hatrick199

What'd you wear to the shower? I assume people are too polite to say anything, but can you ever tell if your new size catches people that have known you a while off guard?

Pretty broad request, but trying to re-find a story about a girl who gets the chance to change attributes about herself, but there's unintended consequences and she ends up getting bigger

Can't believe that's 8 years old already, what's Kara up to these days?

The Omega Moos

There's a girl I know who used to be really fit and dated and is now married to a fit guy, and has absolutely blown up while he's stayed the same size. I figure the odds that it's this are extremely slim they're into this, but it always made me wonder.

Out of curiosity, do you have the old profile you did this with before?

Thanks for the feedback! Here's the second and final part of this short story. "This is my apartment. My wife lives in Wisconsin, so it's just me. You can't come in the front door though. There's a parking garage below the building, drive in and park in that spot. I stared at him for a second. "Congressman?" "I just fed you, you can call me Peter from here." "I uhh, I don't have a car." He stared at me for a second, and then opened a desk drawer and wrote a check and handed it to me. It had $35,000 on it. "Holy fuck, Peter. People will find out." "It's in a private LLC I use for, umm, expenses I would not like people to find out about me. Take the rest of the day off work. Get yourself a car, and drive to the parking garage under the apartment at 8:30 tonight. Spot 56." "You're buying me a car? People are going to wonder how I could afford this." "It's DC, no one will notice a normal sedan. Now-- I have a vote." With that he walked off. I sat there in his office, alone and dumbfounded. Did that just happen? As I went back to my desk, all I wanted to do was go lay down, my stomach was so full and sore. As I tried not to focus on that, George tapped me on the shoulder, "Hey Kels, just FYI you have some chocolate smeared on the side of your mouth." I sheepishly laughed, grabbing a kleenex and wiping it off, if only he knew. -------- It was a day of firsts for me. I'd never deposited a $35,000 check before. I'd never bought a car, or bought a car by giving my bank account number, and obviously, had never been fed sexually. As I drove to Peter's apartment, I questioned whether I was really going to go sleep with a married man for the first time. I had tried to take steps to conceal my identity. I wore a hat, and threw a hoodie over my outfit, which was my favorite romper I thought I looked cute in. Driving up to Peter's apartment was another reminder that we lived very different lives. My apartment was a hole in the wall place, cute in the right light, but the kind of place young staffers lived before they went into the private sector and made real salaries. His apartment was a sleek, modern, glass covered building. As I drove up, I punched the code, and the gate opened up. Spot 56 was open. I parked, and took the elevator to his floor, and quietly knocked. The door opened up, and Peter greeted me. The first thing I noticed was how nice his apartment was. Sleek kitchen, large and open living room with a fire going, and a coffee table covered in food. "Thanks for coming Kels," he said, "you probably have some questions don't you?" With that we got to talking, he explained how he always had known he had this fetish, but had never acted on it for social reasons. As far as he knew, his wife didn't know about it, but they were not especially close, more partners than spouses, he said. He also told me I was the first person he's ever fed. "If we're going to do this, we need to set some ground rules," he told me. "First, no one can know about this. Not your colleagues, not your friends, not your family. No one. Second, you have to be discreet. That parking spot is my second spot and is always open, and you can never enter through the front door of the lobby. If we really do this, you're going to, um, see some pretty significant physical changes, so you'll have to think of a good story for that." I blushed thinking about how much he had thought this through. "Are you really sure you want to do this?" he asked. "Feed me, Peter." With that he walked to his fridge and got out a container and a funnel, "open up, Kelsey." ------ I woke up sore the next day. He'd funnel fed me a weight gain shake of muscle powder for an hour, while feeding me on the couch afterward. Of course, we had sex in the middle of it, although I mainly just sat there, nearly immobilized by how turned on and full I was. It was a Saturday, so I slept in, rolling over in his massive bed, and being surprised he wasn't there. When I got up, my stomach was still bloated and hard. I heard something down the hall, and walked over to find him working out on a treadmill. "Morning, Kels!" he said, mid sprint, "see you've found my gym, but I doubt you'll ever be using it!" He was dripping with sweat, clearly having worked out for a while before I woke up. He jumped off the treadmill. "Hey, I have something fun for you." He led me to the kitchen, where there were 12 donuts. "Had them brought up this morning. You look a little hungry." I was still