************************************* "Donut Temptations: Deciding to Fatten Up"ť

By Zonker (zonker25@hotmail.com)

Some days, it seems that the whole world is conspiring to fulfill my secret, scary fantasy “ that I want to grow a bit fatter, that I'd like to gain some weight. No wonder so many people have trouble losing weight in this society. And no wonder so many are overweight. I understand all that now.

Everything edible in our society screams: "Eat me! Eat me! You know you want me! Come on; take me home, and eat me! I'm delicious!"ť From food commercials on TV to all the temptations in the grocery store to billboards to restaurant menus to all the fast-food and junk food, calories and fat grams are gushing toward me. There's no escaping all the food that seems destined to rush into my mouth and land upon my midsection as fat, fat, fat. This seems wonderful and mystifying.

And more than a little scary.

Now, one thing that makes this whole predicament seem so odd is that I am a fat admirer myself, a male who loves everything about pleasingly plump females, including their getting plumper. And now, in the springtime, I get aroused seeing many young women display their midriff bulges of winter weight gain. I had never thought about me getting fat until it started happening to me. And I certainly would have never thought in a million years that getting fat would actually start turning me on. It still seems remarkable that it has.

I have always been one who has admired a chubbing female as she gains weight. And I had always been pretty much of a hard-body muscular little guy who never had to worry about gaining so much as an ounce. All that has changed. Not only do I not worry about getting a belly; I think I may be enjoying it. And at the same time, I worry about releasing what seems to be an insatiable appetite. I wonder where this may all end.

On top of all that, my lover Annie is apparently enjoying the little bit of extra flab around my midsection. She kneads it and rubs my belly, and tries to grab my little love handles. She even says she wants them to get bigger and more grabbable so she can hold onto me better. And I really know how she feels! When we first met, she was thin; I wasn't even really physically attracted to her at first although I quickly fell for her. However, the years have wonderfully gathered around her waist, thighs and hips in the form of lovely soft rolls of adipose. Her figure has grown into the ideal form for any male easily entranced by female plumpness. Her deep navel and protruding paunch are a sight to behold, and her bulging body is a wonder to hold. So I know how excited she may be about this fat on me. She calls my little pudgy fat rolls “even more Zonker to love.” Sometimes, she encourages me to eat more, playfully serving me a plate-sized slab of lasagna or getting me an extra bowl of heavenly hash ice cream. But even she doesn't know that I am contemplating gaining even more weight on purpose. I haven't told her yet. I'm still deciding.

I still wonder if I really want to go through with this weight gain thing “ and while I wonder, my body has apparently decided for me. Whether I want to get fat or not, my body has fallen in love with eating. Love, mmm, more like lust. I lust after delicious food. My appetite seems to increase daily, and I know I am eating what would have been gargantuan amounts of food for me just a year ago. I know that I am chowing down and not letting up for one minute in my pursuit of tasty treats. I feel like I am really enjoying eating for the first time in my life.

And I am, no doubt, getting fatter.

Already this year, I have gained six pounds “ and that was as of two weeks ago. I haven't checked recently to see what my daily feeding frenzies are doing to the numbers on the scale. I'm a little scared to do so. In mid-April, I weighed 161. I am just four pounds shy of being officially "overweightť," according to BMI (Body mass index – calculator at http://www.bmi-calculator.net/ Check yourself out if you dare!). To me, though, I already looked overweight, even before these last few pounds. Back around Thanksgiving, I pictured myself as a stuffed turkey. And I gobble-gobbled all the way through the holidays. Two years ago (and going back at least 11 years ago), I weighed no more than 135. About a year ago, it had crept up to 145, and after this last Christmas's gluttony, I was at 155. And now, I'm sure I am "overweight," at least 165, but getting on the scales will really screw up my denial about getting fat. Not to mention, it might cause some conflict if I start denying my hunger for food and desire for gaining weight.

