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Sometimes it starts with a text.

“Late lunch? ;)”

In the months before he told me he was gaining weight deliberately, R had been ordering large takeaways for lunch, eating 12 packs of doughnuts, smashing tubs of ice cream and enjoying secret stuffing sessions while I was at work. I’d come home from a long day and start making us dinner and ask how hungry he was.

“I’m alright actually, had a late lunch so don’t need to eat for a bit.”

‘Late lunch’ quickly became a running joke, almost like a code word for indulgent eating (be it stuffing or funnelling).

So, it starts with a text, or a wink, or a nudge, or a jokey wobble of his belly. Then, most likely, The Shopping Trip. Mini Rolls, Ice Cream, Doughnuts, Chocolate Fondant, Cake Pops, and more. Not all at once, though. The whole point of a stuffing is that it’s a fun treat. Not a force feeding. So while the end goal is a happy full boy and a firm stretched belly, the means to an end is absolutely not eating everything but the kitchen sink! Items are chosen specifically and deliberately. Often it’s just one item, but multiple of them, for instance Chocolate Fondant but he’ll have two big ones and a 400ml tub of ice cream. Or doughnuts, but 11 of them.

The texture of the food matters; ‘soft’ is a key word. Not necessarily melt in the mouth, but the softness of the texture of the snack is as much of a turn on as the belly play that accompanies it. The feeling of the food in his fingers and on his tongue, and knowing he’ll get bigger with every bite is incredibly arousing. He told me once that he likes the idea that he can feel the softness of each item before it’s eaten and then after he can try to track it on his body. Mini Rolls for the mini rolls on his back and sides, almost.

The actual physical act of the stuffing isn’t manic and has no resemblance to binge eating in the way I used to do it when I suffered with an ED. It is calculated and slow. Every movement, every decision is intentional. R wants to remember every bite, wants to savour every mouthful, wants to enjoy being fed.

I enjoy feeding him as well. We don’t do force feeding, even the funnel is still controlled by him using a tap because that’s not something either of us find particularly erotic. But I do really enjoy feeding him. I like choosing his next mouthful, trying to get the perfect ratio of whatever ingredients there are on the spoon or fork before deeming it worthy enough to make him fat.

The plan is, when life calms down a bit, that I’ll expand my baking repertoire and we’ll do stuffings with treats I’ll have made fresh that day. Maybe I’ll even keep a record of all the recipes and turn it into a Stuffers Guide to Baking. Until then though, we’ll keep on with our ritualistic shopping trips and stuffing sessions as they are. No point in fixing perfect is there?

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