so full from the night before, when he came up behind me. His sweaty body pressed up against mine, and from behind, he reached over my shoulder, to bring a donut up to my mouth, "eat it," he whispered into my ear. I got through five donuts before we inevitably broke down into sex again, this time on the floor of his kitchen. The rest of the weekend followed this cycle of stuffing, sex and exhaustion. By Sunday night I felt ready to explode. And so it went, work in the office by day, stuffing sessions in his apartment at night. After a month I had gained 25 pounds. Gone was my flat stomach, replaced with an increasingly prominent belly. I now had love handles, and felt my ass getting ready to explode out of my jeans. By this point, my clothes no longer fit, either. Peter had predicted this, and had placed $5,000 in my account for new clothes. No one at work knew about our sessions, but it was impossible to hide what was going on with my weight. I overhead interns gossiping about me, saying that I must have changed birth control types, or that I must have weak willpower. I heard an older staffer, maybe my Mom's age, say she was happy I wouldn't be able to get by on my looks anymore. Peter told me he'd heard the office gossip too, "Going to have to be careful, Kels," he joked during one stuffing session, "I don't want to lose the cute girl in the office," as he fed me another slice of pizza. Going from skinny to chubby wasn't just a physical change either. For the first time in my life, I was feeling insecure around girls who still had their bodies. Suddenly, getting dressed to go out meant that I had to find the right combination of not looking frumpy by trying to still be attractive and show off, but also, not so much in a way that I would be ridiculed for my newer physique and rounded figure. By the summer, I was up to 180 pounds. Gone was my angular face, replaced increasingly by a double chin. My ** belly stuck out no matter what I wore, or how I tried to suck it in. My butt had grown flabby, and I was now in size L underwear. Love Handles and back fat had settled in, and my flabby legs had outgrown all my dress pants. Upstairs, my boobs were bigger, but less perky, and my arms were getting puffy. I was officially a chubby chick. Peter began to get more aggressive too. One day, when I was at his apartment, he pulled up my instagram, "can you believe how thin you used to be," handing me his phone. He crawled over on the couch, and raised my shirt to reveal my pale, chubby midsection. "That's gone now," he said, pinching my fat. Attention from other men in my life was drying up. I'd never realized the advantages a young, conventionally attractive woman had in life. In general, people were taking me less seriously, at work meetings, my viewpoints were often ignored, in social interactions, guys flattered me less, paid less attention to me. Going out with friends meant I was the "funny" girl or DUFF (designated fat friend) who wasn't getting laid at the end of the night. All of this was fine. My friends could bang all the low level staffers and law students they wanted. I was the one going back to the Congressman's apartment most evenings. By July, as I was closing in on 195, I went back home to go see my Mom. She hadn't seen me in person since I started my sessions with Peter, but she'd been following me on social media, and knew I was growing. As I stepped into her car from the airport, I could watch her eyes scanning me, fixated on the large roll of flesh that now sat with me in my stomach. "You've, uh, must have really enjoyed DC," she said tersely. My Mom was 54, and looked every single year of it. A life cleaning houses on your hands and knees all day ages you. What right did she have to tell me I looked fat? We got to her apartment, and I looked around. After spending so much time in Peter's sprawling apartment, this place where I grew up looked smaller, more dated, and worn down than I remembered. That night in the guest bedroom, I facetimed Peter and drank vegetable oil for him on screen. Screw my Mom's judgement. There were other socially awkward moments. Back in DC a few weeks later, my roommate Sandra invited me to a pool party. My bikini days were long gone, and I had to remind myself that most other guys weren't Peter, and didn't want to see me in a bikini. Even in my one piece, I looked large. My gut rested in the fabric, while my butt cheeks kept sliding out. Fat crept out of every break in the suit, and there was no hiding my thunder thighs, flabby arms, or increasingly prominent double chin. At the party, hot guys mostly ignored me, choosing to talk with girls with washboard abs, leaving me to get hammered and chat with a few other, well, more plain girls. My time as the hot girl was over. This wasn't to say there were no benefits to this arrangement with Peter either. He was showering me with gifts. My clothes were designer, even if I was blowing through them. We couldn't go out in public or vacation together, but I was spending my time in a 4,000 sq ft penthouse, surrounded by chic luxury. I had functionally moved in with him, even if I could never be seen with him, which made it challenging when he informed his wife was coming to town for the