I know I am obsessing about all this, about food, about my weight, about my seemingly little bit of chub which some days seems destined to grow into a big fat belly. Anyway, I feel as if everything happening around me revolves around food and getting fat. Every time acquaintances look at me, they seem to look approvingly at my little belly. Do I imagine them smiling or looking at me scoldingly? And my co-workers stop at my cubicle and tell me, "Brownies in the kitchen if you want some."ť Or "We had a meeting, and we have a lot of food left over. Come on down and get some if you want." And they know I want some; they can tell by my tightening waistband that I am enjoying eating to the max. Every ad on the TV seduces my tastebuds (all those chocolatey swirling images - drool!). Every message on the internet dwells on these issues, all those e-diet popups with their focus on tape measures and scales and cute lovely women with little bitty potbellies, all the weight and height and clothing size scales. All this is really turning me on.

And turning on my appetite as well.

Even the songs coming over the radio seem to sing just to me and say, "What a wonderful day to just eat and grow bigger!" Just this morning on the car radio, I heard Queen's "Fat-Bottomed Girlsť." And the lyrics seemed to speak just to me:

Hey I was just a skinny lad Never knew no good from bad But I knew life before I left my nursery - huh Left alone with big fat Fanny She was such a naughty nanny Heap big woman you made a fat boy out of me

Actually, I realize that I've always misheard those lyrics. The last lines words really say "you made a bad boy out of me." Well, I like my version better. And it doesn't matter what the words are, these last few months' indulgences are gathering on my waistline, certainly making a fat boy out of me. And fat bottom girls like my lovely Annie do make my rockin' world go round! I imagine Annie making a fat boy out of me, serving me all kinds of fattening treats, as she sometimes does. And recently, as I said, she seems to have increased her need to feed me. Even without Annie's help, though, I'm doing fine on my own, just pigging out in ways I would never have done when I was younger. "Fat-Bottomed Girls" may just become my personal theme song, my anthem, something to listen to while I eat Krispy Kreme donuts, one after another after another . . .

Okay, I admit it. It's as apparent as my growing gut. While I try to eat pretty healthy foods, Krispy Kremes are my guiltiest pleasure; they tempt me like nothing else could.

And I need to discuss those Krispy Kremes, and specifically the place where I buy them, a little gas station/food mart -- and even more specifically the woman who sells them and how darned seductive she makes eating these donuts (and getting plumper) seem. I don't know her name; I just think of her as the donut lady. Now, I guess I should clarify something. I love looking at women of size, even women who have just a bit of flab on them. I enjoy their every movement, their fat rolls are like a feast for my eyes. Their love handles and bellies hanging over their pants really make my day. Their hips, their thighs, mmm mmm mmm. I love to see them move, shimmy, shake and jiggle. I view these women with wonderment, and given the chance, I often compliment their looks discreetly.

Would I be unfaithful to Annie with any of these lovely chubby women that I see all around me? No. I appreciate their appearance and their curves and their moves the way art lovers go crazy over certain paintings and sculptures, the way horsebreeders or car-lovers go insane over horses and cars. I enjoy looking, but I know that what I have with Annie is the ultimate in enjoying sexual desire and fulfillment. And what we have goes way beyond sexual fulfillment. It's life fulfillment, and I am not willing to endanger it with a romp in the hay with some plump stranger, no matter how enticingly grabbable her love handles look. I am not looking for sex with any of these lovely women. I just like drinking in their lovely attributes with my eyes. If you think there's something wrong with that, I'm sorry. That's just the way I am.

Along the same vein, I really enjoy seeing a beautiful woman get even more beautiful by putting on some weight, by obviously enjoying herself and plumping up to perfection. That is, if she seems to enjoy doing so and is not worried about what society thinks about her packing on a few pounds. Unfortunate and unappealing is a woman who is fat and unhappy or disgusted about it; just as unfortunate is a skinny woman who deprives herself of enjoying delicious food. There have been several happy weight-gaining beauties I have watched over the years, and they just grow lovelier as time goes on, and as adipose piles on. I love seeing them grow fatter and happier.

Anyway, back to the donut lady. Over the winter, I had developed a taste for donuts, and a couple mornings a week, I stop in to get some. Now, Krispy Kremes are the manna from heaven for donut-lovers. I like the ones with chocolate on top and creamy middles -- that's kind of how my middle is getting, a little soft and creamy. You are what you eat, they say, and I'm definitely getting that cream-puff look, all doughy and soft. And maybe a little sweeter.

