"The Sociology Student"
a story by ScareGlow

“Professor Hargreaves, what ever will I write my phD thesis about? I am fresh out of ideas.”
“You could do mating rituals of the Uru people of Southwest Zambia . Maybe get in a little field work. ”
“Oh, that one's been done to death.”
“How about a fresh spin on juvenile delinquency?”
“Professor, there are no more fresh spins to put on juvenile delinquency, its been done even more than mating rituals of the Uru people of Southwest Zambia!”
“Well, I suppose there is a topic you could try, on which little has been written before.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, piqued.
“Yes. You could do feeders and feedees.”
“Huh?”
“It's an intriguing subculture. There are feeders, mostly men, who proceed in, quite literally, well, feeding the feedees, mostly women. The whole process is highly sexualized.”
“Oh that's nothing. Everyone has romantically placed a grape in a lover's mouth, or used whipped cream in some sexual way. Even me,” I lied.
The professor laughed. “That's barely the tip of the iceberg. You see, the man stuffs his partner, in some extreme cases cramming food into her face against her will. Some feedees aim to gain dozens of pounds, other hundreds.”
“What? This is some sick male fantasy thing. You're saying that men force these women to gain weight?”
“Yes, they find the women more attractive as they become heavier.”
“And the women? How could they put up with this kind of behavior?”
“Well you see Shannon, many of these women enjoy being fed and gaining weight. And they often feel that they are becoming more beautiful.”
“It's all the craziest thing I've ever heard, stranger than the upside down dancers of Papua New Guinea or the development of Cockney rhyming slang. Why, it's simply disgusting. It's unthinkable that women would endanger their health so recklessly, and men be complicit in the process. I for one am proud of my slim figure, and wouldn't give it up for the world.”
“Oh, it's not really so strange, having a number of historical analogues. Man's fascination with a woman's weight hearkens back to the celebrated Venus of Willendorf...”
“Woman of Willendorf, you mean,” I interjected.
“Yes, god damn your political correctness. Anyway, people everywhere engage in activities that threaten their health for the sake of pleasure, like drinking and smoking. And as a doctoral candidate in sociology, I really expect a bit more tolerance from you relating to other cultures. Why, there are any number of other cultures which might find your love of running, penchant for eighties music, and quest for phD in sociology strange.”
“Yes, I suppose you're right. But I'm not doing this topic. I'm sure I'll think of something else.”
---
But the weeks went by. My friends in the program told me all their interesting topics, and I had no satisfactory response when asked about mine. It was with a heavy heart that I trudged back to Professor Hargreaves's office and told him that I would write my thesis on feeder and feedees, and asked him where to get started.
“Well, there is of course some literature on the subject, but hardly any compared to some of the more common topics. You are going to have to do a lot of field work, interviewing people, posting on various forums all over the internet, and so on.”
“Ugh! I have to actually talk to these people? Wasn't there another topic I talked to you about?”
“Well Ms. Fairbanks, you are expected to have 50 pages of prep work done by the 15th, which is not far off from today. I suggest you get started.” With my back against the wall, I agreed to do it.
---
So I got down to business. I hit up all the discussion boards, got sn's, and took notes. I talked to bbw_goddess and tubbygrl69, and even someone supposedly famous in the internet community, Pudgy Princess or something along those lines. The women were sometimes hard to understand. The men were worse. On one website, they would call you terrible things if you didn't show them your naked body right away, and I wasn't even fat. I was talking about my work to one of my friends in the political science department, who wasn't fat either, but who knew a guy who only dated heavy women, and she gave me his email. I emailed him right away, asking him lots of questions, and mostly complaining about how unhelpful the other people were. He replied the next day.
Dear Shannon:
Having graduated from school not to many years ago, I remember a thing or too from Sociology 101, which I took for the “easy A” (no offense). Thinking about African tribes, it seems like the best sociologists were those who perfectly integrated themselves into the communities they were studying. Since their very presence could change the behavior of those they studied, they sought to make themselves into members of the tribe. With that said, I suggest that you “become a member of the tribe.” I will be your feeder.
