, I knew I wanted to
become as fat as I possibly could.
So, I ended my career as a self-fattened woman and began to be
a dedicated feedee. Jim never used force. I enjoyed eating and he
loved to encourage me. He used his ingenuity to adapt the
household environment to accommodate my growing size and weight.
As I approached 400 pounds, my back began to ache from the
increasing weight of my belly. I would find every opportunity to
rest the bulk of it on whatever surface I could. One day Jim
brought home a typing chair with a broken spring on its back
support. He cranked it up until the seat was supporting my belly.
It was incredible what a relief it was for my back! I can honestly
say that I would never have been able to manage my current size
without that "belly carrier," as we came to call it.
I continued to gain throughout our marriage. Jim had found a
marvelous doctor to look after my health. He weighed around 350
himself; obviously not going to harp about my weight. For his own
sake, he had become knowledgeable about weight-related issues. I
became pregnant late in 1996; I weighed about 480 at the time.
When we had ultrasound done to check on the baby, our doctor
extended the range of the scan to check on the rest of my internal
organs. We found out that my kidneys are about the size of
grapefruit (just not so round). Obviously my body was adapting to
the increased requirements of my increasing size -- why my blood
pressure has never been a problem.
It was during my pregnancy that my belly took on the shape
that gave me my nickname of "Blimpbelly" -- and the ultrasound gave
us the explanation. To no one's surprise, my abdominal muscles had
been stretched by my large deposits of fat inside the muscles and
my even larger quantity of fat hanging off the front. As our baby
girl grew, there wasn't much muscular support to hold her close,
although she was well-cradled in a resilient cushion of fat. To
the ultrasound operator, it looked as though she were stretching
out in front of me, and my belly took on a slightly pointed shape
to accommodate her.
Our daughter was delivered in May 1997. She was 26 inches
long and weighed 15 pounds. The delivery wasn't as rough as "the
experts" thought it would be. I weighed 550 at the time, then
dropped to 530 after delivery. And yes, Nettie was a big baby, and
she had a huge appetite of her own. I would nurse her for what
seemed like hours. I had finally developed some decent breasts and
it felt like I was constantly producing milk.
So, the two of us were both gaining weight and Jim was in
heaven. When it became obvious that I would not be able to use a
standard computer keyboard because my growing belly made it nearly
impossible to bring my hands together, he had one of those
ergonomically designed keyboards cut in half. Each half sits on
the respective arm of a chair Jim designed. It has a steel frame
and is firmly stuffed with cotton batting that will not break down
under my weight. The arms were designed to angle in when I was
smaller and then adjust outward as I got wider. My legs are apart,
with my feet up, and my belly hangs down between them. Jim knew
how much of a turn-on it is for me to feel gravity pulling downward
on the increasing weight of my paunch, so that's why he made my
chair that way.
Whenever Nettie wasn't sleeping, it seemed she was hungry. We
started feeding her cereal a little earlier than "the experts" said
to, but she handled it well. When it became obvious that she was
getting much fatter than even chubby babies, Jim and I decided that
we would not force her to eat anything, but neither would we
restrict her appetite.
When she was six months old, she weighed 40 pounds and people
began to make rude remarks about abusive parents. We stopped
taking her out so much in public. Her belly was so big her arms
and legs couldn't reach the floor to crawl, but she would pull
herself to her feet when she was almost a year old. Jim rigged up
a reinforced tot walker that would support her weight so she could
move around -- similar to what my belly carrier was doing for me.
(He also had an extra-large child seat made for her so she could
ride in the car.)
We were one big happy family -- until the 4th of July 1998.
Nettie weighed 80 pounds, and I was up to 610. I had doubled my
weight from the day I was reunited with Jim and my belly had just
"broken 100" a little while earlier (another goal I had fantasized
about). Jim was so proud of his "big women" that he took pictures
of us. Some were perfectly presentable pictures of us in (custom-made) dresses. And there were a couple of pictures of me in my
two-piece swimsuit. Well, you had to take the second piece on
faith because, although the top could be seen covering enough of my
breasts to be decent, my huge belly hid the bottom half completely
and the ties on the sides of my hips were under the layer of fat
that constituted my "love handles."
