#just two feedees and feeders

[cherrysoftbody]

That fun feeling of ummm. Stuff so bad during weedtime that you feel like one of those candy jars from the county fair. 100000 beans in me maybe more.

[epigstolary]

Welcome to Epigstolary, a place where I write about gaining, feeding, and all things fattening. My stories are usually at the higher end of the scale, with an affectionate emphasis on teasing, humiliation, and the consequences of extreme gluttony. If that sounds like your cup of tea, I think you’ll enjoy what’s in these pages, and I hope you’ll check out some of the stories linked below:

CONTENTS

Incubus — A shadowy creature has already made you eat yourself well past morbid obesity, and he’s not even close to being done with you.

Tough Guy — You may think you’re a man’s man, even if that waistline says otherwise. But your enabling partner’s happy to let you keep thinking whatever you want.

On Your Own — What does the future have in store for your superchub self without your feeder?

Real Talk — Your friend has some “advice” to share with you about your weight and habits.

Rebound — It’s easier to regain, and then some — as you’ll soon find out.

The Middle of Nowhere — Part One — A gainer who chooses an idyllic life in the country with their feeder might have gotten more than they bargained for.

The Middle of Nowhere — Part Two — How does a rural superchub handle dinner guests and a trip into town?

Lecture — You’re the focal point of a scientific teachable moment about the effects of hypermorbid obesity on the human body.

Deaf Ears — You haven’t been listening to your feeder’s warnings about your habits, and this is the result.

Step By Step — You don’t become a superchub overnight. But there are signs that’s where things are going.

Big Deal — It’s time you gave your feeder a talking-to after they get cold feet from your recent gains.

The Makings of a Glutton — What makes a superchub? A menu of food that’s terrible for you, apparently.

Too Much of a Good Thing — It may be wonderful, but the weight of your feeder’s affection is catching up with you.

A New Home — A newly-immobile superchub gets used to life in a facility meant to help them lose weight, but the caregiver who fed them that size has other plans.

Sedentary — Years of poor diet and too much time on the couch has made it harder and harder to get around.

A Normal Life — You consider a return to civilian life after years as a live-in feedee.

Out and About — Your feeder recounts their favorite things about taking you out and showing you off to unsuspecting, shocked civilians.

Wish Fulfillment — You awaken to find yourself the immobile superchub of your dreams, but how long will you get to enjoy it?

The Look — Your feeder wants to make sure you understand your situation.

Weakness — Your feeder confronts you with how your weakness for food brought you to your current obese condition.

Best Intentions — Unsuspecting bystanders gape, mock, and try to help as you begin mysteriously and rapidly gaining hundreds of pounds.

Enabling Delusion — You and your partner still think you’re going to lose the weight. Your friends think differently.

Center of Attention — Your popularity as a superchub influencer won’t save you from humiliation when your gains finally catch up to you.

Consumed — A poetic exploration of how gaining grew to dominate your life.

Expressions — A feeder recounts a gainer’s progress through how they react to their burgeoning body.

The Biggest Size They Make — You’ve been fighting your wardrobe for a long time, and now you’re losing the battle.

Morning — Nothing beats a cozy, comfy morning being spoiled by your feeder.

Excuses — You always have an excuse ready for why your weight isn’t a problem. But there are signs that you’re only fooling yourself.

The Deal — Your bodybuilding arrangement with a savvy gainer proves to be more than you bargained for.

Over The Edge — An admirer puzzles over how you let yourself get to the edge of the gaining abyss.

Just A Number — That’s all weight is, but yours has been going up alarmingly fast.

A Growing Problem — Your partner finally gets their concerns about your weight problem off their chest.

When, Not Whether — Gaining like you do isn’t sustainable. You’re heading for a crisis; it’s just a matter of time.

Realization — Your partner finally takes off the mask, revealing their inner feeder once it’s too late for you to do anything about it.

No Going Back — You thought you could experiment with gaining and lose the weight after you’d had your fun. You were wrong.

Trough — A shadowy feeder sets you up to eat like the farm animal you are, to see just how long you can manage.

Big and Tall — A rotund clothes shopper needs the help of a chaser sales clerk after a sartorial mishap.

Polite — You’ve gotten too fat to make fun of, but the polite restraint from your friends tells you everything you need to know.

