Le Mangeur D'Hommes

Still with these puppy ​​eyes?!?! Really?!

Just a glimpse of the many images I've uploaded this month.

I guess I am a completely different person now 😅 and there’s enough of me to be two of that skinny version 😂 I used to be out every weekend climbing or hiking (or clubbing 🫣)

I recently found this photo of me when I was slimmer, all lean and active on the beach with a flat stomach and defined arms. Although admittedly I only looked like this for a few months at most. Around this time in my life was probably the least fat on my body ever and the only time I went to the gym.

And here is me now. My belly is big and soft, hanging and spilling, my thighs press together when I walk, my chest and sides have filled out, and everything jiggles when I move. I love how heavy and round I feel now. It turns me on so much, it’s amazing how much happier I am now 😍

Seeing old photos of me really lets it hit home how big I have gotten. And then I am immediately excited how big I could still get. It’s also amazing how tired I look, but I had been on the road 3 weeks when that photo had been taken 🫣 I guess I won’t be going up any hills anytime soon but I might to the shops to get some ice cream 😈

🐷

Der Nachbarsjunge Hänsel kam gerne zu mir in mein Cottage zum Essen, bis er eines Tages spurlos verschwand. 😈

🐷 "Oh man, hier im Hotel sind so viele attraktive Frauen und jede möchte mich füttern.“ Was er nicht weiß, es ist ein Hexentreffen hier in das er zufällig geraten ist. Der Bursche wird nicht aus dem Urlaub heimkehren.

Inspired by the Twilight Zone

Mr. Chambers had always prided himself on being hard to fool. He’d cracked ciphers, exposed conspiracies, and once spotted a forged signature from across the room. But nothing in his career prepared him for Kalar — the towering Kanamit assigned to “escort” him after humanity eagerly accepted the aliens’ generous offer of interstellar travel.

Kalar was unfailingly polite. Too polite. His voice had the smoothness of someone who had practiced sounding reassuring for centuries.

“Mr. Chambers,” Kalar said each morning, “you must keep up your strength. We have… plans for you.”

The meals he brought were monumental. Trays groaning under roasts, stews, breads, and desserts so rich they seemed engineered rather than baked. Chambers tried to protest, but Kalar always insisted.

“Please,” the alien said, “it is important that you… fill out before departure.”

Chambers wasn’t sure what “fill out” meant, but Kalar said it with the same tone a tailor might use when discussing fabric. The alien watched him eat with an unsettling attentiveness, nodding approvingly as Chambers’ appetite grew under the relentless encouragement.

By week two, Chambers’ clothes were losing their battle. By week three, Kalar began measuring him — waist, shoulders, arms — humming cheerfully as the numbers rose.

“You are becoming quite… robust,” Kalar said, as though complimenting a fine harvest. “A truly admirable… yield.”

Chambers blinked. “Yield?”

Kalar’s smile widened. “Oh yes. We value… substantial contributions.”

The alien’s phrasing grew stranger by the day.

“You are ripening nicely, Mr. Chambers.”

“Your development is… mouthwatering.”

“You will be a centerpiece of great importance.”

Chambers tried to laugh it off, but Kalar’s tone never wavered. It was always warm, always courteous, always just a shade too delighted.

One afternoon, Chambers wandered into a Kanamit study chamber. Kalar was there, poring over a large, leather-bound book. Chambers recognized the title immediately.

To Serve Man.

He felt a chill. “I thought that was a guide to helping humanity.”

Kalar closed the book gently, almost reverently. “Oh, it is,” he said. “You are helping us more than you know.”

Chambers swallowed. “What exactly am I helping with?”

Kalar placed a massive hand on his shoulder — comforting, yet unmistakably possessive.

“You will be part of a grand tradition,” the alien said. “A tradition of… sharing. A tradition of… nourishment. A tradition in which your presence will be… unforgettable.”

Chambers backed away. “Nourishment?”

Kalar nodded. “Yes. You will be… deeply appreciated.”

The alien gestured toward a gleaming chamber that radiated heat like a summer oven.

“It is time,” Kalar said softly, “for your final… service.” As he lay the chubby Chambers into a huge roasting pan, trussed him up neatly and basted him with herbs and oil.

Chambers realized then — too late — that every compliment, every meal, every measurement had been leading to this moment. Kalar had not been preparing him for a journey.

HOMER GERE