July 2012

Hi All, A few weird things have happened that I felt like sharing. First of all, I haven’t left my room in over a month now. It’s not so much that I’m physically incapable, I did go out of it for the jubilee weekend, but my aunt has a problem with my smell. It’s not something I can really help but there are two main smells. One is the sweat, and most of all the sweat that gets in my folds and sort of rots. I have a few rashes which smell bad too, and some bed sores that weep and smell even worse. This is despite getting a sponge bath every day from my aunt which can take half an hour. The other smell is something I have even less control over, and it’s the stench of shit from under me. It’s gotten gradually harder and harder for me to move and I’ve reached a point where rolling over to change my pad is so hard that I think I’ll pass out. I don’t know if I’m bigger or just more unfit, but it’s so hard that I can only manage it once a day. Because of that I’m sitting on a days worth of it most of the time. I hold it in for as long as I can but I guess because I’m constantly eating, there’s always something wanting to come out, so I can’t hold it long. This has depressed me and I’ve been eating even more because I’m upset. My cousin Vicky is unemployed at the moment and has a lot of time on her hands. She spends most of her day at home in her room eating junk food. Like me, she doesn’t have a lot of friends so she’s been spending time with me, and we’ve gotten a lot closer over the last few weeks. She reminds me so much of me before I became like this (and when I think that I’ve been bed bound for about 2 years, it seems depressing, and it feels longer). I try to warn her that when I was her size, as soon as I stopped walking I was screwed. My legs just stopped working properly and I ended up ballooning and half dead in hospital. She says she can’t diet, she’s tried and it hasn’t worked. I know how that feels and I just can’t convince her. On Saturday she came over to spend the night, sleeping on the spare mattress on the floor in my room. For the past 2 weeks my aunt had refused to buy me fast food (even though I was getting oven chips and pizzas all day, go figure) because she felt I was getting bigger again, not smaller. I can’t honestly tell anymore, it’s like I’m so big that even 5 or 10 stone is hard to see on me. Vicky had also been attempting to diet, so had gone the whole week without any herself. She usually eats fast food every day so we were both craving it badly and decided that on the Saturday we’d eat all the junk food we could, and then go back to normal. She phoned me about midday. I’d only just woken up but my aunt had already brought me a full English and two bowls of coco-pops, so I was just getting warmed up. She hadn’t eaten so she was starving, which didn’t help her decision making at the McDonald’s drive through. She asked what I wanted, I told her my usual, 2 large big mac meals, one with a chocolate shake, one with a coke, 4 double cheeseburgers and because we were being extra naughty, I asked her to get me 2 chicken mayo’s, 2 quarter pounders, a crunchie mcflurry and a smarties mcflurry. I felt at the time like I could eat a whole pig, but when she placed 2 heavy bags on my belly in front of me and put a 4 cup holder down on the table next to me, I started to think I might have bitten off more than I could chew. I’m not sure if I recall it all exactly, but I think she had a big mac meal, a quarter pounder meal, a double cheeseburger and a couple of shakes and a mcflurry. There might have been more, I can’t remember. While she was out she also picked up two 12 packs of Krispy Kremes. She ate like she’d been starved for months and while I masticated away slowly pacing myself through my piles of food she just inhaled everything in her bags. She leaned back in the chair (we were watching TV all this time, ironically, a US biggest loser) and she was sweating and breathing like she’d just been running. She sat there drinking her shakes and I could see that her clothes were tight and her jeans were digging deep into her belly. “That’s one good thing about being this big,” I said to her, “that I don’t have a waistband digging in when I’m stuffed.” She laughed and placed her hands on her gut. “I’m going to have to get changed.” She said, undoing her top button and zip and flopping her belly onto her lap, sighing with relief. As I carried on slowly eating and we watched big Americans trying to lose weight, she told me that she’d been weighed again by her GP, and she was now over 35 stone. That got me lecturing her again, trying to scare her into slowing down a bit. I told her that she wasn’t far away from where I was when I stopped being able to walk. I told her all the things she was likely to miss out on if she ended up like me. Independence, freedom, a normal sleep pattern, normal relationships, being able to go outside or travelling, holidays, sex, even being unable to masturbate anymore . . . Then she told me that she never has. Never once, apparently, had she had an orgasm. At 21 I found it hard to