Vignettes

You Ate

Beyond Your Control

Animals

Love

The Tailor

Comment Section

Drive-Thru

Scale #1

Scale #2

[housecow]

something about people that don’t seem like they’d be into feedism gets me... they may be active in their community, well-liked, in shape, they might make healthy choices often. no one suspects they’re outside of the norm in any odd way. sure, people wonder why they just haven’t settled down yet—they could find someone, right? easily?

but no one knows that their eyes linger a little too long on the 400lb woman they see at the grocery store. no one knows how they fantasize about being between those monumental thighs—how they don’t mind if they have to fuck rolls or a belly button if access is just too limited. maybe that’s the way they want it, too. no one knows that the sight of morbid obesity accompanied by an overfull grocery cart of fattening, processed food is enough to distract them for hours.

after all, it isn’t normal in any way to want to make someone fatter. despite knowing that, 200lbs just doesn’t seem like enough anymore. they fantasize about getting a dedicated fatty to completely lose control. they know they’re getting deeper into this rabbit hole. their friends bring up someone normal sized, someone conventionally attractive, and they can make a comment or two to play along but fuck. the only thing on their mind is what an extra 200lbs could do to her.

and that’s just so fucking underrated. it’s all about the descent of the feedee, usually, which is understandable—we’re giving our bodies and minds to the cause. being fat is hard.

but with feeders, it’s so much more.. sinister. they can have everything, they know what they like and can get it—but the idea of fat lingers. they will want to squeeze, caress, kiss, bite, or maybe just cuddle up to the mass they’ve helped cultivate. nothing else can fill that hole and they know it.

maybe i can’t lose this weight, but you can’t get me out of your mind. that’s the power here, i think.

[housecow]

Pardon my lack of knowledge but what is the difference between feedism and feederism?

i’d like to say that feedism is generally the term most people prefer once you take a look at the reality of things: people see this fetish as predatory. everyone has seen those cash-grab stories about a feeder pushing someone unwilling to very high weights. the person leaves them, loses weight, tells their story—the term they see partnered with those stories is almost always feederism.

however, the fact is that feedees do in fact have agency in these scenarios. just like any healthy relationship (platonic or romantic or anything in between), communication and consent are necessary.

with all of that in mind, feedism is preferred in order to take the focus away from feeders and bring it onto the act of feeding itself. it’s a super simple change that helps covey the reality of what we indulge in: feeding. feeder and feedee, not feeder and victim.

the fact the tumblr guidelines specifically state “feederism” says, to me, that whoever made that change has an implicit bias against us.

.

please feel free to add to this if anyone has more to say, too!! this is sort of what i’ve thought with my use of feedism, but i haven’t seen many other ppl explain their thoughts on the two different names.

[feedxmexdaddyyy]

Funneling a Fan // Showing Off My Feeder Side

You all know I started my journey off by being a feeder. I love the feeling of forcing thousands of calories down someone's throat and watching their belly expand to the max. It's so sensual being the one in control of your waistline. Making you as big as I desire.

Lately I've been craving having that back in my life. Don't get me wrong, I love being a feedee but I am really a true switch. Sometimes I just get the strong urge to dom someone and completely ruin their body. I thought it would be fun to find an eager fan to funnel some shakes into. Watching the thick mixture go through the funnel and into his gut - I knew I was hooked again. He gleefully chugged down two large shakes and I made sure to give him lots of belly rubs after. I have a feeling I'll be doing this again very soon.

Available on Clips4Sale x Curvage x OnlyFans

[extra-stout-stories]

Special Delivery

As a growing gainer's mobility diminishes, his regular delivery order takes an unexpected turn. (SSBHM to USSBHM feedee, gender-unspecified fat feeder, no explicit sex. CW: Immobility, bariatric tube feeding, brief moment of dubious consent.)

Written at the suggestion of a friend, here's a special delivery of XWG and immobility/bariatric kink. I've left the gender of the feeder unspecified so that gluttons of all persuasions can enjoy it. Eat up, and reblog if you like it!

--

He paused to lean on the doorframe of his apartment building, huffing and puffing, before swiping his key card to open the door.

The bus stop was only about 250 yards from the entrance to his apartment, but the walk was getting more and more difficult. By the time he made it out of his apartment, down the elevator and to the bus stop, he was red-faced and sweaty, wheezing and gasping, his gigantic belly rolling and wobbling as he struggled to squeeze himself into a seat.

