#iso ffa

[bigfatbob4you]

ROLL models vs. ROLE models, part two. I know that there is an FFA out there just waiting to join me in this quest…

[bigfatbob4you]

People have ROLE models, so why can’t *I* have ROLL models? Part one of what I’d love to achieve with the right FFA.

[bigfatbob4you]

Ideal couples, part 2.

[bigfatbob4you]

Come tell me how fat I’m getting and how much fatter you’d make me…how much bigger would my belly get? Would we need a 120” measuring tape? Would it be the first thing people see when I walk in? What about my moobs? How soft and jiggly would those blubbery sacks of lard be? Tease me for being out of shape, for not being able to stand or walk for long, for how every shirt I own has become a belly shirt.

Then tell me how big you want me, what you’d do to get me there, and how you would reward and celebrate my obesity once we achieved those goals…

[bigfatbob4you]

Ideal couples, part 3

[bigfatbob4you]

Hey honey, want to join this “tub” in the tub for a nice, relaxing, bath for two?

Oh wait — you’ve done such a good job of fattening me up that we can’t do that anymore…time for a bigger tub for your “big tub,” hmm?

[bigfatbob4you]

[bigfatbob4you]

I hope to find the right FFA so that she and I can go out wearing these pins and these shirts.

Naturally, my shirt may get progressively smaller and smaller as our relationship won’t be the only thing that grows…

[bigfatbob4you]

When you find the right FFA, there will be signs…

[bigfatbob4you]

I want to be so fat...

I want to be so fat that there's not a chair that I can get up from without your help. Your skinny lithe body, straining, as you try to pull my blubbery obese form upright...

I want to so far that every time I try to waddle through a doorway, I have to squeeze through because of my fat ass and hips. Eventually, I'll have to turn sideways, but my belly will present it's own problem then... I want to be so fat that my belly enters the room and there is an increasingly long wait before you can see my face...

I want to be so fat that I can feel every wobble, every jiggle, every layer of blubber and fat on my body bounce and move with every step I take...

I want to be so fat that just walking from the bedroom to the kitchen leaves me sweaty and out of breath as I collapse into the chair and wait for you to bring me my meal...

I want be so fat that stairs aren't an option anymore...we put in an elevator with a 2000 lb weight limit and an extra-wide car to accommodate me and you STILL have to squeeze in next to me...

I want be so fat that we measure in tens of seconds how long I can last on top and how long you can take me being there...will I be able to take the strain longer than you can with all my flab enveloping you and smothering you...

I want to be so fat that the local buffets have a special table for us, with an extra-wide bench seat. You love to sit next to me and feed me from the plate that you obviously went and got...but it looks like that bench will need to be widened before long if you want to continue sitting next to me...

I want to be so fat that I would be an object of amazement and disbelief, a monument to gluttony and obesity unrivaled. Together, there would be gasps as people would wonder what such a skinny fit girl could see in such an enormously fat man...

I want to be this fat, and more. I want to be fat, and I don't want to stop. Will you help make me this fat, and more?

[bigfatbob4you]

Ladies, here’s a sample to wet your whistle…

[bigfatbob4you]

Nope. That’s just the way it should be, IMHO.

[bigfatbob4you]

Insatiable

Why? How? I don’t know. But sometimes, with no warning, I’m a black hole. I eat everything in sight with no compunction, no limits, no feeling of ever being satisfied by the puny amount of food available to me.

I relish those times as a beacon of pleasure and clarity and just living uncomplicated, focusing on nothing but eating everything that I can get my hands on. It’s almost like being in a trance, only I’m fully aware of everything going on around me — I just don’t care because in that moment, stuffing myself with EVERYTHING is all that matters to my animal brain.

What’s missing, though, is the shared experience. I want a female feeder to share this with. I want her cheering me on, encouraging me, pushing food on me, making sure that I don’t stop until she’s ready for me to stop if we run out of food. I want that euphoria to last, and I want her to help me stay in that moment, frantically shoveling food into me, waiting for it to manifest as tens, even hundreds of pounds of blubber, added to my moobs, my thighs, my arms, my neck, and most of all, to that belly which is slowly — or maybe not so slowly - growing to Brobdingnagian proportions, especially in contrast to her, as the numbers separating our weights grow increasingly farther and farther apart.

After, I want her to lay next to me, cuddling that massively swollen gut, packed almost to the point of bursting. I want her to soothe that quivering bloated mass, gently rubbing it, exploring the existing vast folds and creases of lard that we’ve only just begun expanding. I want her to whisper praise to me, words of pride and encouragement at my accomplishments, while at the same time pushing me to go further, to eat more, to become…

FATTER.

That’s what I want. Is that too much to ask for? I don’t know. We’ll see.

[bigfatbob4you]

I want you to stuff me so full that it even hurts a little to breathe. I want to be pinned down by my globular gut, normally flabby and blubbery but now rock solid filled with food by you. I want to be surrounded by evidence of my gluttony, gasping for relief from how full I am when I see you approaching with a funnel and a bucket of weight gain shake. You'll have me tied to the bed, but I'm so fat and full that I couldn't get up without your help even if I wanted to. I want to give in to my desires and yours, to achieve a level of obesity that we both can only dream about…yet we're making it real. Under your tender care, I'll let go of every inhibition and do nothing but work to be the fattest I can be…your masterpiece of gluttony and obesity, sculpted from hundreds of pounds of fat.

[bigfatbob4you]

Feeling a little rotund tonight.

[bigfatbob4you]

I don’t want you to tell me how fat I am…

…anyone can do that. He’ll, I can do that myself with a scale, or a tape measure, or even just by looking down and knowing that instead of seeing my feet, I see an increasing sack of flab, spilling over my waistband, binding my feet, poking out of the bottom of that shirt that fit a month ago and now shows off those new stretch marks, love handles, and inches for you to pinch.

No, I want you to tell me how fat you’re going to MAKE ME GROW. Will I be three times your size? Pfft. You can’t be more than 110 lbs soaking wet, honey. Let’s start the bidding at five times your size, as a floor. Who knows what the ceiling will be.

What’s that? We’ll have to special order a scale because I just broke the 1000 lb capacity one? I guess we can look in the farm supply catalogue for a livestock scale…

You want my upper arm measurement to be HOW many times larger than your waist measurement? I guess we’re going to need a bigger tape measure…for sure the 200 in one won’t go around MY waist in that scenario…

You want to take me out in public, parade me around and show me off, mock teasing me for my unbridled appetite that you so carefully nurtured? Fondling my enormous moobs in public, jiggling my belly, drawing stares from all around at the unthinkable pile of lard you have on display…

And when we get home, the answer is never “I’m full” or “No more.” You’ve combined feeding me with unimaginable pleasure, so that I can’t get enough. It’s not when I’m full; it’s when you SAY I’m full. And baby, you ALWAYS think I look hungry, so there’s barely a moment you’re not shoving something in my mouth or funneling something down my insatiable maw.

You always said don’t worry about a thing…I have BIG plans for you, and you did. Tell me about them. How you’d feed and stuff me, how you’d tease me for letting myself go, and how you’d gently, tenderly, and lovingly explore, caress and fondle every inch of blubber we’ve put on my body…