The Cruise

Originally posted at Finesse's old site (that has since been taken down), this story, who's author even I don't know, is really a solid read. It's straight, but we can look past that because of beautiful descriptions of the main character's growing heft. It's all first person, which is kind of different, and very fun. Read the whole thing after the jump.

The Cruise



author unknown





This is the story of how I gained weight, simple as that. It's a bit like one of those stories you read in women's magazines in doctors' waiting rooms--you know the ones--they tell the inspiring story of some woman who has lost the equivalent of a small child in weight, and because the reader's main curiosity is always "Well how did you get so damn big in the first place you greedy cow?" (especially if there's a before picture) the opening few paragraphs always give some lsme excuse as to how this woman came to double in size almost overnight.



Except my story is not quite like that. Firstly, I'm a man, and a young man at that--well, I'm only just 29. Secondly, there wasn't any great life crisis that led to me binge eating or losing control of my body. Thirdly, there is no second half to my story, no defining turning point, no apocalyptic bed breaking, and certainly no crash diet and resultant weight loss.



So why I am I telling you this? Well, maybe because it kind of fascinates me. It fascinates me how we look at fat people in society and how we judge them--like they're a separate species. A lazy, ignorant, indulgent other species. Slim people wander around eyeing them up and down and wondering "how did they get like that?" "Didn't they like grow out of one size of clothes and think ‘Hey, I must slow down a little on the eating here’." I know this partly because I used to be thin myself and partly because being a man rather than a woman, friends and relatives haven't been frightened of coming up to me in the past year or so and making similar comments to me as I've put weight on.



I've seen it from both sides; for most of my life, I've been slim and toned but for the past 18 months something happened to my body so insidiously that for most of the time I never even noticed it happen. Yes, that's right--I gained nearly 100 lbs and never really noticed how I changed in that time. Is it because I'm a man? I don't know, but read my story and you can judge for yourself.



18 months ago, I was 27 and didn't have a care in the world. I was working for a big firm in New York City. This is the place where greed is good. Lunch is for wimps, and money definitely makes the world go round.



I had a good job for my age and was earning a pretty good salary. I'd managed to get myself onto the expensive Manhattan property ladder with a nice apartment not far from work, which I share with my girlfriend of five years.



One day I came into the office to bad news. Our company was going to be bought by a much bigger corporation. It was almost a certainty that we would lose our jobs. The mood was subdued and soon after we were told, corridor gossip gave a strong indication that everyone was going to get out of there pretty quickly and find other jobs before the axe fell. But it was a pretty good company and I worked in a division that was going to be needed right up until the moment when the new business actually took over. Only a few days later I was taken to one side by my boss.



"How are you feeling about the takeover?" he asked. I explained that I was a bit worried about the future, but to be honest, the reality of the situation had not kicked in by then. He continued "as you've probably guessed, we're going to be all out on our ears in 5 months or so, but that needn't be a bad thing for those that wait. You're going to be key in making sure that our business stays in good shape, and because of that, we've agreed that you, along with a few other key people, will receive an enhanced termination package when the deal is completed."



I could feel dollar signs appearing in my eyes like characters in a cartoon. The figure they had in mind was $150,000 and that was an offer that nobody my age could refuse. A deal was done and I signed on the dotted line only days later.



Well, they weren't wrong when they said I was crucial to the process. My workload shot up. I was going to the office earlier and earlier, struggling to find time to go out for lunch, and leaving work later and later. The money kept me going.



But there were sacrifices. Within a few weeks I realized I just hadn't made time to go to the gym at all--and I was almost religious in my approach to it until then. I felt guilty and made myself promises to go more often, but the workload increased and the promises came to nothing. I didn't realize it then (of course), but my eating patterns were changing also. Instead of a morning gym visit, I was taking an Egg McMuffin to my desk for breakfast. Rather than a big lunch, I was grabbing things to eat all day from the vending machine in the corridor. Finally, at the end of a long day, I was too tired to even think about cooking, and knowing that I was going to be able to afford anything I wanted, I was either eating out with my girlfriend or picking up a pizza or some Chinese to eat at home before I crashed into bed as early as possible, thoroughly exhausted.



The consequences were obvious but you must believe me when I say I never noticed at the time. My trim gym-trained 175 lbs and 6' frame grew to about 198 lbs. I guess that's not a lot over a six month period. I did notice that I was a little less fit than I had been and as my weight was gained all over (thighs and ass as well as belly), I didn't develop a huge belly or anything. My girlfriend never said a word about it, so the only prompt I received was when I noticed how my suit trousers were getting tight, especially when I sat down.