Fortunately, there was a bench halfway between the bus stop and the building. More and more often, he found himself stopping there for a minute or two or three, pausing to catch his breath and harvest his energy for the rest of the trip.

This wouldn't even be an effort for most people, he thought to himself. But he didn't mind.

He enjoyed it, in fact. For years he had been getting fat on purpose, watching the numbers on the scale rise as his body grew softer and heavier. Other people would be shocked if they knew, but it even secretly turned him on to know that he was getting so fat that just walking to the bus stop was becoming a struggle.

Still, the effort could be a pain sometimes. Like right now. As he passed through the door of his apartment building and into the elevator, feeling his belly quiver against his thighs and leaning against the wall to take some of the pressure off of his knees and back, all he could think about was beaching himself on the couch until it was time to stand up and walk again.

That time wasn't too far off. He had already placed the order when he was riding home on the bus. But the walk from his couch to his apartment door was just twenty feet. And at the end of that walk there would be food.

--

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the buzzer rang. He took a deep breath, grunted, stuck his arms out for balance and began laboriously standing up from the couch, breathing heavily, pausing occasionally for an especially deep breath. The buzzer rang again. "I'm coming!" Slowly and ponderously, he waddled to the door.

He ordered from this particular fast food place all the time, but tonight there was a new delivery driver. He couldn't help noticing that they were substantially fat themselves, with thick thighs packed tightly into the pants of the driver's uniform, upper arms spilling like dough out of short sleeves, even a hint of belly peeking out from the bottom of the shirt. "Four burger meals, four milkshakes. Three chocolate lava cakes. And a two liter of Coke."

"That's me." He steadied himself on the wall by the door, then reached an arm out and took the bags, managing to slip both handles around his wrist and get a steady one-handed grip on the tray of milkshakes. "Thanks."

There was a smile on the driver's face as he shut the door.

--

It was getting harder and harder to reach the bus stop. He wasn't just pausing for a break on the bench any longer. Now he was stopping multiple times to lean himself against the building next to his, or on the fence that stretched the last few dozen feet from the bench to the bus stop. Then he had to climb into the bus, which was a struggle in itself, and hope that there would be a pair of side-by-side open seats at the front so that he wouldn't have to squeeze his belly in behind another pair of seats.

He found himself looking for excuses not to leave the apartment. It wasn't difficult to find them, since so many things could be done remotely now. And with the money he saved, he could afford to call a rideshare from an app instead of taking the bus. Pretty convenient.

The four burger meals were a part of his regular order rotation, and he found himself looking forward to visits from the fat delivery driver. He swapped out one of his pizza orders and started going for the burgers an additional night or two every week. Once he'd gotten in that habit, he bumped the number of burgers up to five, with an order or two of chicken wings for good measure.

As the driver handed him the last of his order, they smiled, their fat cheeks dimpling in a way he had come to recognize and appreciate. "I saw you trying to get the bus the other day."

He felt his face flush with embarrassment. "Yeah. Usually I take a rideshare, but the congestion pricing this weekend was really bad." He steadied himself on the doorframe and took a deep breath. "It's a pain in the ass trying to squeeze into those bus seats. I'm not exactly skinny."

The driver laughed. "You're a big boy. After all these burgers, who can blame you?" From someone else the words would have been hurtful, but they were said with obvious affection, and the driver was pretty fat themselves.

"Yeah, I guess I am." He grinned and patted his belly. "It's a lot of work hauling all this around. But I don't mind. I promise I'm not going to put you out of business by going on any diets."

Now it was the driver's turn to blush. "I'd miss seeing you. You're my favorite customer."

"Thanks." He hefted the bags of burgers and chicken, struggling to get a steady grip on the tray of milkshakes.

"Here, let me help you with that." The driver reached for the milkshakes, picked up the bag with the two-liter, and followed him into his apartment.

"Whew." He let out an exhausted sigh as he settled back down on the couch, feeling his quivering rolls slowly come to stillness as he sank into his favorite spot. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem." The driver was smiling again. "You know, you could put a bench there. To rest on when you're going to the door." They gestured at a spot between the living room and the bathroom door, where a bumpout for the hall closet made a natural alcove that was just deep enough to fit a bench.

"You know, that's a good idea." He grinned back at the driver. "I don't know what I would do without that bench at the bus stop."

