Cindy's Interview - A Ton, and then Some (Part 1)

“I've always wanted to be fat, ever since I was little.” Cindy recalled as she lay weightily in her huge, specially made bed. Her breathing was heavy and laboured, yet her demeanor came across as surprisingly chipper and positive.

“I remember being super bored one day - I imagine it was probably the long school summer holidays - and just picking up one of my Mum's magazines off of the coffee table whilst she was chatting away to a friend. No idea which one it was, it just had the usual boring grown-up stuff in it really, I don't remember. 

Then I flicked over to an article about this woman, and all of a sudden, I was kind of transfixed. She was enormous. I can still picture that photograph in my mind now.

At first I don't think I was even sure what I was looking at. Then I sort of realised that this was all one woman. She was just laying, partly propped up in bed. She had these huge legs that were so big they had to be spread apart, and this enormous belly that just swamped her middle. Even under her nightgown, you could tell she had these big, heavy boobs just resting there. She was just laying there, looking at the camera and smiling - and I just kept looking right back at her. I couldn't stop.

Even at the age of about eight years old, I became incredibly curious, even obsessed with getting fat. I mean, I had known fat people existed by then of course, but not like that. How could one person become that big? 

I secretly flicked through that magazine whenever I had the chance, zeroing in on that article. I just couldn't stop looking. Then eventually it disappeared, and I remember searching everywhere for it. Finally I found it tucked into a bag for recycling, and without hesitation, I pulled it out and snuck it back to my room. I hid that magazine real well, like it was some sort of forbidden tome, even though in reality it was just a harmless gossip magazine. 

There weren't many days that I failed to look at that magazine article. I'd just lie on my bunk bed staring at the pictures of this gigantic woman, wondering what it must be like to be that fat. How did she do anything? How much did she have to eat to even reach that size? Eventually, I began to wonder - could she get even bigger? 

My reading wasn't great but it probably improved as I scoured that article over and over, trying to find out anything I could. Eventually I learned that despite the cheerful smiles, the woman in the pictures was actually desperately trying to lose weight, but it did little to deter my imagination on how to get there in the first place. 

Over the next few years I have vivid memories of stuffing pillows and bundled-up jumpers under my clothes, trying to pad myself up to look fatter - in secret, of course. Other times, if possible, I would try and sneak a packet of biscuits up to my room. Then I’d lay in bed with pillows stuffed beneath the sheets, and eat the entire packet. I recall a few awkward grillings from my mother about the crumbs in my bed or why my clothes were so stretched out, but I think I mostly avoided suspicion. Maybe it all makes a little more sense now!

Throughout my teens that fantasy of getting fat only grew stronger for sure. My high school had a really good library, and I remember sneaking off at lunch time to flick through the Guinness World Records book, just to find the fattest woman. I would sometimes use the computer suite to search online too, but only if it was really, really quiet - I was still incredibly secretive about my fascination with fat.

I do remember getting caught out by my browsing history on the home computer once - I didn't know how to erase it - and my mother was reading search terms like ‘fattest woman’, ‘how fat can a person get’ and ‘how to get fat’. Somehow I managed to convince her, I think, that it was for a school project, but even so she wasn't very pleased, to say the least. It was also probably the first time I'd come across the term ‘BBW’, and more importantly ‘SSBBW’.

My mother hated the idea of me getting fat. Throughout my teens I did gradually manage to become a little more ‘chubby’, but it was difficult. She wasn't overly strict as such, but she was never going to buy me the kind of calorific treats that I imagined indulging myself on. I can vividly remember my mum encouraging me to lose weight before my prom, for example. Whilst many girls, however, were spending their pocket money on makeup and CD’s, I spent a lot of mine on fattening snacks in an attempt to satisfy my curiosity. 

Those first few early forays onto the internet had really opened my eyes, and by the time I left school I still had very little idea what I wanted to actually do with my life, other than to actively get fat, real fat. That's all I seemed to think about. Seeing women in books and magazines who had happened to become enormous but were seemingly ashamed about it went in stark contrast to some of the women I had seen online; not only were these women proud of their size, but many of them were actively trying to get even heavier. That really helped me feel less alone at the time, even if my dreams still seemed a long, long way off.

At eighteen I left home to go to University. Well, I travelled home most weekends, but still, it was a very big taste of freedom and independence. No longer under my mother's watchful gaze, and equipped with a student allowance, it didn't take long for me to realise that now was my chance. In fact, I think I was more excited about gaining weight than anything else on campus. I made some great new friends and went to some awesome mixers and events, but pretty soon I settled down to a blissful routine of overindulgence and readily available takeout. At times I think I actually got a bit carried away, missing classes more than once to sleep off a binge, or to head out for food with my roommates. Many new students refer to the ‘Fresher’s Fifteen’, but in my case it was far closer to forty! It seemed I was a natural fatty after all. 