believe, but we talked about it. She’s never had a boyfriend and never really felt the urge to do anything to herself. Since she’d always been big through her teens it was a lot of effort anyway, I know myself. But for me there’s always been sexual reward from food. I’ve always gotten myself in the mood by swelling my stomach with junk food (even though now I can’t bring myself to climax, the urge is still there to do it). I tried to tell her how amazing it feels to orgasm, the surge of pleasure through your whole body, but she didn’t get it. She said how she wasn’t going to miss any of those things when she ended up like me because she had never really had them. She didn’t go out much, didn’t do holidays, didn’t exactly have a life to lose, and she feels like its becoming increasingly inevitable that she’ll end up like me. She said food makes her happy and she thinks that what I have going on is ideal for her and she’d swap with me any day. I can’t express the physical pain I’m in all day, she won’t listen to it, she seems to think I’m just sitting in comfort eating. Yes most of the day I suppose I’m comfortable but any movement and my sores and my back kill for hours. She doesn’t understand. I asked her if she’d ever eaten deliberately to gain weight. She said that she knows every time she eats too much that it’s going to her hips, but she happily continues to eat anyway, so in a way, yes. I told her of all the times I’d eaten just to be bigger, and the times I’d eaten to the point of being in pain just to please my feeder. I told her of the times I force fed myself out of boredom, frustration, heartache, depression . . . it was good to talk about it, for both of us I think. I didn’t really get as full as I thought I would on my McDs because I ate it so slowly. Vicky changed into stretchy leggings and a really big t-shirt and we started to think about what we wanted to eat for dinner. Pizza was all I could think of and we ended up ordering a delivery. I got 2 large pizzas, one all meats one vegetarian, some chicken dippers and some garlic bread, plus a tub of ice cream. Vicky got a large meat feast, the same sides and a different ice cream. We also started drinking around 4 and had finished off a bottle of JD by about 6. While we were eating our pizzas we got through most of a bottle of apple Bacardi and were both fairly drunk. For the rest of the evening we ate the donuts and some other junk she got from tesco like crisps and desserts, then we drunkenly decided that we should eat as much as we possibly could and ordered a Chinese delivery. I was pretty drunk by that point and I remember eating a lot, being sick once or twice and falling asleep. The next day we slept in until about 2, then Vicky went out to get us brunch. My aunt changed my pad and told me off for the bin bag full of junk food packaging she found and threw away. She changed the sheet I’d been sick onto as well. I admitted we’d gotten a bit drunk, but I don’t think she realised that mostly I’d been sick from overeating. She’s become used to me puking on myself. Sometimes I do it when I have a migraine, sometimes its just because I comfort ate something too rich or too much of something, and lots of the time it’s because I’m drunk. It’s gross but she’s good at dealing with it. Vicky got back with KFC (having not changed out of her food covered black leggings and tshirt), which I’d been dying for, and I wolfed down a bucketful and a big bottle of Pepsi. We had more snacks over the course of the afternoon and some home cooked roast chicken (which, while delicious, was eaten by 2 overfed and slightly delicate stomachs, so we didn’t eat as much as usual). Before she left, I told Vicky to take some clothes from my wardrobe. They were too big for her, but I said if she was sure that she was going to keep growing, she may just as well take them, because I’m unlikely to ever fit in them again. She tried some on and it sort of sank in I think, the idea that if she were to keep growing, she’d fill the tents that she was stood in and then eventually not wear clothes anyway. I also told her to take my vibrator from my knickers draw. I explained that it was pretty much impossible for me to use it without help, and it might even help her have her first orgasm. She was pretty reluctant to take it and nervous to even touch it but I eventually convinced her to stick it in her bag to take home with her, along with a few outfits that she liked the look of. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her, I don’t like the idea that she’s resigned to getting this big, but I do find it kind of exciting in another slightly sick and twisted way. I’m eating like crazy since the weekend, like even more than usual, I’ve just really kicked my gluttony up a gear. Vicky is planning to come over this weekend too for more of the same, which I’m really looking forward to because it was a lot of fun and I really enjoyed the company and the junk food. Anyway, I’m going to keep laying here slowly feeding myself to death and I’ll update again when something interesting happens. Love love. Ali xxx