As the door closed behind John, Rosa set to clearing the dishes from the breakfast table. Part of her wanted to relax given that she'd been on the go all morning, but she knew if she did the dishes now she'd be able to take the rest of the day for herself since Tuesday was the day she did no housework at all, save what was required for supper and breakfast.
30 minutes later she set the last of the dishes into the dishwasher (rinsed clean of the worst of the leftover food residue) and set it to run. Then she poured herself a cup of coffee and went to the living room to fire up the family computer. She couldn't resist looking furtively over her shoulder (even as she was aware that it was a silly thing to do given that she was alone in the house) as she opened an anonymous browsing tab and typed in a url that she'd committed to memory some months ago. A dialogue box promptly popped up.
"Welcome to the Recipe Club!" The cheerful text box proclaimed, cheerful looking cooking implements dancing across the screen. "Please type your login info!"
For her username she typed in "BriarRose," and for her password she typed "HungryHubby," lips quirking in a smile as she did so. Immediately the cutesy front page vanished to be replaced by a message board: the bottom half showing a list of forums and the top half showing an active chat box with two of her friends online.
Hansel's Feedress: Welcome back BriarRose!
CookieFromPookie: How was the hubby this morning?
Smiling, she typed her reply.
BriarRose: Hungry as ever; he ate *three* plates for breakfast, as usual, and gulped down the last piece of bacon and the last biscuit on the way out the door.
Hansel's Feedress: You lucky witch! Did you encourage him any?
CookieFromPookie: Bet she didn't. The way she talks he's got an appetite that won't quit!
As she continued to chat with her friends, Rosa thought back to how she'd met them in the first place. It had been a little over a year and a half ago--a few months after John's 40th birthday (and after her father-in-law Hiram's oft-repeated prophecy had finally come true and John's golden metabolism had crashed like a drunken racer at the Indy 500)...and a few months after John had started putting on weight.
Rosa hadn’t paid it any mind. At least, not at first. John was John. He’d never been especially muscular; he wasn’t a beanpole, but neither did he have the build of a linebacker the way his boss and buddy, Chief of Police Steve Wesson had once had (though she supposed he still had the muscle; there was just a lot of extra piled on top (and on the middle) these days). He’d had the pleasantly buffed frame of a middle-aged man who lifted heavy things when necessary but wasn’t otherwise invested in sculpting his body at the gym. And while Rosa had considered John handsome from the first time they met (when he gave her a traffic ticket for jaywalking in his beat cop days in the big city, before he’d gotten a promotion and the family had moved to his new job in Pancione), she hadn’t married him for his looks. She’d married him because he was John. Because he’d never once shied away from going to the store when she needed certain products to cope with her “monthly visitor.” Because he was caring and considerate and always thought twice before losing his temper (which sometimes only served to build up the pressure and make the following explosion worse but usually did the trick). Because he’d taken her father and older brothers’ threats in good humor (while absolutely believing every word), and because he made it clear in almost everything he did that he absolutely adored her. Their relationship wasn’t perfect by any means; they’d had more than a few fights that had ended with John sleeping on the couch, but more than one of their friends had expressed exasperation at the “eternal honeymoon” the pair seemed to share.
She’d wandered away from the point a bit, she reflected. The point was, she hadn’t paid it any mind when John had started to put on weight. At least, not at first. When his sides had started to bud out with the beginnings of love handles, she’d found her gaze drawn there as if by magnets. As his face filled in, his jawline began to blur, and his chest began to puff up with what were very clearly the beginnings of a set of man-boobs, she found herself finding any excuse she could think of to touch them, even as his arms and thighs grew thicker, and his butt grew wider.
When his flat stomach started to push forward against his shirts a bit, before advancing far enough to roll over his belt buckle, she’d found herself needing a cool glass of ice water at some otherwise inopportune times.
As well, she’d found herself having a new fascination with watching John eat. John had never been shy about his appetite, but other than an appreciation for his appreciation of her cooking (which, she wryly reflected, might not be that big of a compliment: as JJ had pointed out, John would eat almost anything if it sat still long enough), she’d never given it much thought.