But 198 lbs isn't huge when you've been working out so I kind of drifted along. By the time it came time to leave work forever, no one had commented and I really had gained only about 23 lbs.



By this time, my gym membership for the year had lapsed and I decided not to renew it. It was expensive and besides I wasn't going to need it for another 4 months--I was going travelling!



My girlfriend and I had made the decision one night watching TV (and eating pizza—looking back, I guess the signs are easy to read)--and we'd use the money to give ourselves the holiday of a lifetime before settling back into hectic New York City life.



Traveling isn't quite the right word, though. To me at least, that word conjures up pre-university teens in self-conscious clothes hovering in strange towns clutching a copy of the Rough Guide and trying to ask for directions to the seediest part of town where a bed for the night costs less than $5.



That wasn't for us. I was 27, quite rich and successful, and I wanted some luxury after all the stress I'd been under, so we opted for a four month round the world cruise; no expense spared, luxury outside suite, full board buffet and dinner, great sporting facilities and docking in some of the most amazing places in the world. There was to be no sparing of expenses!



So we set off from New York City and within days we were in warmer climates and able to make use of the sundeck and pool. Well that was the idea. I had to wait until we'd docked in Bermuda three days later because rather embarrassingly I couldn't decently squeeze into any of the shorts I'd brought with me. When you're squeezing into your suits you don't realize that it's much harder to do the same with things that don't fasten---no one tells you that if you put a few pounds on the shorts won't even go past your thighs and over your ass, no matter how much you breathe in.



New shorts bought, it didn't take long to settle down and relax. The stops at the Azores and then other ports on the Mediterranean were almost an unwanted distraction such was the luxury we grew accustomed to on board. I'd had good intentions of using the well-equipped gym and getting back into my good habits, but to be honest, I found my first trip there such hard work and so stressful that I decided not to worry about it and just enjoy the holiday--the gym could wait until I got back--this was time to go easy on myself.



And go easy on myself I did. I'd never seen so much food. Breakfast and lunch were huge elaborate buffets that ran for about 40 feet and dinner in the evening was a lavish affair that you had to dress up for. It usually ran to 5 courses and took the form of leisurely multi-course meals of big portions that lasted for like three hours. It's almost as if they wanted you to gain weight. The evening meals got you used to sitting and eating for hours while in the daytime the limitless supply of tempting fresh food kept pushing back the limits of your stomach's capacity. There was also a midnight buffet, which was a mini-version of the breakfast and lunch extravaganzas, and snack bars open 24 hours a day, just in case any of the increasingly dedicated eaters suffered a stray hunger pang.



There were lots of knowing jokes and nods about this among the male passengers, who seemingly fretted less than their slim wives about letting out their belts after meals. Indeed I could almost feel that I was starting to challenge myself to see if I could eat more than the previous day--and with little else to do I would spend hours at the buffet perfecting the art.



It wasn't long before the new shorts I'd had to buy were experiencing the same problem as the old ones I'd had to discard. Seems were popped, stitching ripped, zippers burst open. When we made a stop in Alexandria I had to admit defeat and almost buy a whole new wardrobe just so I could get through a meal without having to undo my pants, and that was after only 3 weeks.



I was literally packing the weight on and I was starting to notice things change in my body but without ever putting all of the evidence together. More than once I got ready for dinner and bent down to put my shoes on to hear a loud rip from my trousers. I began to notice that my body seemed to jiggle independently of the steps I took as I went down stairs, and then soon when I simply walked on deck. I remember guessing after about a month that I must have put on about 10 lbs and thinking "well, that's not so bad, you're going to hit the gym anyway when you get back."



But it didn't stop there. While I fixed in my mind that on the whole holiday I'd probably gained twenty pounds at most, I was seriously deceiving myself. At almost every port, new clothes had to be bought to replace T-shirts that would ride up and expose my ever rounder pot belly, shirts that had had the buttons popped on them, belts that no longer went all the way around me, trousers which--if I could with much effort fasten the waist, I couldn't pull the zipper up, and shorts which I couldn't fit over my thighs and ass, much less attempt to fasten at the waist.



But still I kept eating--day in, day out, two hours at the buffet in the morning, three hours at lunch, and then the big dinner in the evening, with a final top-off at the midnight buffet. The more I ate, the hungrier I became as my capacity increased---and then there were the beers I was putting away in the evening, not having to worry about having a hangover the next day.



The only hangover I was getting was the one over my belt. I was getting seriously big, but strangely it felt good. I felt manly and powerful and was proud of my little belly. I say little belly because our room, rather wisely, didn't have more than a face mirror in it so I wasn't until I got home that I realized what I had done to myself.