week. --- "Why don't you just divorce her?" I asked one day. Peter pondered it, "because...I'm selfish and I want both." It was a chilling reminder that this, what I was doing to my body, our sex and intimacy, wasn't the central relationship in his life. I was his other girl. Maybe who he fantasized about, but as long as Dr. Rachel Richards was in the picture, I was just a political liability for him. The week his wife was in town, she came to the office to grab something from him. I'd seen her before we started our relationship, but had never really taken the time to look at her and size her up. She was clearly high maintenance, 5'9, maybe 115 pounds, blonde hair and leggy. Her slim size was striking to me, especially given how tight my flabby body felt in my restrictive work clothes. Rachel didn't recognize me from before, and who could blame her? I was closing in on 200 pounds at this point, a far cry from my 125 figure. After she had gone back to Wisconsin, when I was bumming around in Peter's apartment, I asked him about this marriage, "If you know you like large women, why did you settle with Rachel?" "We met in college together and I just knew she was smart. I guess I was attracted to that." I thought about the irony of Peter finding his wife's perfect 10 appearance to be of no bearing in his relationship. He continued, "you know, I guess, like, I also knew she was hard to get, so I think I liked the challenge." I pried more, "Is she okay with this arrangement? You only see her a few days a month or on recess when you're back in the district. "She has her medical practice there, she likes it more than DC," he replied. "To be honest, I think she likes the opportunities being married to me opens up, but it's a good partnership." "Did you guys fuck when she came." Peter made a face at me. "What?" I incredulously said, while eating a bag of chips. "Yeah, of course we did, she's still my wife." I thought about how, even though I was opening myself up to Peter, engaging in a fantasy he'd have only dreamed about, I still wondered if I was doing a bad thing. I was helping someone violate their vows, even if he had a bizarre arrangement with his wife. I was the other woman. Peter made it up to me later that month. After another feeding session, he broke me the news, "Hey, Rachel is going to Europe with some girlfriends next month, and I want you to come with me to the home district." "What?" I asked, completely surprised. I was his DC fling, but I'd never even stepped foot in Wisconsin. "Yeah it's not very atypical, you know I've had staffers come to the district office once in a while." "But, will people think anything?" "Of course not. We don't have to be affectionate in public, and you can still book a hotel room, and make it look on the level, you'd just drive your rental car to my lake house outside of the city and we can spend the weekend together." The weekend came and was bliss. At his remote lake house there was no need to worry about being caught by anyone. By this time I was 215. I had a full double chin that sat there no matter my facial expression. My boobs had exploded to D cups, only distracted by my flabby arms and stomach. My ass had become soft and cellulite covered, and I had big girl flabby legs now. He fed me in his hot tub most of the weekend. Without any need to worry about clothes in his cabin, I let him enjoy my flabby body, while he fed me hour after hour. By the end of the weekend I was up to 218 lbs, and it wasn't like I had come into that weekend feeling particularly trim. The flight home was a peculiar feeling. Like I was exiting a different universe. In the airport, I was just another person again, a fat girl in stretched out leggings looking sloppy in a sweatshirt. On the flight, I finally noticed how much my hips were starting to spread as well, as the firmly began to press against the armrests. Back in DC, my social life had mostly collapsed. Back when I was thin, occasionally a guy would give me a look and check me out, but I noticed that I never caught anyone doing this anymore. Worse, I had never fully realized the advantages I had as a conventionally cute girl until they were gone. Guys who I thought were my friends when I was thin no longer seemed eager to talk to me. Even girls seemed to treat me differently, and coworkers I used to think of as my peers were ones I now got slightly envious of, and found myself wondering why they thought they were better than me. I couldn't decide if this was me projecting, or if they truly were treating me differently. I eventually realized that it ultimately didn't matter, but rather, this insecurity was just another sign that I was becoming a fat girl. While I didn't realize it at the time, all of this further indebted me mentally to Peter. I wasn't just any fat girl, I was his fat girl. A few months later and I had gotten even more huge. As I got near 240 lbs, I was truly fat. Gone was any suggestion that I was once a relatively fit girl, and where it had especially shown up was in my face. My cheeks had become puffy, and my double chin was now a permanent fixture. At a size 18, I had long since blown past the sizes offered at all the stores that I liked, and now I was relegated to plus size