About a month ago, I noticed that the donut lady had been getting a bit plumper lately herself, adding a roll of softness under her obviously tighter outfits. I often wonder if those I know and see on a regular basis survey my weight gain in the same way. Do they check me out like I do the donut lady and others who are gaining weight? Do they evaluate how big I've gotten and am getting? Do they note to themselves that I suddenly have a little obvious gut sitting atop my waistband? And that it wasn't there before? Do they see me eating more than I ever did and think about me letting myself go to pot? Huh, I wonder. A few have made little comments about my gaining weight. Surprisingly, a lot have said that I look better now that I've picked up a few pounds.

I keep digressing. Back to the donut lady again. I had thought about asking the donut lady if she was pregnant since her belly had started to stick out so prominently. Really asking was more of a fantasy I guess than a real thought, actually. If a woman is not pregnant, well, that could be a pretty awkward question. The donut lady and I have sometimes just chit-chatted about this and that, the weather, politics, whatever. But I started to wonder if she is pregnant or getting fat. There is no discreet way to bring up such a question. Years ago, I remember seeing young expectant mothers wearing comical t-shirts which said, "I'm not fat, just pregnant." I've often thought someone should make t-shirts saying, "I'm not pregnant, just fat."ť Haha. That would end any embarrassing questions. Anyway, concerning the donut lady's condition, I kept my mouth shut -- to speak that is. I certainly opened my mouth wide for her delicious donuts, and lately, just about every kind of food which is fattening, often buying candy bars and breakfast biscuits also at the food mart. All because, I think, the chub-gaining donut lady made plumpness look so appealing, so desirable.

She is probably an inch or two above five foot tall, and she might weigh about 140 now; when I first started buying donuts there back in the winter, she was a little thinner, about 125 with a little soft belly. Her arms and legs remain very thin; only her belly seems to be growing. She is probably about 35 years old, and she appears to be getting a really sweet middle-age spread. Although her belly has bulged so much that I kept obsessing about whether she might just be pregnant.

Here was our conversation at the counter a few weeks ago (Note that I decide to bring up my love for donuts!) --

Me: I think I'm getting addicted to these! I can't stop. I come by here almost every morning and get some. I used to just get one, then two, and today, I've got three.

Donut lady: Yeah, they're great! They're an occupational hazard for me. I'm already on my second one. (She turns around and points at half-eaten donut on counter behind her) I ate five yesterday.

Me: (Taking a chance, thinking I could learn more) Lord, if I ate that many each day, I would weigh a ton. You must have really fast metabolism. Or do you exercise?

DL: That's sweet of you to say, honey. But the only exercise I get is when I exercise my jawbone, eating donuts. I'm not exactly Brittany Spears, you know. (patting her belly)

Me: Well, I never thought much of twigs like her, anyway. I like women with good appetites and some curves.

DL: (laughs) I come by these curves honestly (again patting her soft flabby little belly). You know, some customers even ask me if I am pregnant. I just tell them, "Heck, yeah, pregnant with donuts." (laughs) I don't give a damn what anyone thinks. If I'm fat and happy, so what?

Me: (laughing too, and getting more than a little excited by this discussion) Well, I like your attitude.

DL: Yeah. (She picks up her half-eaten donut and takes a bite) These donuts are killing me. One day, when it's quitting time, they'll just have to roll me out the door. That is, if I can even fit through the door.

Me: I'd like to see that (laughing. Then suddenly, another customer comes up behind me.) Well, I need to go now. How much do I owe?

DL: One-fifty-three.

Me: (I look at my hefty fattening "breakfast" -- three creme-filled donuts, two egg biscuit sandwiches, a large semi-sweet chocolate candy bar for a midmorning snack, and a large coffee). Are you sure?

DL: Yeah. (She leans over the counter a little to whisper, and I notice a delicious roll of flab sticks out a couple inches over her jeans waistband) I'm giving you the donut addict's discount. Hee hee. We donut lovers need to stick together. Come again for more.

Man, when I left there, I couldn't eat those Krispy Kremes and biscuits fast enough. Such talk and her belly-patting really worked on my appetite. And I have continued to return regularly to the food mart for more, noting now the donut lady's own love for these delicious treats. One day, she even had some chocolate smeared on her cute bulging cheek. And another day she had chocolate across her tummy, smeared across a red tight stretched tanktop. Her outfits often emphasize her belly. One day she wore a dress, against which her midriff bulged wonderfully, testing the strength of the fabric. And she has been true to her word, giving me a discount, not counting the third donut, or sometimes, just coming up with some random low price. She'll wink and rub her little belly sometimes. I imagine that's the Krispy Kreme addict's secret signal.