But now she found herself paying detailed attention to the way John ate. The way he loaded up his fork before bringing it up to his goateed mouth, the way his lips wrapped around the utensil before sliding it out cleaned of its burden. The eager chewing, the bob of his throat as he swallowed….
The thought of her cooking sliding down his gullet and into his stomach, the question of where on John’s growing body that food was going to end up: Would that second helping of potatoes pad out his chest? Would the extra serving of gumbo wind up on his widening butt?
Would that third slice of pie add another inch onto that deliciously plump belly he was growing?
She found herself grateful for their “eternal honeymoon,” because John would mostly likely be wondering why his wife was suddenly so amorous after a big meal.
Naturally, she’d spiraled: “Aren’t I supposed to be encouraging John to lose weight?” she’d ask herself. ”He isn't any less healthy according to his physical, so does it really matter?” She’d answer. Around and around, again and again, until finally she was forced to admit the truth: Her husband was getting fat.
And she wanted him to get fatter.
Rosa had done what people always did when they had a question these days: she turned to the internet. A quick search of “My husband is getting fat and I like it” had mostly turned up articles warning about the hazards of being overweight, or various women fretting over finding their husband’s expanding waistlines unattractive. Which was the complete opposite of Rosa’s own problem.
A few other searches such as “I like my husband’s belly” and “Is it normal to like my husband fat” had turned up similar results, and she’d been tempted to give up. But then, at the bottom of the search results, she’d found it: a forum post from a woman whose boyfriend had gained 50 pounds and who loved it and wanted to make it bigger.
Fascinated, she’d read the update post. The women had talked it over with her boyfriend, who’d revealed himself to be something called a “gainer,” and asked her to be his “feeder.” A frantic internet search had revealed the meaning of those terms, and Rosa had found a whole new world opening up before her.
She’d spent weeks searching for “BHM Content,” (and been a little exasperated at how often her searches led her to BBWs instead), and while on a wiki-walk she’d wound up in a chat room on a feedist fiction site with a woman calling herself “Belle of the Ball-Belly,” who’d turned out to be located somewhere in Pancione (she’d revealed her location in conversation after an agreement for Rosa to do the same, but not her identity nor that of her husband: the eponymous “Ball-Belly” of her screen name). Belle had invited her to an exclusive forum called “The Recipe Club,” comprised of women who were engaged in feedist relations with their husbands, all located in Rosa’s own town!
Smiling, she returned her attention to the conversation.
BriarRose: Hubby never needs encouragement to eat, you know that. :P
Hansel’s Feedress: :P
CookieFromPookie: My husband tends not to get more than seconds…except when it comes to desserts! The fella just has no self-control when it comes to his sweet tooth. So naturally, I keep him well-supplied. >:)
Rosa laughed aloud. Cookie had said that before, but Rosa didn’t mind her saying it again. While she only had eyes for John, she didn’t mind reading what the other women had to say about their men. It reminded her that she wasn’t alone. The speaker chimed and she glanced at the screen, seeing that Belle had chimed into the conversation.
Belle of the Ball-Belly: So did you talk to him about it yet?
Rosa frowned and typed her reply.
BriarRose: No, not yet. Not the sort of thing to bring up at the breakfast table. Not when you have two kids.
She winced as soon as she hit enter; from their more personal conversations she knew Belle and her husband had been trying for a kid for a years, but had so far been unsuccessful. GIven her reply, though, Belle hadn’t taken offense.
Belle of the Ball-Belly: I understand that. But you need to talk to him about it at some point, if only to clear the air. I know it can be hard to bring it up. I was terrified when I finally talked with S about it, but he was a sweetheart about the whole thing. It’s so much better to be open with him about it.
Rosa swallowed before typing her reply.
BriarRose: But what if he thinks I’m…
She ended the message on the pause, knowing the others would understand. Belle, as always, understood.
Belle of the Ball-Belly: He won’t. He loves you.
Rosa swallowed again and sipped her coffee. The speaker chimed.
Belle of the Ball-Belly: Just have a little faith in him. I did in S. You should, too.
Hands shaking, Rosa logged off.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author