items. At first when I started gaining weight, I almost started to look younger again, as my sharp features dulled. Now, the opposite was true. With each extra pound, my face started to look more tired, and I started looking older. I was completely destroying myself for this person, and I was loving every minute of it. Somewhat ironically, now that I was massive, it became even less likely that anyone would suspect that Peter and I were together. To the rest of the world, why would anyone think that he would be sleeping with his morbidly obese staff aide. It was at this point that I got home one night and my roommate Sandra sat me down. In the past she had asked where I had been all this time, but I would often just say that I was at work, or, that I was with a guy. We both had an unspoken understanding not to look into each other's personal lives. However, this time she sat me down. "Kelsey, I'm worried about you," she said in an empathetic tone. "What do you mean?" I tried to play dumb. "It's just...your health seems to really be slipping." "I'm not very worried about it," I said dismissively. "Have you thought of maybe seeing a doctor? Or a mental health professional?" "You think I'm mentally ill?!" "No, just, you haven't been yourself for the past year, and...well, let's face it, you've gained an incredible amount of weight," Sandra stared at me, not trying to be mean but with kind eyes. "Sandra, honestly, I appreciate it, but I don't need this right now." "I've been seeing a therapist here, and it's really helped with my wellbeing, maybe you could too." "We're, done with this conversation Sandra." And with that, I walked right back out of the apartment, and drove to Peter's. He fed me more and we laughed about this. The morning after that, I noticed my flabby thighs increasingly chaffed as I was walking, which was altering my gait, and causing me to waddle. I truly was becoming Peter's fat girl. What no one tells you about being fat is that after you reach a certain point, the normal physical activity I used to take for granted became a chore. I constantly thought about how to avoid stairs. Sitting on the metro became a must, since even grabbing a bar and standing tired me out. And, while I first started overeating on purpose for Peter, now my habits had adjusted so I was hungry all the time. Even on days where I tried to pull back a bit, I found myself snacking on incredible amounts of food. What was once pushing myself now was just a normal meal for my bloated and massive stomach. I had completely altered my life. And then, it happened. As I was going into Peter's apartment one night, I opened to door to his wife sitting at the table reading an iPad and drinking a bottle of wine. She was thin as ever, wearing a black turtleneck and tight khaki skirt. She looked posh, and I looked like a mess. "Oh, hope I didn't interrupt anything," she said, barely glancing up from the monitor. "Oh, no, I was just uh, dropping off something for the Congressman." "There's no need to lie, Kelsey. I know all about this." My heart sank. "What?" "Peter is not as clever as he thinks he is," she said, taking another sip. "I saw you on the security system we have at our lake house, looks like you had quite a fun time at our vacation home." I immediately thought about everything we did that weekend. I was a cow and laid around the house mostly naked and bloated. The idea that anyone could see that mortified me. Rachel got up and walked over to me, and patted my stomach, "Looks like he did a pretty good number on you. Such a shame, you used to be pretty, and now look at you." I wanted to cry. "What, are you going to do to me?" She paused for a few seconds, "nothing." "Nothing?" "Peter must have told you that our marriage has long been an arrangement. We each benefit from the other, and, I hope this makes you feel as pathetic as you are, but he would never have been seen in public with someone like you right now. He's too vain. You're always going to be his little secret. So, I'm not exactly nervous about you threatening me." The room was spinning. I wanted to know why she decided to do this now. Where Peter was. Was I being fired? "What...do you want me to do now," I wanted to cry. "You know, I've always wondered how people let their emotions get the best of them, and they blind themselves to what's in their best interest. I know Peter will never change, and I don't want to look like the cow you turned into. The two of you have a nice little arrangement, and it's clear you can keep a secret. I'm not going to banish you from our lives, only to have this happen again with some new staffer that will tell the town that he's a freak. I think this thing you have should continue." "What?" I was stunned. Was she actually condoning this? "I saw on his calendar he'll be back in an hour. Why don't we talk more, about what the future holds for the three of us." I stood there in shock, trying to process all of this. She walked behind me to grab something from their pantry, as she came back with a pastry for me, she pinched a love handle. "You probably think this is a good thing, but I wouldn't be so sure. I already know both of us are going to make you very fat." She was right. ---The end---