- Doak

I was horrified. However, he had made some good points about sociology. I looked at the calendar. The deadline was approaching. I speculated that Professor Hargreaves would applaud my groundbreaking technique if I were to do the thing that had been suggested. However, I am in excellent shape, and I go to the gym at least once a day. I could not possibly deal with what people would say. And that thing about “becoming part of the tribe?” I would never want to be like those people. But Doak responded to my refusal with an even more polite email, and said that I should try to gain just ten pounds, to feel what it was like, and that if I was such a gym rat I could always burn it off later. So I agreed to his proposal, and met him at the Korean buffet on 33rd street.
---
“So, how do feel?” asked Doak.
“Actually, I feel sick. I don't think this is working out.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, feeling bloated.
“Don't you feel good, having eaten all that delicious food? It was fun for me to watch.”
“I don't really like kim chee, now that I've tried it. I guess the barbeque was alright. I thought you were supposed to stuff me.”
“Well, I usually save that for the privacy of my own home. Anyway, are you sure you don't want dessert?” I shook my head.
“So what's for next time? Fancy Italian restaurant? Or maybe something exotic, Thai-French fusion?”
“Look, I don't know. I feel kind of bad.” But I stopped to think for a moment. I hadn't really accomplished anything. I had to gain ten pounds so I could write about it. “Alright, how about Tuesday, a nice steakhouse?”
“Sure. Hey...” I leaned in to listen. “When you get home, you should maybe have a bowl of ice cream, or something chocolate.”
“I'll try. Well, call me on Tuesday, Doak.”
---
So we went to the steakhouse, and on other dates to a Mexican restaurant, an ice cream shoppe, and so on. Doak was a fairly interesting guy, which made the dates tolerable. I tried to eat a little extra at each meal, and at home, though I felt terrible. As I neared my goal of ten pounds, I started to have grave misgivings about the whole project. I told Doak that I was done with the whole thing, and thanked him for his help. Then I went to the gym for a second session, not having stopped going even while I was trying to gain weight.
As I compiled my notes, I thought that I was doing a good job. But I realized that I was mostly writing about Doak and how nice he was. I asked him what was wrong:

doak11: shannon you say you felt like a blob when you had gained eight or nine pounds. but did people stop and stare when you rode the subway? did you have to go to another store to shop for clothes? did you stop to touch your belly and feel it hang over the front of your jeans? i think that u will not have much to write about until you make a serious effort to gain weight
doak11: I think you have to gain at least 25lbs
diamond_grl432: you have got to be kidding! that would be insane I could never do it
doak11: y dont u try to go to the gym 3 days a week instead of 7 also you have a good appetite if you can get up to 25lbs you will have a lot more to write about
diamond_grl432: I think I might have to drop out of my doctoral program because I cant do this! although what you are saying does make sense
diamond_grl432: ttyl
He was right, and as hard as it was, we started going out again. I made a more concerted effort. My breakthrough was when I finished off an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey, all by myself, while watching Sex and The City reruns. After that, I tried to have a pint every night, trying flavors like Coffee Heath Bar Crunch and Karamel Sutra. I managed to keep out of the gym at least one or two days a week by grading extra undergrad papers for Professor Hargreaves. As I neared 25 pounds, I finally felt my tummy start to hang a tiny bit, especially when I bent over, and my butt did seem bigger.
My jeans were now a bit tight, so I bought some new ones at urban, just for the duration of the project. I kept all my old ones on hand. Doak called me and asked what I weighed. I went to the scale, which read 156. I had gained 24 pounds from my starting weight of 132. He told me that I'd better come over for a feast, and tackle that last pound, so I did.
---
Doak had put together the most ridiculous feast ever. There was plate after plate of braised tidbits of meat, salmon remoulade, joints of lamb, porcini risottos. The dessert seemed to go on forever. Knowing that I was reaching the end of my journey, I ate every pastry trifle and cup of crème brulee. His flirting slowly intensified until we were sitting on his couch, his hand gently caressing my now bulging belly. Although I do not usually get busy so quickly, there was something strange about the combination of his affection and the way my body had been transformed over the past months.