Without any friends to kid me about my growing size, or any concerned relatives to point out that I was getting big, I ate myself around the world. I'd almost be sexually excited about going to the buffet, my round stomach growling with anticipation.



And so, the months on board passed. Eating, sleeping, and eating. Mouthful after mouthful I stuffed in my ever-fattening face; at dinner there salads laced with oil and mayonnaise; beef, pork, chicken, and fish, all served with rich sauces or gravy; creamed and buttered vegetables; biscuits and dinner rolls dripping with butter; tortes, cakes and all sorts of rich deserts. All the other meals, as well as the “open 24/7” snack bar, were the same. I was starting to shovel the food into my mouth. At dinner, I developed the art of using buttered pieces of dinner roll to sop up the rich sauces remaining in my plate. If I could have gotten away with licking the plates in public, I would have!



My girlfriend, having put on a few happy pounds herself, didn't want any attention being drawn to that, so she refrained from saying anything to me about my expanding figure.



I could see my face had fattened from the meager mirror in our cabin and I knew my waist had expanded some, but I didn't realize what my size was anymore because when I bought new clothes. I just tried things on until I found something that fit, without even checking the size. I guess I was in happy denial.



Nor were there any scales on board either--something to do with them not working on a surface that's moving such as the ship.



And so my midriff grew--a huge round paunch grew out in front of me, growing up as well as out and down until it met my chest, sagging and fat now from months of indulgence; once tight and trained, now bloated, puffy, and soft and heading south.



My ass, too, was now a fabulously large and round cushion for all this extra weight when I sat down, although I still actually didn't know this at the time because I still hadn't examined myself in a full length mirror.



That pleasure came, if I can call it that, when we returned. Tanned, happy, and (at least for me) decidedly well fed, we crashed back into our Manhattan apartment. The first shock came when I got up the next day to go out and buy milk and bread. My mouth started watering as I contemplated stopping at McDonald's for some sausage and egg Mcmuffins--or should it be sausage and egg Mcgriddles?--with a couple of cinnamon buns on the side to tide me over until I got home and my girlfriend could prepare my real breakfast. Without thinking, I went to the closet to put on some warm clothes (it was now winter). These were clothes I hadn't taken with me, and what's more they were getting snug before we left, remember.



Anyway, after many minutes of fruitless struggle, it slowly dawned on me just how big I'd become and with my jeans only halfway up my legs and my girlfriend still sleeping sounding, I shuffled into the hallway to look at myself in the full length mirror.



I was at once shocked and strangely excited by what I saw in the full length mirror. Reality was a shock! Standing opposite me in the mirror was a fat man. Big fat pillows of fat puffed up my chest where hard pectorals had once stood. A huge pendulous belly sagged swollen from my torso running into big rolls of soft fat around the sides.



Still in shock I turned sideways and shuffled out of the jeans now round my ankles. My ass had ballooned and now looked like two basketballs bouncing in my underwear. I ran my hands along my body, checking through touch that the image I was seeing in front of me was not some kind of weird distortion. My hands told me that what I saw in the mirror was real. My flab jiggled, quivered, and rippled as I ran my hands up from my belly to my chest and pinched the double chin of fat round my jowly face.



My god, I was huge! What had I done to myself? I stood there in shock and awe for what seemed like ages. I worried momentarily about what my girlfriend would say when she saw me so fat, before I realized that she'd seen me like this; she'd seen me GET like this…and she hadn't said a word.



With a deep sigh I waddled into the bathroom to face the bathroom scales. Despite the shock, I was experiencing strange feelings. I wasn't repulsed by my body in the way I would have expected to be if you had asked me a year earlier about how I'd feel if this happening to me. I was almost excited to find out just what the scales had to say and imagined the needle would swing round to about 215 lbs, but then I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror again and revised the estimate to brace myself for the worst. “You're going to be nearly 225”, I said to myself and at the same moment stepped gingerly onto the scales and looked up to see my reflection while the needle settled into position and I looked down over the curve of my well-developed paunch.



My knees shuddered as my eyes settled on the dial, making the needle wobble again so that I was convinced that it was that shake that was giving the reading I was now seeing. I stiffened in order to stabilize the reading and looked down again.



263 lbs.—incredible! I'd put on more than 65 lbs in four months. I'd become an eating machine, guzzling through plate after plate after plate with no regard to my size, and this is what had happened. The slender gym-trained body had been buried beneath pounds and pounds of bloated, flabby fat.



By now, though, my thoughts were quickly diverted. I hadn't eaten since the night before and my original intention in getting out of bed was to find food, so I wandered into the bedroom quietly to find my old gym sweatpants and a large sweatshirt. I struggled to put them on, and was embarrassed to see how the sweatpants clung to my distended buttocks and huge thighs like a second skin, and the sweatshirt emphasized my sagging man boobs and deeply sunken bellybutton. They’d have to do if I wanted to get breakfast.