"Or the fence. You must have been there a good five minutes before you got moving again."

He laughed. "Are you stalking me?"

"No! I was stuck in traffic. But I have to admit, I didn't mind the view. You're my favorite customer for a reason."

The driver's phone buzzed. "Shit! I have to get back on the road right now or my next delivery's gonna get cold. I'll see you soon."

As the driver hustled back to the door, he couldn't help admiring how their thick thighs and ass bounced and quivered in their snug uniform.

--

He took the driver up on their suggestion, and was glad he did. His burger binges, on top of all his other binges, were adding some serious weight to his body, and it was getting more and more difficult to walk. He had given up on the bus entirely. Making it downstairs to a rideshare was becoming an ordeal, even if it was pulled up right at the door of the apartment complex.

But he still didn't mind. With the bench in place, he could pause for a minute or two to catch his breath on the way to the door, and that made it not too difficult to order in. He had even put a mirror up on the wall opposite the bench so he could look at his flushed and panting face, the gigantic rolls of his thighs belly, and admire how fat he was getting. I'm so fat I can barely make it to the door, he would think to himself, and then all those hundreds on hundreds of pounds would quiver and shimmer as he shuddered with excitement.

Sometimes he'd spend so long in a reverie that the person delivering the food would get impatient, ring the doorbell again and again. That was when it wasn't his favorite driver, of course. They knew it would take him a while to answer the door. He found himself dropping the other restaurants out of his rotation, going deeper and deeper into the menu of what had become his favorite fast food place. And that driver always wore a smile.

One day they had another suggestion. "You know, it's not that expensive to get a remote door lock. You could open the door with a remote control, or with your phone." They smiled, fat cheeks dimpling, fat chins quivering. "That way I could bring the food straight to your couch."

"You'd do that for me?" He grinned. Their interactions were becoming more and more flirtatious lately. Sometimes he wondered if he should spill the beans and admit everything: that he was a gainer, that he had gotten this fat on purpose, that he looked forward to their delivery visits because he had a crush on them.

"Of course. Straight to your couch. Even straight to your bedroom, if you don't want to get up."

And sure enough, when he had the remote lock installed, they did.

--

It was a typical evening. He woke up from a nap to the bedroom beginning to darken as the sun began to set. He flipped on a light and pulled out his phone. Seven burger meals, six milkshakes, two family-size chicken platters… his mouth was already watering.

As usual, they came straight to his bedside, unloading the bags of food onto the bed right next to him so they would be in easy reach. But today they were rolling something in behind them as well, a large box on a handtruck.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's a special delivery." There was a look on their face he had never seen before. The dimpled smile was there, a little more mischievous than usual. But there was an intensity in their eyes now, too, a flush in their fat cheeks that was more than just exertion. "Something I've wanted to do to you for a long time."

"For a long…?" He paused, not sure how to continue. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the labored breath from each of them.

"Close your eyes." There was a sudden note of command in the driver's voice.

"Mmmmph!" Before he knew it, there was a hand on his face, roughly shoving. For a moment he felt like gagging as he felt something slip down his throat and something else shoved into his nostrils. He tried to speak, but with the tube in his throat, all he could manage was a grunt. But his meaning was clear. What the hell is going on?

The driver spoke rapidly, their voice husky and heavy. "I know. I know you're a gainer. I know you got this way on purpose. I could see it on your face. In your eyes. The way you looked at the food. The way you looked at me." They paused and took a deep breath. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. When I'm not doing delivery for extra money, I'm a bariatric nurse. I have this all planned out."

They were in control now. "There's a lot of calories in this tube," they continued, swiftly and assuredly hooking it up to a canister of some sort and turning the valve. "Oil mixed with sugar. Pure calories. Going straight into your stomach. You're going to get fatter. A lot fatter. And quickly."

He thought for a moment about whether he should try to resist. But when he saw the look on the driver's face, he didn't want to.

It was a look of love.

And after all, he had always wanted to be fat.

--

His routine changed again. He no longer bothered leaving the apartment at all. No longer bothered leaving his bed at all. Just stayed in bed lounging or napping, calories flowing effortlessly down his throat. His body continued to swell. Every day, in the morning and in the evening, the driver would visit to clean him and to replenish the canister of formula. Then their fingers would trace across his body, their palms lifting his rolls, their lips and fingertips sending an electric charge through the tender hidden places in his rolls and folds. He grew and grew. Would he ever make it all the way to the bus stop again? Would he ever make it all the way to the door again? If he managed to make it to the door, would he fit though?