But we hadn't really talked any more about the donuts until yesterday. I got there a little later than usual, and my favorites (those chocolate-topped cream-filled temptations) were all gone. I felt pretty let down about that. I just got one chocolate cake donut and a coffee. I put the bag and coffee cup on the counter, reaching into my ever-tighter pants pocket for the money.

Me: I'm just getting one today.

Donut Lady: (Looking astonished and glancing in the bag) What? You're not quitting on me, are you? Haven’t lost your taste for donuts, have you? (smiles, and I'm quite certain her gaze shifts from my face to my bulging waistline. Maybe, she's wondering if I'm cutting back since these donuts are having such an obvious plumpening effect on me.)

Me: Oh no. You were just out of the ones I really like, so I'll just have one.

Donut Lady: Oh, yeah, I had a few of those cream-filleds myself this morning. Sorry, but I did put them to good use. (patting her belly, smiling with a mock guilty look, then pausing) Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you somehow. How about a free big-size candybar, your choice? I know you like these that dark chocolate.

She comes around the counter, leans over, and once again, I can see that she has the same problem I am rapidly acquiring – too much body for her clothes. She is wearing a shirt which reveals her midriff, and her tummy is bulging delightfully out of the top of her jeans. Her rounded belly sticks out in front of her, and the rear of her jeans looks like it might split if she leans over just a little bit more. And her love handles, whew, they look just so lovable. Even when she straightens back up, I see that her belly still sticks out considerably. She hands me the candy bar, one of those huge half-pound babes, thick and hard and dark and sweet beneath golden wrapping and brown paper.

Me: Wow. Thanks. (feeling a little embarrassed, not knowing what to do or say).

Donut Lady: Come in tomorrow, and I'll make sure we have plenty of your favorites.

So today (yes, just after the "Fat-Bottomed Girls"ť song plays on the car radio), I pull into the food mart parking lot, drawn by the siren song of sweet Krispy Kremes. I enter, and before I can walk over to the Krispy Kreme display, the donut lady motions me over to the counter. "A little gift to make up for yesterday,"ť she says, handing me a Krispy Kreme box with six cream-filled chocolate-topped goodies inside. They stare at me through the little plastic window, chanting, "Eat, eat, eat!"

I try to beg off this free offering, but she insists: "You're my favorite customer. This is just to show our appreciation. Believe me, you have bought plenty of donuts here, and I just wanted to give you some to make up for yesterday. A lot of times, all the donuts don't sell, and I'll just write these up as day-olds."

"Well, that's really sweet,"ť I mumble, kind of embarrassed by this whole thing and looking down.

"Yeah, I'm usually not this nice to anybody. I don't know what's gotten into me lately." She smiles. "I guess it's all these damn donuts."ť Again, she pats her tummy. I notice now that she is wearing a pair of cut-off bib overalls, and that they may have fit well at some point, but now, she can not button the buttons up the sides. Her belly presses hard against the bib of her overalls. Under the overalls, she has on a tight green tubetop, and her love handles are poking out of the sides of the overalls, hanging out through the unbuttoned gaps. I think about how many donuts she has stuffed into this outfit.

And if she might want just one more.

I offer her one of the cream-filleds which she starts eating it with a big smile. After waving goodbye, I leave the store. I eat one of the cream-filleds before I leave the parking lot, and I notice the donut lady looking out the window and nodding at me approvingly as she takes another bite from her treat.

Right now, I am sitting here at the keyboard, indulging myself on my third of five Krispy Kremes. And I'm wondering what I have gotten myself into now. Or maybe, more properly, what's all's getting into me, into my little belly, into my little mind. I seem destined to chubbiness. What's going to happen next? Maybe aliens will abduct me and take me to some chocolate-wonderland world and fatten me up as an experiment in weight gain. Or maybe someone will walk in and give me a free coupon to an all-you-can-eat buffet. Or maybe a co-worker will stick her head in and say, "I made some cookies last night. They're in the kitchen if you want some."ť It seems as if the whole world has become my co-conspirator in a plot to fatten me up. Every word, every message, every signal, every motion on this earth right now seems to be all geared toward my eating and plumpening. I know I am obsessing about this, but I am finding it more and more difficult to stop. To stop obsessing and to stop eating.