The next day was great for writing my paper. It was now easy to speak from experience about the sexual aspects of feederism. I took my work so far to Professor Hargreaves. Instantly, he focused on my transformed body, and he nearly as quickly put two and two together.
“So, Ms. Fairbanks. I see you have been deeply engaged in fieldwork.” I beamed proudly, with my hands on my hips. My shirt moved up a little, showing a tiny bit of my belly. I quickly pulled it down, feeling ashamed. He read my paper.
“Simply astonishing. This is a quantum leap beyond your early work. Your insights are piercing,” he remarked.
“Thank you, professor.”
“Hm...it seems like you'll have to gain even more weight to write from experience about 'super-sized BBW's'.”
“Professor! You know I could never do that. As soon as this paper is done I'm going back to normal. To the real me.”
“Yes, of course,” he stammered. “Your writing is excellent and I hope you continue to perform so well.”
I decided to go for an extra long session at the gym. But as I was walking out the door, I remembered that I was scheduled to run the Sociology 102 exam review. After the review session I got a phone call from my sister and had to talk with her for hours. By the time I got to the gym, it was closed. I walked home in despair. Distraught, I tore through the fridge looking to something to eat. I found a box of Dove bars that were a once-a-week reward for exercise. I ate all four bars in the box, and it was only Tuesday.
I felt terribly guilty about the things I had done with Doak. I felt guilty about the weight I had gained, but instead of going to the gym, I just ate more. I started going to the grocery store without a shopping list, and leaving with bundles and bundles of food. I didn't talk to Doak for some time. By the time I called him, I was in tears.
“Doak, I feel so sick about my body, but I just keep eating when I feel bad. I've only been to the gym once this week, and I felt like everyone was staring at me!”
“Shannon, I think there's something terribly wrong. Is it me? If you have to, you should just forget about me. I don't want you to gain any more weight than you feel comfortable about. Remember, you're just doing research for a paper.”
“No, it's not that, I mean I like you and all, it's just...”
“What?”
“Oh god, I, Doak, I don't know how I can say this, I've never told anyone since then... but, I was the fattest girl in my entire high school,” I choked out, between bursts of tears.
“No...”
“Yes, it was terrible. They teased me mercilessly, every day. I must have weighed more than 200 pounds. I could barely run in gym class, and I had to wear these horrible large size clothes from Sears. After high school was over, I made up my mind to be skinny and fit. Every day I starved myself and ran six or eight miles, even ten miles sometimes. I went an entire week eating only rice cakes and celery. Even though it was so easy for me to gain weight, to just eat everything in sight, I succeeded, and I have been proud of myself ever since. But now, I feel like it's all coming apart. I don't think I'll ever be able to lose this weight. All I think about is eating.”
“Shannon, this is hard for me to say, since I enjoy watching a woman gain weight, but you have to do what's best for you. If you lost so much weight once, you can do it again, it's only 25 pounds this time.”
“Yeah, about that,” I winced. “It's closer to forty.”
“Oooh. Well, it's still much less than you had to lose after high school. I suppose you could go jogging with me.”
“Alright,” I said, holding back the tears.
---
I went jogging the next day with Doak. But there was something so strangely sensual, about the way my belly swayed when I ran, about the way my ass cheeks bounced up and down, in a seductive rhythm. I felt both aroused and hungry. When we finished running, Doak walked me back to my apartment. We passed a Chipotle on the way. I thought about going in. After all, I had burned a lot of calories. But Doak pulled me away. Two days later, we went on the same run. Doak is a guy who likes routines. But this time, there was no stopping me. I insisted that we go into Chipotle, as a reward for our good work. Doak ate two tacos. I started with one massive, brick-sized burrito. Then another, and finally a third. Doak tried to stop me, but he was so aroused that he had trouble doing so. We went back to my apartment. I was so bloated that I could barely walk, but at the same time completely aroused, and we did it again. After we finished, I was crying again.