No, he wouldn't. He knew that. But he didn't care. He was growing bigger and bigger, fatter and fatter, softer and heavier.

And if he never left his bed again, he would still be happy.

[cutiecupcakebabe]

Stuffed

Going to an "all you can eat" type of restaurant in a tight dress is such an experience as a feedee.

Watching the plates pile up on the table in front of you and your belly expand as your feeder tells you how good you're stuffing your face for him.

And when it's time to leave you're barely able to move, your overfed belly painfully bloated form all the times your feeder told you "one more bite".

The walk to your car is so exhausting you're out of breath after just a few steps. Your feeder teasing you, saying how you used to be so in shape not too long ago.

"He parked so far away on purpose" you think to yourself. You're fully aware why, though. He enjoys seeing you in this state - struggling, waddling, overstuffed. You have to slow down and pant every two minutes, because he walks too fast, probably also on purpose.

"Everything alright, baby?" he asks sweetly, but you notice a smirk on his face. He knows exactly that he put you in this position, and it seems that he's very proud of his work.

"Yeah, I'm just a bit full" you respond, holding your belly, feeling it gurgle. You let out a small burp. Your feeder smiles and slows down for you.

When you finally get to the car that was surprisingly just around the corner (the distance felt so much shorter when you were going to the restaurant only a few hours ago), you struggle to get in. Once you manage to plop onto the passenger seat and your feeder starts driving, he pats your round, almost pregnant looking tummy.

And all you can hear is him saying "You did so good for me, baby".

[kat-tastrophe]

Idk if people have done this or willing to share experiences with this or something similar. But the concept is that a feeder either in person or online orders the food for their feedee. But the feedee dosent have to stuff themselves they just eat what they want. But the feeder purposely orders more food than the feedee could eat even if they did stuff themselves. That way there are always leftovers. And doing this consistently for like a month or two where if the feedee finishes or gets close to finishing the amount of food the feeder orders more. The goal is to mess with the feedees perception of food. I would want to see if this causes a feedee to gain weight even if not being stuffed if the excess food motivated them to eat more. And i would want to see if it changes how they view food. So like two months after the experiment you order the feedee an order that previously would have been enough for them and see how they react. I think this would be fun to try especially people pleasers as from my experience I feel bad waisting money so I think subconsciously id eat more trying not to waist food. But idk of that's a consistent habit amount feedee people pleasers. Lmk if you've had experiences with this or if you want to add onto this thought.

[phattiepheeder]

I just became a feedee. it's been about a month and it's been amazing but this week has by far been my favorite. my gut couldn't take what my feeder was feeding me and I have become severely constipated. I sit on the toilet and just strain and moan for hours. not a single piece comes out. my gut is so packed with shit I don't know how much more I can fit before exploding. But that's not even the best part, my feeder is still feeding me. on top of my already bloated stomach from the shit my stomach has to make room for the meal after meal I am stuffing into it. today my tummy has been grumbling like crazy. I tried once again to push the mass out earlier but after an hour of pushing until I got dizzy I gave up. this is the worst pain I have felt in my life but I am so turned on. tomorrow though I am using an enema and laxatives. I bet the toilet will be begging for mercy after I get done with it

Oh boy that sounds both extremely painful and erotic! I bet your newly fattening stomach must feel extra heavy from being so packed full. Looks like your feeder is doing a good job by pushing you to your limits but it’s also important to make room for more food so your feeding progress doesn’t stop.

As for the laxatives, god that is going to be such a relief. Sounds like you’re stuffed to the brim with shit and will surely clog that toilet with a fat pile. To avoid that I would suggest one of two things: taking it easy on the laxatives if you’re not used to them. It’ll give you a gentler release without all the cramping. Then, either sitting on a bucket or having a bag close by to empty into for when the gurgles and pressure start shifting downwards.

The second suggestion is to take a double or triple dose of laxatives to ensure everything inside you liquifies. It’s a lot harder to clog a toilet with liters of liquid rather than pounds of solid shit. This will just mean that you’ll need to stay by a toilet for most of the day as your bowels work overtime to expel all that fatty food.