I would say that my future is most definitely fat. Will I indulge a little and bulge a little? Or am I going to keep stuffing myself until I am a certified fatty, up in the obese range of the charts, even zooming off the charts. I am far from fat now, but with the donut lady's and others' encouragement, I could get there rather quickly. Does that scare me, worry me? A little. But it also fascinates me and makes me feel like getting fatter is a pretty good idea, that it's an idea whose time has come. Am I really going to grow a bigger and better belly? I feel as if I get closer with each scrumptious bite of donut and each encouraging word from the donut lady and others. And all those tempting messages from all over the place. All that delicious food in the advertisements and in the grocery aisles and at the carryouts, screaming, "Eat, eat, eat! Get plump, plump, plump!"ť

And I feel as if I have a new appetite for life, and especially for food and for filling my gut until it makes a nice round little potbelly. I think something within me has awakened, something which I have been denying. Is this feeling perverse? I don't know. Is it dangerous? I don't know. I feel like I would like to gain some weight, that I would like to eat and eat and eat until I have grown pleasantly rotund.

I don't know if that's good or bad, but I'm willing to see where it leads -- and it may lead to me having to buy larger size pants and larger shirts, unless I want to flaunt in public just how chubby I've gotten and just squeeze myself into too-tight clothes. I used to worry about what others think about my appearance, but I don't anymore. In fact, some people have told me I look better since I gained a little weight, that I might even look better with some more. Is this good? Or dangerous? I wonder.

With all this obsession, I have just been thinking lately about eating constantly, gobbling up anything and everything that I can lay my hands on, just for the feeling of fullness and the fattening effect it will have on me. Do I unleash these feelings? Do I want to get real, real big and fat or just build a nice smooth round gut. Maybe get a roll of fat around the edges, to the sides, grow some bigger grabbable love handles for Annie to hang onto. Maybe allow myself to get a bit flabby elsewhere, thicken my thighs a little? I wonder if there are foods that will send most of the weight to my belly, or will I just get kind of fat all over? Does beer just go to the belly? I've heard that. Mmm, the sight of a woman with a cute little beer belly is just heavenly to me. I know that a lot of Annie's belly is the result of some weekend beers.

I love chocolate. I am a certified licensed chocoholic. Of course, I'm eating some right this minute. I wonder where the chocolate and the cream filling are going. Where on me will this Krispy Kreme land? Does it go to belly, chest, thighs, love handles, rear? Should I set a goal? What kind of goal should I set for myself? How much should I gain? How big should I get? I wonder all these things. And I wonder if I unleash this raging appetite if I would be able to stop when I reach that goal. I worry about that a little. But then, I think about eating some more. All this gluttony fascinates me and excites me and scares me, all at the same time.

I am far from fat now, but I get a little closer with each scrumptious Krispy Kreme bite. Right now, I am probably not even regarded as plump by some people. But I can't help but notice my chubbing belly. As it grows, it is becoming harder and harder to ignore. It is definitely pooching outward, and my navel is growing deeper, surrounded by a little ring of soft fat. I have heard that soft ring of fat called a "donut ring"ť or a "bagel ring" maybe depending on the size of it. Mine is shaped just like a donut all puffy, doughy and soft. And my deepening navel recedes and forms the donut hole to complete the effect. I didn't used to have this donut sitting here on my midsection, making my gut look fat. I used to be a skinny little thing with a flat stomach covered with hard muscles. All that old me is now covered with a coating of fat. And there's a "belly donut"ť hanging right out in front of my body. I guess it's true what they say: You are what you eat. And my tummy is taking on the shape of a donut.

And all this talk of donuts is making me hungry again. There are two donuts in the box still calling for me to consume them: "Eat, eat, you're much too thin!"ť I have to go now. They won't leave me alone. I'm a slave to their commands and to the not-so-subtle encouragement of that deliciously plump donut lady. A small part of me wants to stop, but a bigger part of me wants to keep going and keep growing. And that bigger part of me is getting bigger and bigger all the time. And I'm worried and fascinated and aroused and scared by all these feelings.

But most of all right now, I just feel hungry.