“You keep talking about the real me, the thin me. But maybe that's not you. Maybe this is the real you. The more you deny something inside you, the stronger it gets, until you just can't take it anymore.”
“Oh my god, all these years, I've just been fooling myself. It felt so real to me, but it was so hard. I had to make the most terrible sacrifices to stay in shape. I ignored my friends and family so I could to the gym, things like that. There was even this girl in my department. Katelyn. She was so fat, and so short, and I said the meanest things to her. Subtle, the comments that go straight to the heart...I need to think about this some more...”
I met with Doak again soon afterwards. He could see that I was still troubled, so he encouraged me to talk with him.
“It's just that, when we, you know...did it...I hadn't done it in so long. I used to miss my periods and lose my sex drive sometimes, because I was exercising so much. Running, lifting weights, playing soccer, all day. At the time I thought it was fine, but now I realize how much I missed it.”
“Ooh, that's, it's really bad.”
“I know. And I was also thinking, there were some guys that I knew in high school. They were always so shy, but I could tell that they liked me. But I never even got to know them. I was just so afraid that we'd make out, and if I took my top off, they'd see that I was just some kind of horrible blob.”
“Shannon, if you only knew, how hard it was for those boys, and how much they liked your body. I think you need to reconnect with some people. At be nice to that poor girl you made fun of.”
“Well, I'll give it a try. Anyway, I'm famished. What have you got to eat?”
Doak smiled.
---
I started to feel okay about my weight. Doak continued to take me out a few times a week. To eat, that is. We stopped going jogging. I finished many pages of my thesis, which was beginning to cohere nicely. To stay focused, I had to keep myself at my desk with my laptop. I would order Chinese food and pizza so I didn't have to go out and be distracted. I would sit there eating egg roll after egg roll, cramming General Tso's into my mouth, polishing off Deep Dish Supreme Pizzas. Once again, I found it necessary to buy some new clothes, so I went to urban and Nordstrom as usual. The absolute worst part of my day was seeing Katelyn at the department meetings. I just knew she was gloating, watching me get heavier each day, though I had criticized her so. Finally I found her alone and told her we had to talk.
“Katelyn, I feel so bad about everything. Everything I said was so wrong. And its not just because I gained weight, it was wrong no matter what. I just hope you can forgive me for the terrible things I said.”
“Oh, Shannon!” she said, moving to hug me. “I'm sorry that I felt good about you gaining,” she said, her chubby little arms encircling me. “It's just that, you were so mean, it made me feel better to see you in such a position. But I suppose that's just as wrong. So I forgive you. I hope we can be better friends. How is your thesis going?”
“Oh, just fine. And yours? What were you doing, education?”
“Gender and Race as Determinants of College Admissions,” she beamed proudly. “Yeah it's going pretty well.”
---
Doak took me to the Korean buffet on 33rd street.
“Remember this place?” he asked.
“Mm, how could I forget,” I said, loading my plate with spare ribs, fried vegetables, and mounds of white rice. Where once I had walked and eaten timidly, I now actively filled plate after plate and ate til they were clean. Eel, fried squid, Korean stew - I ate till I was exhausted, and then ate some more, until I was sure I would burst at the seams. Doak was impressed.
“You certainly get your money's worth,” he said, sipping sake.
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
The next day I inspected myself in the mirror. Everything was fatter - my calves, thighs, butt, belly, arms, face - even my back was starting to develop rolls. Again, I was awakened and aroused by a mystical and powerful force - something of the caterpillar's transformation into the butterfly, I thought cheerily. I was inspired to try even harder. I put together a massive bowl of pasta, linguine in a heavy cream and sausage sauce, and ate it all. I weighed myself, and was shocked to see that I had passed 200 pounds, putting me close to my high school weight. I called Doak, and he insisted that we celebrate - with more eating, of course.