I wish you all the best in the “birthing process”. Send me an update once your hole has recovered lol

[bigbellybelle]

Everyone talks about feederism in such a broad sense and I am a firm believer that the different seasons are the best part. But winter, being my favorite, has the best scenarios~

Imagine a feedee and their feeder in front of a cozy fire during winter. Just the two of them listening to music or watching the fire in silence. The dim light coming from the flames glow onto the feedees now round tummy after a long day of seasonal treats~ apple pie, cookies, cakes, and of course plenty of hot cocoa~ and now that the day is done they're both a bit pent up~ the feedee, having eaten so much, a bit in pain. Moaning about how full they are while leaning against their feeder. The feeder just nodding while a hand gently wanders under the puffy sweater hiding their partners softer features~ and the feedee is just ready to finally get their reward after such a long day of constant calories. And of course the feeder knows that, but what kind of a feeder would they be if they didn't just get a few more snacks from the counter, that managed to escape the overfed squishy tummy of their stress ball partner~

And when the feeder returns to their spoiled partner and settles next to them with some snacks, all they have to say is "have some more for me~" to coax their partner into opening their mouth for even more food~

[satbutfat]

What is the dynamic between the two of you? Is feeder more of a spoiler or more dominant? Is feedee bossy or leans toward submissiveness?

Great ask, it really depends on the situation and mood for both of us! Both of us have submissive and dominant tendencies and I wouldn't say one leans more either way. I think in a feedist context though, feedee likes to be spoiled and feeder is happy to oblige! We would like to explore more on different dynamics in feedist scenarios though, but traditional "you get the food, I eat the food" is just such a good deal 😋

[toptierteaser]

The Two Fatties within You

You have within you, two parts of yourself, two beats to your heart, two sides to your spirit. Two, ravenous wolves within, each wanting something in total opposition to the other.

A part of you wants to be fed. To be fattened like a submissive piglet. To be forced to spread your mouth wide as a handsome feeder shoves food between your plump, greedy lips, stuffing you to the brim. Your eyes wide, fearful as you wonder if he'll push you too far to the limits, if he's going to make you pop. Squirming with excitement, heart hammering from nervousness as you race, your mouth chomping and chewing and slurping, trying to keep up with the forceful, feeding hands. Your belly distending out into your lap, plumping up and out and forth. Your chubby tits resting atop the great doughy ball before you. Your thighs crammed in your seat, rubbing against one another with no space to grow. Your face softening, a double chin appearing beneath your once-defined jawline. Your cheeks filling, reddening as you wonder how much more he's going to stuff into you. Your ass expanding in the chair, filling at the sides as you wonder if you'll split.

Then there's the part of you that wants to run. To wriggle away from this frightening feeder. To waddle as fast as you can out the door. The part of you that's embarrassed at how far you've let yourself go, humiliated by the sight of your own dough-filled body. Fearful that if you attempted to run, you'd split your pants, that you would be out of breath in less than a minute. Wondering how much you would jiggle if you even so much as tried. Wondering if those shorts of yours might just split with everyone laughing and pointing and calling you a fat ass. It's the part of you that can hardly stand what a porker you've allowed yourself to become, what a piglet you've made of yourself. The part that obsessively tugs away at your shirt, internally willing the buttons not to burst, not to pop, not to break.

The two parts of you, crammed within you. Two fat boys, wedged tightly within your grown body. Filling and fattening and busting out in every which direction. Growing overweight, into obesity. Half embarrassed and half enamored at the creaking of the chair beneath your growing butt. Half frightened and half in love with the hands that shovel more towards your face. Your mouth open in part out of that insatiable need for food, that gluttony, that greed, and in part out of shock. Shock at how much of a fat boy you're becoming. Wondering how much further you will allow this to go, how much bigger you will allow yourself to grow.

Which one will win? The part of you that wishes to be thin? Or the part of you that eats, allowing yourself to be stuffed to the brim, and then some. To grow out of your pants, your shirts, straining the waistband on your underwear that threaten at any moment to tear. Who will win, the fit jock inside you that yearns to run again without feeling his lardy legs rubbing, his blubbery ass jiggling behind him for all to see? Or the fat ass, the greedy, expanding feedee who is never truly full, never satisfied no matter how much he is fed?

At the rate things are going, fat boy, I think it's fairly obvious who between the two will be crowned the champion of your body and your mind and your growing, fat behind...