I was rather antsy to see the pictures and prevailed upon Jim
to drop them off at a nearby one-hour photo shop. He decided to
take Nettie along and let her get out a bit. (She really enjoyed
riding in the car.) On the way there, they were hit by a drunk
driver who had been "celebrating" his independence with a couple of
six-packs. My only consolation was that they were killed instantly
and did not suffer.
I went into shock. I ate almost mindlessly, trying to fill an
emptiness I knew could never be filled. Before Jim was killed, his
company had received a number of offers of buyout. I sold it to
the highest bidder. I found out that Jim had taken out a $3
million life insurance policy the day he found me on the park
bench. And there was a wrongful death lawsuit that added a bit
more to the bankroll, although it also resulted in a number of
weirdoes showing up to hassle me. Between requests for handouts and
tirades against me for either (a) becoming so grotesquely obese
(their words), or (b) allowing my child to get so fat, or (c) all
of the above -- I have been forced into a kind of seclusion. On
the advice of my attorney, I do not give out my telephone number to
casual acquaintances (which includes online friends).
I started slowing down on my food consumption around holiday
time (1998) as I began to cope with my loss in other ways. I knew
I had packed on an enormous amount of weight, though I hadn't
weighed myself in the interim. My housekeeper had taken care of
all the mundane details of my life all that time. She shopped for
ever-increasing amounts of groceries, and spent much of her time
cooking and baking. She also contacted my dressmaker for a couple
of larger caftans. My only consolation had been how rapidly my
belly was swelling, and when I finally felt strong enough to put on
the dress I had worn the day Jim was killed, I almost orgasmed when
the seams split.
That gave me the courage up to climb on the scales just
before Christmas. I was amazed to find that I had gone over the
700-pound mark. No, I don't expect anyone to believe that I could
put on 90-some pounds in a little over five months and not notice
the added weight. But I had been putting on poundage continuously
for five years. I had grown used to coping with the ever-increasing weight of my belly. It was not until that moment that
I began to take pleasure in that growth again.
Since that time, I have gone online and discovered the
proverbial "whole new world." I have met people who did not make
rude remarks about my size. Indeed, there have been many who have
expressed sincere admiration for how very fat I've grown and have
encouraged me to continue gaining weight.
And I intend to. When I reached 600 -- my first goal, double
300 -- Jim and I talked about how much fatter I wanted to get. I
was feeling quite strong at the time. Although my belly was
becoming more difficult to maneuver with because of its increasing
weight and bulk, I was still quite mobile with the help of my belly
carrier. (The original typing chair has been replaced with a
custom-made sling-and-tubular-framework affair on wheels.) I
reckoned I could probably handle another 200 pounds fairly well,
and we spoke semi-seriously about the possibility of getting to
1001 pounds in the year 2001.
Also, the encouragement I have received to date has caused me
to increase my eating -- a pleasure in and of itself -- and my rate
of gain has gone up from two or three pounds a week to about five
pounds. Right now I'm eating 11-12,000 calories a day, although
some days I go even higher. I anticipate that I might have to go
up another 2000 calories or so as more calories are required to
maintain the additional weight.
As of April 15, 1998, I weigh 770 pounds. (I'm 5'6" tall, and
my current measurements are 86-112-114.) According to our best
calculations (me and the seamstress), my belly weighs well over 425
pounds -- probably closer to 450. When I stand with my back
against the wall, nearly all of a yardstick can be hidden behind
the profile of my belly. If I didn't use my belly carrier, my
paunch would hang down to an inch above my knees.
I am becoming reconciled to the idea that I did not cause my
husband's death, and there is nothing wrong with having photographs
to record my continuing growth. I am starting to look around for
a good, fat-admiring photographer to take pictures of me --
pictures that will show off how very big and heavy my belly is.
Maybe when I get up to 800 pounds, the second goal I talked about
with Jim....
by blimpbelly