---
I was on my way to the grocery store when I saw Kevin, in suit and tie, on the street. Though he was walking fast, he slowed down to talk with me. After a few pleasantries, I said:
“You look just like you did in high school.” He did, except for the suit and tie.
“Oh, you do too Shannon.” I stopped momentarily, almost imperceptibly. “Oh, that's not what I meant... I know you felt...erm, I'm really making a mess of things,” he sweated.
“It's alright Kevin, just relax,” I said. We stopped. I grabbed both of his hands and looked up at his head. “If you only knew.” Then I told him my story. He suggested that we stop for lunch. And what a lunch it was. Then back to his place. I think he forgot about wherever it was that he was walking to so quickly.
At this time Doak said he was ready for the real thing. Everything else had been a warm up. We devised a number of interesting plans. On some days, we went to every fast food restaurant in town: from McDonald's to Burger King, Wendy's to Taco Bell, KFC, and others with me getting at least a full meal at each one, if not more. Sometimes we went to the ice cream shop and tried a scoop of each flavor, or had one of those enormous banana splits for couples, with me eating the lion's share. With all of my terrible anxieties gone, it was easier than ever to gain weight, and I tacked pound after pound onto my 5'8” frame. Doak even made me call Katelyn sometimes, and the three of us would go out. He though she was the cutest, roundest, funniest girl - next to me of course. By this point, I was nearly as fat as she was.
I finally finished my phD thesis, and prepared to send out my resume for a job as an assistant professor of sociology at the nearby universities and colleges. This time I wanted to celebrate. Doak suggested that we go to Le Cirque, saying that it was his treat. Of course, I had nothing really nice to wear - well, at least nothing that fit. But after an emergency shopping trip I was ready.
Le Cirque was amazing. I had quince confit, braised duck, foie gras terrine, scallops wrapped in prosciutto - too many things to mention. Dessert was a true bacchanal with bottles of Chateau Lafite, and the famous crème brulee “Le Cirque.” I staggered out of the building. My belly was so full that my precious new dress threatened to be torn apart with every step. Luckily, we made it back to my apartment.
By this time, Katelyn and I were good friends. She and Doak liked each other too. I had a little party at my apartment, during which I drank far too much champagne with Katelyn. When the guests left, I complained about being sore. Doak offered to massage me. As he kneaded my shoulders, Katelyn walked back in.
“I forgot my hat,” she said, a bit nervous.
“Are you sure you didn't come for the massage?” Doak asked.
“Er, well...I think it was for my hat...” she trailed off.
“He's an expert,” I said. “His massages are great.”
Katelyn came closer, stumbling. “Are you sure?”
Doak nodded. I moved a bit, and Katelyn lay down on the couch. Doak contrived to have her top removed before he started. Then he began kneading the thick, luxurious rolls of her back, and running his hand through her light brown tresses.
“Here, I'll show you my technique,” he said, and he soon had me doing Katelyn, and she doing me. Then we were both doing Doak. His shirt came off. Then he complained of such a tightness in his quads, that we each had to do one leg, and his pants came off. Finally we were all naked, with two huge pairs of panties, jeans, bras, Doak's clothes, and shoes all laying in a heap. Doak was on top of me, and Katelyn on top of him, licking the inside of his ear. Then he was on the bottom, with Katelyn on top of him, facing up, and me on top of her. Between the two of us there were over 500 pounds of woman crushing him. Soon he was just relaxing, while we rubbed our massive bellies together and kissed. Then we all went to sleep.
