50stone sex bomb!
A 50st sex bomb?
Wednesday 20th August 2008
Undoing my nightdress seductively, I saw my husband's eyes light up.
'You're gorgeous,' Paul murmured, clambering onto the bed. 'Just how a real woman should look.'
As his head disappeared between my huge 60FF breasts, I smiled. Oh, I was a 'real woman' — a 50st whole lotta woman to be precise. Maybe you think that's shocking, revolting even. But to Paul, I'm a sex goddess. That's why we have fantastic sex every day. And why I've finally learned to stop hating my body.
My weight problems started when I was 6, and my mum, Margie, then 29, and dad, David O'Garey, 36, split up. Mum struggled to find money to raise us eight kids, and it often meant going hungry. And the rumbling pain in my tummy felt as bad as the pain of my parents'split.Then, when I was 8, they got back together. I'd felt a surge of joy the day I came home to find Dad on the settee and a fridge full of food. Delirious with happiness, I'd eaten myself silly. And somehow, over the years, I'd been unable to stop. Hunger means unhappiness,
I thought. And who'd want that? So by the time I was 18, I was 19st 3lb. Huge, even for someone of 5ft 8in.
'You should lose weight,' boyfriends bullied me.
And I should have told them to get lost. But when I looked in the mirror at my triple chin and flabby tummy, I didn't like what I saw either.
I kept comfort eating, though, and by the time I gave birth to my son, Dillon, in March 1993, I weighed 28st 7lb. There were times when I tried to diet, but the minute those hunger pangs kicked in, I'd feel like that 6-year-old again, and start eating. By the time Dillon was 8, I was
a single mum, weighing 35st 2lb. That's when I'd received an email from a stranger called Paul Potter, 37. He hadn't meant to send it to me, my email address was similar to one of his friend's. But by February 2001, we'd struck up a friendship. We chatted online and on the phone, and within three months, we both knew we'd fallen in love.
There was only one problem. I still hadn't told Paul about my weight. There's something you need to know, I confessed in an email. And, attaching a full-length photo of me in all my glory, I clicked 'send' before I could change my mind. What if he's horrified and never contacts me again?
But three hours later, an email pinged back. You look beautiful, I'd love to meet you.
I was overjoyed. We made a date, and two months later, Paul drove the 17 hours from his home in Phoenix, Arizona, to mine in Sacramento, California. The minute I saw him, I fancied him rotten. The same height as me, he was only 11st 4lb.
'It doesn't matter,' he said, kissing me passionately. 'I adore big women.'
Even so, that night in bed, I pulled the duvet up to my chins to cover my naked body.
'You've nothing to be embarrassed about,' Paul reassured me. 'You're gorgeous as you are.'
As we made love, I'd never felt so sexy. And from then on, Paul visited as often as he could.
Whenever he did, he'd cook huge plates of pizza or spaghetti.
'Don't want you getting skinny,' he'd tease, spoon-feeding me my colossal dinner.
Then, Paul suggested setting up an internet group for big women like me.
'You're not far off 700lb (50st),' he said. 'You could even call it the Seven Hundred Pound Club.'
I weighed 650lb (46st 4lb), only about 50lb shy of 700lb. Does Paul want me to put on weight? I wondered. It wouldn't have surprised me. He adored my big, fat body. So if I weighed 700lb, would he adore me more?
'OK,' I told him. 'Let's do it.'
For me to gain weight sounds mad, but I didn't have heart problems, diabetes or high blood pressure. It wouldn't take much, just a bit more food each day. Soon, Paul and I had the Seven Hundred Pound Club up and running, with pictures of me on it. Within an hour, I'd had an email from a man I didn't know.
You're gorgeous. Call me if you ever split up with your boyfriend.
What a thrill! From then on, I got up to 10 emails a day from big women or men who loved them. My confidence rocketed. Men actually think I'm sexy, I suddenly realised.
A month later, in February 2005, Paul and I tied the knot. I only got weighed at the doctor's twice a year, so I didn't know how much I'd gained, but I had to get my long, white dress specially made. Afterwards, Paul and his son, James, 17, came to live with Dillon and I. As Paul cooked us huge pasta and pizza dinners, our food bills went up to a whopping £150 a week.
'But it's worth it,' he insisted.
During the following months, I got so big, I was no longer able to shower or dress myself. So Paul would get in the shower with me, and make sure all my folds and creases were clean. Then, he'd make sure there was talcum powder in all the right places, so I didn't chafe, and help me get into my custom-made giant knickers. I'll admit, there were times my confidence felt shaky. I was so huge now, I was practically disabled.
'I'm not sexy,' I'd wail in moments of self-doubt. 'I'm horrible.'
But Paul's kisses and reassurances soon boosted me again.
'You're red hot,' he'd purr, snapping photos of me for the web group. But they were never seedy. Even if I was in a nightdress, it was a long one.
Paul's compliments couldn't kid me I was in perfect health, though. I had fluid retention in my calves, which made them swell to 42in around, bigger than Paul's waist. It caused cellulitis — recurrent infections deep in the tissue of my legs. I'd end up in hospital for days, feverish and vomiting, while doctors gave me antibiotics. But it didn't stop my weight gain. I was an internet celebrity now — a big sex symbol to hundreds of men. I couldn't let them down. More to the point, Paul loved me just the way I was. Why change that? In January 2006, I was back in hospital with cellulitis.
'It might help if you had a hospital bed at home, to raise your legs,' a doctor told me when
I was admitted.
So he arranged with my insurance company for a queen-sized adjustable bed to be delivered.
The night it arrived, Paul had a twinkle in his eye when he helped heave me into bed.
'We could have some fun with this,' he said, pushing the bed's controls so my legs lifted in the air.Although we'd always had a great sex life, my weight made it difficult to get into certain positions these days. Not any more. That night, we found out our new bed made sex even better. We could even make it hoist me up so I could get on top. But, as you could imagine, that made me breathless pretty quickly. By December 2007, when I went to the GP,
I weighed 50st 2lb.
'You're more beautiful than ever,' Paul grinned.
We plastered my web group pages with pictures, and the punters loved it. But it's mad to stay this weight. I have to use a mobility scooter to get around town, and I could end up housebound. More importantly, I could miss out on seeing Dillon, now 15, grow up, get married and have children. So I've decided to lose weight. I've swapped cake for fruit, and
four days a week, I walk up and down a swimming pool for an hour. And Paul is supporting me.
'I'll always love you, fat or thin,' he insists.
I don't want to be skinny, though. My target weight is 25st. Still hefty, but half what I weigh now. But as long as I'm healthy and my gorgeous Paul is by my side, I'm more than happy to stay a big, beautiful woman.
Paul Potter says: 'I've always liked heavier women. I live for Pauline to be happy, no matter what her size. I love rubbing her feet and feeding her, and the sex is awesome. Unfortunately, for someone who tends to gain weight, having an over-attentive husband can
cause them to gain more. We might even have to separate for a bit, just so Pauline can start to lose some weight. I created the Seven Hundred Pound Club to celebrate my lovely wife. I didn't intend for her to go up to 700lb, but she told me a lot of members requested it.'