Have I ever had any doubts about my life choice? No, I don't think I really have. Maybe when I first started putting serious weight on - it's a sort of ‘now or never’ moment - but the sensation of it, the feeling of getting bigger and heavier far outweighs any of the concerns. Curiously, for as long as I can remember, I have always felt that my body was extraordinary in some way, even as a kid. When I started gaining, I never really questioned if I could get fat, but rather how fat could I get? My body, somehow, would be able to cope.

Last month I finally crested one ton. I thought at that point I may just stop gaining - but I still have that question in my mind, and I don't believe I will ever be satisfied until I find out just how big my body can actually get. I'm hooked, I'm obsessed, and I don't think I can stop, even if I wanted to.

It's certainly been an incredible, if testing journey so far. The last five-hundred pounds has really taken its toll, but here I am at just over twenty-three-hundred pounds, and still gaining, still pushing for more, and more.

Right now I'm gaining around six to seven pounds in a day, but back at University I would be happy with that in a month! By the time the first semester was over I had gone from slightly chubby to seriously plump. My mother didn't approve of course, but I really didn't mind, I had enjoyed every minute of gaining, and it only confirmed that I wanted to continue. When quizzed by my family over the Christmas Holidays, I recall having to dig really deep to actually answer any of their questions about my course, and yet I knew my feeding schedule and my gaining targets off by heart. 

Surprisingly, I did actually graduate from University. At times my desire to grow fat almost cost me my qualification, but somehow I usually found a balance. On my graduation day, I weighed in at around three-hundred-and-thirty pounds, grinning with delight in the quite snug XL gown I had hired. I felt like a balloon as I walked out on stage to collect my degree, and I loved every second of it. I wasn't enormous by any means, but it was still plenty of weight for my modest five-feet six-inch frame to carry. At just twenty-one, I had successfully gained over 170 pounds in just three years, more than doubling my body weight. That, for me, was the greatest achievement.

Once I had left University, I didn't move back home. I knew my mother only meant well, but she was already more than vocal about my size and weight. There was not a cat in hells chance that she would let me keep up the gluttonous lifestyle I adored. Even to this day, she still doesn't understand why her daughter continues to ‘blow up’, as she puts it, and I'm not sure she ever will. I know that she loves me, even if she doesn't agree with my choices in life, and I think that's the same for a lot of people. Instead, I managed to pick up a basic job and moved to a nearby town. 

During my three years staying in student halls, I had met plenty of people and made lots of good friends. A few people turned their backs on me, I'll admit, perhaps because they didn't want to be seen with one of the heaviest students on campus, I don't know. At the start of the second semester, just after the holidays, however, a new girl moved into our student halls, in the room just opposite mine, and we quite quickly became very good friends. 

I've known Tabby for nearly ten years now, and not only did we bond quickly over the usual shared lines and dislikes of teenage girls, but soon it became quite obvious that we both shared a fascination.

Tabby was probably the first person I had openly told about not only my interest in the extremely fat, but also my own ambition to perhaps one day get there myself. Alcohol played a very large part in loosening our tongues and lowering our inhibitions, but rather than being met with terrifying rejection or mocking, Tabby actually confirmed she had also felt the same. The only issue Tabby found was that she wasn't much of a foodie - she was slim and slender, delicate even. It didn't take long for us to both naturally formulate a plan and decide to work as a team. Our student budgets were tight, but with both of us buying food and some extra encouragement on hand, we both indulged our fantasies between classes.

When it came time to move out, we both found it made sense to rent an apartment together. Not only could we split the bills, but it was clear both of us were still very keen to see my weight gain journey continue. With two reasonable incomes, there was also a much better budget for food and takeout, and I found myself continually snacking during my hours off of work. If my hand or mouth was empty, Tabby would fetch me something to keep me chewing. We worked well together, and Tabby relished in seeing me pack on the pounds as much as I did. In just six months I went up three uniform sizes at the grocery store I was working at, barely able to fasten the poor buttons or tie up the apron on their largest size. At this point I was at least four hundred-and-forty pounds, and I did my best to keep stuffing myself into that uniform until it was literally bursting at the seams as I continued to gain. It looked hilarious, but I loved it, I felt huge. Eventually they let me wear stretchy leggings instead of the button up black trousers, and a white t-shirt instead of the white blouse. They had to tie and extra piece of material to the apron, just so that I could tie it around my waist. 

Finally they moved me into the cash office and off of the shop floor, as it became clear that I was struggling on my feet all day, and taking way too long between jobs. Yet despite the awkwardness and the funny looks, I just dreamt of enormity even more. Five-hundred pounds was nearly in reach, and the Christmas Holidays, followed by a dark, gloomy winter only encouraged the pounds to pile on faster than ever. 

At the beginning of spring, shortly after I had reached five-hundred pounds in fact, Tabby was made aware of the passing of her great Aunt, and with it, a plump inheritance and more importantly a significant number of elderly investment bonds that turned out to have gained substantial value. At first I wondered if at that point Tabby would be wanting to find a place of her own, and maybe even start a new life altogether. Instead, however, I believe that is probably the moment that we actually became even closer to each other. After a few lengthy discussions, it was both clear that we were hungry for much, much more - in fact, neither of us could see the horizon in sight. I vividly remember Tabby whispering to me across the dining table, ‘Now we can afford to do this properly.’

