Id Love To Have A Bodybuilder Feeder.

I’d love to have a bodybuilder feeder.

Post dinner belly bulge. And I’ve still got cheesecake for dessert plus a Nutrition can to drink and a tin of rice pudding before bed.

Fuck! I want this to happen to me. Please guys, someone help me become 500 asap.

Feeders are hot and all but so are “bad influences” and enablers. Big fat superchubs that are so ingrained in their gluttonous, hedonistic lifestyle of obesity that they can’t help but rub it off on anyone who happens to end up in their presence for any real amount of time. They’ll have you over just to game and order pizza and get high, maybe they’ll just order an extra pizza just to leave out for you to subtly coax you into indulging, and with a little more weed and nudging you’ll be wolfing it down before you know it.

Soon this one-off hangout becomes a regular weekly routine, then bi-weekly, then 3 or 4 nights a week, because you’d rather hang out with your fat foodie buddy and get high than waste time at the gym - and he’d much rather prefer that you did that as well. In fact, although he doesn’t say it, every gym session you skip gets rewarded with an extra pizza and tub of ice cream. This routine starts taking its toll on your body but your fat bud doesn’t mind. He’s started reaching out and rubbing your rapidly expanding belly lately, and you can’t help but return the favour. He’s giving you his old 4XL tank tops and sweatpants to wear since you’re getting too big for your own lately, and these are much more comfy for your widening ass.

And then, before you know it, you’re over there every night, getting high, shoving greasy burgers and pizzas and fries into your flab-filled face, outgrowing all your clothes before you even have a chance to wear them in for long, and now you’re making out with your massively obese friend who enabled you to get this fucking fat, while he plays with your tits and gets you grunting like a genuine pig. You need to be over there regularly anyway - the fatpad he’s pushed on you is now too big and deep for you to be able to reach that buried nub anymore, so you need him to reach in and help you finish.

You move out of your old place, which you pretty much never spend any time at anymore anyway, and move in with your new superchub boyfriend. Now the only place he lets your gigantic rump waddle to anymore is between the fridge, the bed, the bathroom and the couch - he takes care of answering the door with your food deliveries. You’ve forgone even the most basic of oversized tank tops and sweatpants and are just lazed out on the couch in the 8XL overstretched fat guy briefs that barely contain your swollen fatpad and oversized fat pig rump.

He’s pulled you out of the real world and brought you into his hazy, obese, decadent life of hedonism and gluttony, and you’re never getting out. Not that you could ever want to. Who needs a gym and a normal life when you can rub fatpads with the 500lb fat man who quietly made you even fatter than he is.

I reckon this is how my build will grow in the immediate future. But once I’m there I AM NOT STOPPING.

No limits, no regrets

Things are slowly increasing again. I’m loving the heft I’m building. I feel like a stuffed barrel right now.

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To Obesity And Beyond

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Drinking shakes and watching inspirational fatties