Unfinished business (part one)

Chapter 1

When I was in my mid twenties I was inducted into the world of feedism by a guy named Neville Bradshaw. Neville was a few years older than me, a tall gentleman with an athletic build; he was always a very sweet and caring man who could disarm me and put me at ease instantly. He was divorced and lived alone, and he’d invite me over for weekends when he didn’t have his kids. Over the course of many weekends, he would cook for me the most filling and sumptuous meals, stuffing my belly fuller than it had ever been.

“Look at you, Jenna,” he’d say, “you’re absolutely insatiable! You can just eat and eat and you never get full.” The truth is that I did get very full — uncomfortably full. I’d always end up with a terrible stomach ache at the end of every weekend that I spent with Neville, but for some reason I kept going back for more.

“You’re an eating machine,” Neville would say to me, “it’s so sexy how much of a ravenous appetite you have. I just want to fill you up and stuff you to the gils! I’m going to make you get fatter than you ever imagined you could be.” The fact of the matter is that I’ve always been chubby. I was a plump little kid who grew up to be plump little lady. By the time I was eighteen years old I was over two hundred pounds. That might not sound like much, but considering I am only a little over five feet tall, I was looking like a major butterball.

Now I knew that there were guys who were into fat girls, and I had always heard about feedism, but until I met Neville I never knew anyone personally who was into this stuff. I’d see pictures and videos online of chicks who would stuff themselves like pigs, making themselves get bigger and bigger, and I would see all the comments from men who really seemed to get off on it. I never really understood the appeal of it all, but after a few months with Neville I had come to see the light.

It wasn’t long before I was overeating all the time, even when Neville wasn’t around. I’d be home alone, and for whatever reason I would call my local take out place and order two big dinners for myself, acting like I was ordering for myself and a friend or partner, but getting a secret little thrill knowing that I was going to eat it all myself. I was snacking constantly throughout the day, at work, in the car and at home. After a while there wasn’t a moment in the day when I wasn’t stuffing something in my mouth.

A moment of truth came one afternoon when I was out shopping with my girlfriend Cheryl. We were walking along in an outdoor plaza, and I was getting so out of breath. We weren’t even walking that fast or going very far, but I wasn’t able to take more than a few steps without huffing and puffing as if I were running a marathon.

“You okay, sweetie?” my friend Cheryl asked me. “You need to stop and take a break?” “Yeah,” I said, “I think — *huff* — I think I do.”

We decided to pop into a little cafe and get something cool to drink, and the first thing I saw when I walked through the front door to the place was the reflection of a very fat young woman staring at me in a floor-to-ceiling mirror they had near the front entrance.

“Holy shit!” I gasped, astounded by what I was seeing.

“What?” Cheryl said.

“Look at me!” I said. “I’m so — so — *huff* — so FAT!”

“You’re just figuring this out now?” Cheryl teased, poking me in my soft and chubby arm.

“I mean, I know I’ve always — *huff* — been big,” I said, “and I know I’ve been putting on — *huff* — some weight lately. This is the first time though that — *huff* — I can really see just how much of a porker I’ve turned into.”

“It’s this guy Neville,” Cheryl said to me as we made our way over toward a table in the back of the room, “he’s bad news. He’s not going to stop until you’re the size of a house. You need to dump him!”

I parked my big butt into one of the tiny little cafe chairs, noticing how my flabby thighs spilled over the sides of the seat and how my big paunch of a tummy sat in my lap like it were a medicine ball. I put my shopping bags down by my side and let my tongue hang out of my mouth as I tried to catch my breath, still in awe from the sight I just saw.

“So what are you going to do?” Cheryl said, looking at me with a mix of bemusement and concern in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I mean — *huff* — I really like Neville, and I can’t blame him — *huff* — entirely for this.”

“What do you mean?” Cheryl asked. “I thought you said he was the one who was pumping you full of food and fattening you up every time you go over there.”

“That’s true,” I said, “he may have — *huff* — led this piggy to her trough, but I’m the one — *huff* — who let myself get like this.” I explained to Cheryl how I had been consistently overeating even when I wasn’t with Neville, and that things had really been getting out of control. When she asked me how I felt about it, I told her that I wasn’t entirely sure. Part of me was really enjoying having all this extra food, not having to worry about what I should or shouldn’t eat, and part of me liked carrying around a little extra weight. Part of me felt like it made me a little sexier, a little curvier and more feminine.

“But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t — *huff* — concerned about my health,” I said. “I mean look at me: we’ve been sitting here talking for more than — *huff* — five minutes now, and I’m still out of breath from walking.”

“Yeah, that isn’t good,” Cheryl concurred.

Just then a waitress came by to take our order. Cheryl had a glass of iced tea and a biscotti. I ordered a glass of iced tea and a biscotti — and a slice of pie — and a slice of cake — and a muffin — and a cookie — and another cookie — and another slice of pie.

“I really am out of — *huff* — control, aren’t I?” I said with a guilty look on my face before diving in and devouring all of the sweets I’d just ordered. As we sat and talked, I came to realize that I really didn’t have a future with Neville. I needed to take control of my life back, and that would begin with saying goodbye to Neville, and getting my weight and my eating under control.

Neville was visibly hurt when I broke it off with him, but all things considered he was pretty understanding about it. We agreed to be friends, and for a while we were. In time however, we drifted apart and I lost touch with him. That was more than ten years ago — and I had no way of knowing just how much things would change in that time.