I kind of had the opposite. When I first met my now-wife, I had assumed she always had been larger, but then I found out a while later through facebook that she was an athlete in high school and filled out in college.

Which thread/topic in the story? Sometimes I run into writer's block when they get kind of around 240lbs and I run out of steam

I started one like that a while a back that's had pretty good community participation, was it Madison's Freshman 15? https://www.writing.com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1911783-Madisons-Freshman-15

Hi everyone, this is a quick story I'll be posting in a few parts. The Congressman (BBW, WG) I'd been working for the Congressman for one year when my crush first developed, and two years when I found out his secret, but I should back up. For starters, my name is Kelsey Clark. Out of college, I snagged my break when I received notice that J Peter Richards IV's office had been impressed enough with my resume to bring me on staff. Simply put, "the congressman" as his office referred to him, was something of a rock star. At only age 32, he ascended to his position after winning an upset for his rural Wisconsin district. Over his first four years on the hill, he'd already been marked as a rising star in the body. The type of person who would someday be a Senator, or hell, even a cabinet member or future presidential contender if things broke right for him in the next couple decades. Of course, like all aspects of his life, his blessed circumstances had helped him out. Born to Wisconsin's oldest moneyed family, he was the sole descendant of the family that owned the state's largest shipbuilding company, and, as such, was known to be worth many hundreds of millions of dollars. He had lived a charmed life, studying at an ivy league school, spending ten years traveling the world under the auspices of a microfinance NGO, and then coming back to his home district and winning a congressional seat 4 years ago. Along the way, he got married to his wife Rachel, a doctor in Wisconsin who may as well have been a model. Having divested from ship building long before he was born, he was a cosmopolitan living in an admittedly blue collar area, and yet, he kept winning reelection. Perhaps it was his family's storied name, plastered on University buildings and hospitals, perhaps it was his charismatic demeanor that played well on TV, or perhaps he was just good at politics. At a little over 6 feet tall, with a lean muscular body that fit well under suits, his dark black hair was slightly longer than the average DC helmet hair that people were used to, and certainly kept in a more contemporary, but still political, style. My life had been, to admit, much different. Growing up to a single mom in the Hamptons, I thought I had known, and adjusted to, his type. We'd lived in a fancy zip code, but were on the other side of the divide. My Mom cleaned vacation houses for a living, and I grew up in a small apartment. My Dad had never been in the picture, and I grew up constantly on the edge of poverty. However, I'd done well in school and gotten a scholarship at one of the less prestigious universities in DC, allowing me to get closer to my dream of working on capitol hill. I was lucky enough to secure an internship in a different congressman's office. I hit it off well with my boss, who noted that I was a hard worker, but had no openings. However, without knowing it, I had already secured my future in the city. After I graduated from college, the chief of staff from that office had put in a good word for me to be a staff aide with Congressman Richards, and I found myself staffing one of the hottest names in congress. The first time we had ever interacted was in a routine meeting where his chief of staff introduced me to him, and said what issue areas I'd be working with. He was quicker in person with a joke than I expected, and had an ability to put his staff at ease. As a boss, he was great. He expected his staff to work hard, and wasn't content with just being a back bencher, but he was fair, and certainly lacked any of the horror stories that got shared about other bosses on the hill. Simply put, he was normal, or, at least, I thought. After a year working together, he had become looser with me and the professionalism slipped. He'd never made any suggestive moves on me, but he started calling me by my nickname, "Kels," and got a bit more candid. If I had to slip him a note while he was in a committee, it may come back with a smile, or a quick message like, "Kels -- get me out of here!" or "$1,000 raise if you can get this speaker to stop talking :)" While it was never his intention to lead me on, unfortunately, I realized I was falling for him. At first, it was just a smile I hung on to after we talked. This led to me constantly talking about him to my roommate Sandra, and then realizing I had developed a crush, and then progressing to thinking about him when I had a moment alone in the shower. For about a year, I kept this to myself. What was the point? He was married, and would never jump on it. For starters, while I knew I was cute, I wasn't a knockout like his wife. And also, he'd never risk his promising career over an office romance. So, I spent most of the next year navigating the DC social