When I began teaching at New York University in September, there were two hundred and eighty three pounds on my formerly petite frame. I discarded my old size 4 and 6 clothes and searched the department stores for whatever nice 22s and 24s I could find to accommodate my burgeoning hips, bulging belly, and swelling bust. At least my handbags still fit. Each day, breakfast was as many pancakes, waffles, sausage links, strips of bacon, eggs, pieces of taylor ham, and glasses of milk or oj that I could handle. Lunch was usually a feast at a fast food joint or a large order of takeout. Since I only had to teach a few classes a week, there was plenty of time for long meals and snacking. Dinner, when not with Doak, was usually Italian, like pasta primavera or lasagna, supplemented with huge chunks of mozzarella cheese. After every meal and at night were bags of chips, cookies, bowl after bowl of ice cream covered in M&M's and sprinkles. At this point, my ample belly was jutting forth a great deal, and hanging down quite far. It naturally divided itself into two thick rolls. My rear was so big that regular seats were becoming a bit uncomfortable, and liable to break or to be difficult to extricate myself from. My cup size was steadily growing larger. Doak and I celebrated number three hundred with glee.
“Every bulge, every jiggle, each and every pound is a reminder of a tray of cookies, or a sack of White Castles,” I said. “Or a gorging session at McDonald's, crammed into a tiny booth.”
“How about this one,” said Doak, grasping my gigantic belly. “bit more than a pound, I'd say.”
“Ooh,” I laughed. I didn't get this in a night. It took a lot of hard work,” I smiled.
---
My courtship with Doak intensified. By the time we were engaged, I was far past three hundred pounds, the result of constant stuffing and gorging. There was so much fat piled up on my hips and ass that I could not walk through the smaller doorways in our apartments without turning sideways. Even then, I had to suck in my enormous gut in order to pass by. Even the plus-size clothes were starting to feel small, and I had torn one expensive dress during a particularly intense session in which Doak had prepared for me a fantastic, butter-drenched lobster dinner followed by a number of the most luxurious and decadent vanilla milkshakes. I had mentioned this in passing to Doak. Just as I was pondering shedding my dignity for some poorly designed super-plus size clothes, loose fitting gowns and muu-muus, Doak came to my rescue. For my birthday, there were dozens of boxes of the best clothes, all custom made to fit me: Rock & Republic jeans, Chanel couture gowns, delicate Gucci tops - even stunning Prada boots tapered to fit my enormous calves.
“Doak, I don't know what to say. This is unbelievable.”
“Those bikinis are for the beach.”
“Oh! I don't think I could wear that in public. I mean, I'm proud of my body and all, it's just, I'm not very used to this sort of thing.”
“Mmm, I know just the right place.”
“Might have to wait until it gets warm, though. New Jersey beaches are cold in the winter.”
“New Jersey?”
---
It was with some trepidation that I put on one of the skimpy floral bikinis Doak had given me and packed his BMW for the beach. When we got there, my heart nearly stopped. The sign read, “BBW Beach.” I rushed past the dune. On the beach were dozens of women, some with boyfriends, sunning themselves, splashing in the water, playing volleyball. Everywhere there were bellies jiggling, bosoms heaving, smooth and richly tanned bodies lubed in cocoa butter and sunscreen. Though I rushed to the beach, Doak stopped me.
“Sunscreen,” he said. “I'll do your back if you do mine.” He rubbed the oily sunscreen into every fold, and ended up doing my whole body. We lazed about on the beach, played an intense game of volleyball, and swam. Doak was in paradise but he kept his eyes mostly on me, so resplendent I was. Of course we followed out outing with a picnic lunch and a stop to the boardwalk for fried chicken and funnel cakes.
---
I was even bigger by the time the next semester started. I gave some of the designer clothes that no longer fit me to Katelyn, who at this point was looking skinny in comparison to me, though she had not lost a pound. Doak of course bought more clothes, which pleased me to no end. My gigantic posterior had expanded to fill nearly the entire couch, leaving just enough room for Doak to squeeze in. My belly covered a good portion of my lap when I sat down. Doak would kiss my belly, lick inside my belly button, now a cavernous hole, and play with my rolls in the most creative ways. I would even sit on his face while he licked me. After I passed four hundred pounds I could no longer walk as fast as usual, but instead waddled slowly, my gigantic ass cheeks heaving up and down in rhythmic succession. Feeling to be at the perfect weight, I slowed down a bit in my eating. Doak and I picked out the fanciest Oscar de la Renta wedding dress we could find, and had it altered a bit. Then we were married.