The next two days I feigned illness and skipped work. Instead, I pretty much lay in bed, glutted, as Tabby brought me an endless supply of fattening treats, snacks and takeout. I ate, and I ate, both of us riding high on the excitement of seeing just what my beautiful body could achieve. The more we talked about it, the more we both wanted it, plotting and planning over ways to get me fatter, and faster. It was incredibly hot. 

I did work my notice, believe it or not. In that final month though, I broke three office chairs - two of them in the last week. I don't think they missed me. 

After that, Tabby insisted I no longer worked. The plan we both agreed on was that I would be a ‘full-time feedee’. It felt strange saying it at first, I must admit. As someone from quite a humble background, I found it hard to imagine not having another job, possibly ever, but as Tammy reminded me, gaining was my job. There was no waiting to get home from the office to binge, or waiting for payday for a blowout - all day, everyday, my only task was to eat like a girl gone mad. Overtime, extra time, anytime, that was our motto. And so I began full time gaining, and boy was it a career change. 

I'll be honest, even for me, it was a challenge at first. It probably took several weeks to retrain myself and get into a good routine. Sure, I was used to binge eating and snacking, as it worked around my ‘old life’, but keeping yourself constantly full is surprisingly exhausting. Pacing was key, we worked out, at least did me; a steady stream of fattening, filling foods with plenty of cat-naps in-between. Eventually I was waking up around 6am to begin my gluttonous routine, and crashing out from overindulgence at 1 to 2am. Tabby insisted on doing pretty much everything she could for me, apart from go to the bathroom. As you can imagine, I began to blow up like a blimp - or at least that’s how it felt. I was making personal records and then breaking them as we ironed out the routine; from packing on three to four pounds a week, to five, then six, then seven - that's a pound of fat a day, and over two stone a month!

All those extra pounds soon added up, and it didn't seem to take long for me to exceed six-hundred pounds. I began to feel big, really big, and I can't help but admit that I loved it. It was, however, a double edged sword in some ways, and as I climbed beyond six-hundred, I began to get a reality check on what my life would become if I were to keep on gaining. Even at around five-hundred pounds, work, and life in general had ensured that I still remained fairly active, making my increasing weight significant, but perhaps a little more bearable. Now I was packing on timber at a dizzying rate, yet barely leaving the couch or bed unless I actually needed or wanted to, giving my body very little time to adjust to its rapidly increasing size. 

It didn't deter things though; in fact both myself and Tabby were still trying everything we could to increase the amount I was putting on. It wasn't that I was afraid of becoming immobile as such, in all truth I think it is something I had always considered since some of my earliest fantasies - it was the fantasy, in many ways. You can't get that big without facing a life in bed. The only difference was, up until then anyway, that it had always seemed so far away on the horizon. With each day that passed, and with each pound I gained, as I crept towards six-hundred-and fifty I was being made more and more aware of the impending physical struggle. Just little signs here and there that I was pushing my modest frame beyond capacity. I have to confess that whilst I still had those pangs of doubt, as any normal person would, I was totally captivated as I watched and felt my body grow. I always wanted to see what was just around the next corner. I was addicted to gaining.”

[At this point we had to take a break in the interview. On the other side Cindy’s vast, heavy body, I could just about see Tabby, now Cindy’s primary carer, looking anxiously at her watch. It was feeding time, and our interview had already been an unusually long break in Cindy’s almost constant regime of gluttony.

As Tabby placed a long flexible tube into Cindy’s mouth, she gave a pleasant smile and reminded me that the interview could continue again in an hour or so, but despite Cindy’s already enormous size, she was still actively gaining and keeping up her routine was the greatest priority. Today would be an exception, of course, but with her body being so far beyond its limits, Tabby stressed the importance of how much of a knife edge keeping a girl this big gaining, or even maintaining, could actually be! Routine and consistency were key.

With the large, stainless steel hopper of the feeding machine filled, Tabby switched it on and it began to pulse and hum. I watched as Cindy’s chubby cheeks filled out, and then as her eyes rolled back and she began to gulp purposefully, in an almost enchanting rhythm. Meanwhile Tabby busied herself washing the huge mounds and rolls of her feedee with a sponge and large flannel. 

Tabby chatted idly to me as she took the time to care for her best friend, whilst I just sat, mesmerised. It felt impossible not to be. Although I may not have understood their motive entirely, it was hard to deny just how impressive, or perhaps incredible it was to see the human body reach such a size. And yet, despite this already incredible feat, here she was, hooked up to a machine that was actively fattening her even further. It was hard to imagine Cindy becoming even more enormous than she already was, but clearly both girls were confident that she could still take more. 

Eventually the feeding pump wound down, clanking softly and hissing as it cooled and released pressure. It has been running for over an hour and forty minutes, but finally, after some cleaning and a breather, I was able to continue my interview…]

(Continued in Part 2...)