I think because my weight gain was so big and so sudden, friends, ex-colleagues, and relatives were too shocked or too embarrassed for me to mention my colossal weight increase the way most people will. Let's face it, I really had packed on the pounds.



Compared to my old self, I was a whale, and now I realized how big I was I began to notice other things which must have been there but I ignored… like how hard it was to tie my shoes, walk up 2 flights of stairs, walk quickly, run to catch a bus. The list goes on.



Venturing out three weeks later to buy a bigger suit so that I could start applying for new jobs I was by now not surprised to discover I had a 44" waist. It must have been only 42" when I got back, but to be honest, after I arrived home I lounged around the apartment, watching TV, always with a big plate of food balanced atop my bulging belly. I had plenty of my termination pay left; why seek a job until I really needed to? The day I finally got off my ever-widening, big fat behind to go looking for a new suit, I got on the scales again. They told me I was nudging 274 lbs already. My capacity for food was now much greater and what could have sustained me for a day previously could now barely pass for a starter.



Maybe because I was now waddling around like a true fat boy, it took longer to find a new job than I thought--3 months in fact, during which time my weight continued to rise. The suit I bought for interviews was no good for my first day in my new job at least. With many lazy days with only a fridge full of food and daytime TV and my computer for company, I'd manage to pack on another 50 lbs. The new suit I purchased to wear on my first day on the job had a 58" chest and 52" waist. The seat of the trousers had to be specially let out to accommodate my huge round ass. I was growing at an alarming rate now. Not surprising when I looked at what I was eating in a typical day. I had grown to love eating and the nice, satisfied feeling a full tummy gave me, so I ate my way through the day. In between meals, I was always snacking and munching on something tasty without even realizing what I was doing.



So in 18 months, I'd gained over 125 lbs. And I was happy. My sex life with my girlfriend (now soon to be my wife) had never been better. I think she secretly prefers me bigger which is weird but exciting. She's never tried to wean me onto healthy foods, and we've continued as before.



My gain has slowed down now, kind of leveled out, but I'm still getting bigger slowly. Right now I'm not far from 350 lbs and I have to go to a special shop for my suits, but I can afford it. Being measured for new suits is always an enlightening experience for me. Standing in the fitting room in my skintight boxer shorts, surrounded by mirrors which are angled to provide a complete view, gives me the perspective of my growing form which I never had when we were on the cruise. My broad shoulders, their width expanded by the flab on my upper arms; pillowy chest, with bulging, sagging former pectorals; ballooning paunch; lovehandles like thick truck tires wrapping around my back, topped by smaller rolls of fat; and plump thighs and calves are testimony to my ever-increasing appetite. Most amazing to me, the former gym addict, is my ass---two huge globular buttocks, jiggling, quivering, bobbing and moving from side to side within my stressed 4XL boxers as the tailor has me shift position to complete the measurements for my newest suit. From the back, each buttock can be seen in all its full, round glory, sitting high on my backside and connected to each broad, bulging lovehandle. Each fat part of my body bulges separately and seems to have a life of its own. I feel weird pride, realizing that I alone take credit for all the development. My stretch marks, like bright red lines on a road map, are testimony to the speed of my growth.



Seeing me gain yet more weight of course meant that my friends and relations got more comfortable making comments about my size--both within earshot and directly to me. I've lost count of the amount of times I've overheard "My god, Tim's just getting bigger and bigger, what's happening to him" and "he's really letting himself go, he doesn't seem to care, look at the size of him."



I don't care. Like I say, I'm happy---fat and happy. My new work colleagues have only ever known me fat. It's weird to think that they think of me as a fat guy. When we invited them for dinner one night they were silently stunned by a photo of me from two years ago they saw framed in the bookcase in the hall. I could hear them whispering in hushed tones, debating whether that could really be me, but failing to get up the courage to ask as they entered the room whether that was me or a twin brother who has somehow been given slimmer genes than me.



My increasing weight has actually been a plus on my new job. My boss has told me a number of times that I have a "presence" that impresses subordinates and customers, as well as the higher-ups. My expense account, used to entertain clients and pay for working lunches, has been a help in paying for some of my enormous lunches (enormous to others--just a regular meal now to me).



Like I said, I'm getting married soon so I'll be faced with looks of horror from little-seen relatives when they see me now. But I'll be ready for them.



Hell! I'll probably be even fatter by then, the way I'm heading. I'm thinking that 400 lbs will be a nice round number for me at the time of my wedding!