life. I've always known that I'm cute, but I quickly learned the joke about being "hot, hot" or "politics hot," and, as a 23 year old with sharp features and brunette hair to go along with my 5'4, 120 lbs body, I got to be known as the hot girl in Peter Richards' office. So, my social life was what you'd expect. A date here, a hookup there, all well suppressing any feelings I had toward him. However, that changed after a year. It was a rare late night session, and most of the building had vacated, however, he sat on the Ways and Means committee, and an obscure tax loophole was being reviewed that fell under my topic area assigned by his office. While not the most senior aide on this topic, I was assigned to work out of his office in the cannon building, and quickly research any issues that they may need additional information on. As I sat there, only mildly interested and watching the committee at my desk, my internet suddenly died. After a few minutes of refreshing, I walked down the hall to another office, "Sara, did your internet go out?" I asked another unlucky staffer stuck here late at night. "Yeah, I got nothing." Going back to my office, I texted George, our senior aide who was staffing the Congressman and sitting in the back of the hearing room, "Internet out in office. Any ideas?" I waited for a few minutes, wondering if this was my excuse to go home and get on with my evening, then a response came. "I let the congressman know. He said to use his personal computer, it's connected to a hotspot." This caught me off guard. "are you sure?" "Yeah, he's let other people use it before. He said he has the hot spot for that reason. His password is GoDartmouth" With that, I walked into Peter's personal office. Offices on the hill are cramped, and his office was no exception. I'd been here many times, but never alone. I walked over to his laptop bag, and pulled out a MacBook. This wasn't congressionally issued. He was really intrustucting me to use his personal computer, I realized. I took the computer back to his desk, and turned the machine on, opening a browser window, and getting to work. After about 10 minutes, I got a prompt, "Delayed script? Continue or restart?" Not wanting to refresh the window I was reading, and lose all my work, I pressed continue. I didn't realize what I had just done. The pop up wasn't about my window, it was a different one that the Congressman and minimized, and when I clicked continue, it popped back up. I didn't quite know what I was looking at, but at first it appeared like a social media profile, except, it was blank. The title referred to "feeders," which made no sense. Is this some kind of farmers dating app? I wondered to myself. Knowing I shouldn't, but too curious to exit the window, I clicked on the photos section. A number of photos of women, ranging from rail thin to massively obese, with bloated bellies and torn clothing popped up. What in the world? After a few seconds of doing this, I realized how much trouble I would be in if Peter found me on this weird site, so I wrote down his screen name on a post-it that I shoved in my purse, closed the window and went back to work, but looked up the term "feeder" on my phone. As I searched, I learned that Peter was on a site devoted to the fetish of making someone fat. But this made no sense, his wife had to be a size zero. When I got home that evening, I continued to wonder what all of this meant, however, I decided to make an account on the site as well, to see what was up. ---- TinyDCGirl was the only username I could think of, and I kept my profile blank, since I was only creating this profile to check the site out, not open up into this lifestyle. I didn't really spend much time on my profile that night, but the next couple days, all I could think about was this thing I had found out about Peter. Whenever he walked through the office, I stared at this completely fit person, wondering how he was caught up in any of this. Unfortunately, there was no good way for me to say I know about this. He didn't have any photo attached to his profile on the site, there was no way to tell it was his. I certainly couldn't tell him I looked at that page he probably forgot to close on his computer. Each night, I kept looking at these photos of women slowly getting bigger, wondering what compelled them to do this, and reading all the comments on their photos, and eventually, I got a little jealous, so I decided to post a quick selfie, without my face in it. I just threw on some athletic shorts, and a sports bra, nothing too sexy, but also revealing my flat stomach. The comments started rolling in. "thinking about getting bigger?" "much too small, girl!' "Are you looking for a feeder?" I felt like something of a model, having this kind of attention...and, I decided to try this out for just a week to see how it went. Before I did anything, I weighed myself, 121.4, the same range I'd been used to. "What's one week of eating, I thought to myself?" The next week I vegged out hard core. Fast food orders to the office, pizza at night, and had a blast. My gym clothes stayed in the closet, while I ate and ate. I constantly felt bloated, but vowed not to check the scale for the week. By the end of the week, I hopped on, 125.8, 4 and a half pounds. I stared at my body-- I didn't look that different, maybe a bit bloated, maybe a bit of a belly too. So, I uploaded another photo, this time sticking my stomach out, and updated my weight. Then I saw it. The Congressman's account had seen my page. I needed to get his attention. So, I took a selfie and made it my profile pic, and with that, I was now a very public member of this community I'd fallen into. I refreshed my page a few times, and then I saw, he had seen the selfie. He knows I told myself. The next day at work when the Congressman walked by me, he, for the first time seemed awkward. He asked me for a memo I'd written a few weeks ago, but wasn't making eye contact now. I realized this supremely confident and charismatic man was now intimidated by me, which had to make me laugh. I decided to raise the stakes. For lunch that day, I ordered two Big Macs and a large fries. "Damn Kelsey, hungry?" a coworker asked. "I don't know what's gotten into me!" I lied. As I was getting into the second burger, the Congressman walked past me, trying not to stare. I decided to milk it a little bit. "Ohhhh I shouldn't have done this, my pants are getting tight!" I said in ear shot. A few days later, he walked through the office again, to my desk, "hey Kels, uh...I was just at the vending machine and got an extra fruit pie by mistake, umm want it?" I smiled at him, wondering if I should say anything. If I should tell him that I know he was going to fantasize about this later. "Oh I probably shouldn't...I wouldn't want to get chubby," I said to him. "Maybe I'll have it just for you." This cycle continued for the week, with Peter dropping off "extra" candy or snacks for me. Finally, I gained the courage to bring this up to him. There was just one issue, his time was valuable, and I needed a way to get in the room with him, alone. ----- I pondered how I would make my move. In the meantime, I was keeping an active profile on the feeding site. My weight was up to 132, and the comments rolled in. I was often among the most viewed photos on the site, and I always saw Peter's photo looking at it. Eventually, while licking my fingers after a chicken strips meal, I decided to shoot him a message. "I know it's you" I typed in the private message box. And then nothing. I panicked. What had I just done? This is my MARRIED boss. He could fire me! I anxiously stress ate the rest of the evening. Had I gotten too wound up in this infatuation with a married man? Had I found his rich, powerful life too appealing and lost my senses? 4 hours later, before bed, I got a notification that he had responded. "Kelsey. We need to talk tomorrow.." The next morning, I wore the tightest skirt I could. At 132 pounds, I was by no means even chubby yet, but you could see the start of a little belly, and I could feel the now-tight skirt digging into the newly forming fat on my hips, the precursor to love handles. I threw on a white button up oxford, and a cardigan, and got ready to go to the Hill. Before I left, I threw 4 candy bars in my purse, just in case. At 10, he came out of his office, "hey Kelsey, I need some prep on the Stevenson testimony, mind coming in here? There's a conference call I may jump on, so close the door." I went in, and closed the door behind me. "Kesley. What are you doing?" I played dumb, "What are you talking about Congressman?" "The site," he responded, "I can't be talking with you online. There's a paper trail, and if anything ever got out, that I was talking with a staffer on that site, my career would be over." I knew that the right thing to do, for my body, for my job, for him, was to apologize, and delete my account. But I couldn't help it. I wanted him. "Peter," I said, opening my purse, "I'm a bit hungry. Would you like to help me?" "Kelsey, we uhh... are not going to do this." I opened up one candy bar, and ate it, "that wasn't enough, was it?" He looked pained. I could see the bulge in his pants. Suddenly his face turned. I didn't know if he was going to kiss me, or fire me. He walked over and whispered in my ear, "you brought this on yourself," and quickly shoved the second candy bar in my mouth and grabbed my stomach, "and someone needs to be punished." He unwrapped and shoved the third candy bar in my mouth, "and how fat are you going to get for me?" He asked. "mmm as fat as you want me." I was so turned on that I didn't mind he was now feeding me the fourth and fifth candy bar. My stomach hurt, I had just consumed nearly 1000 calories of nuts and chocolate. As I started to unbutton his shirt, he stopped me, "not in here." He took a notepad and tore off a sheet. He wrote down an address.

I started the story and can try to add some chapters again. What threads do you like, and what do you like about it in general?

I have a friend who was really into fashion and stuff before she gained weight, but now like just camps out in jeans and a North Face after she gained (albeit, not huge, just like, firmly chubby). Sometimes I wonder if anyone at her work knows she used to be a total sorority girl.

This is a really great story. Love the inner conflict she's been having.

I've found myself with this growing fantasy of finding pics of someone I know in real life on here. I don't really know the origins of this, but I was wondering if anyone has experienced this.