Kirstie Mouncey, 24, shares her true life story:
I looked at my phone, not quite believing the message I’d received.
Your curves are SO sexy.
I read it again, my heart thundering inside my chest.
Then another message pinged.
Let me take you out for lunch.
I ran downstairs to tell my nan.
“I’m going on a date,” I whooped.
It seemed too good to be true after years of convincing myself no-one could ever find someone like me attractive.
My nan, Helen, had raised me and my little brother, Layton, after Dad died when I was six and Mum couldn’t cope.
I adored Nan, especially her cooking.
Every meal was served with three types of potato – boiled, mashed and roasted!
And her gooey chocolate puddings were just amazing.
I always poured a ton of cream over mine, and usually gobbled up everyone else’s leftovers!
Me at my heaviest weight – 222kg.
But as my waistline grew bigger, the kids at school teased me constantly.
The depression I suffered only made me crave more of Nan’s pud.
By the time I left school, I weighed 115kg.
I was miserable, and hardly ever went out.
I was desperate to have a boyfriend, but it seemed hopeless.
But then I found a dating site that had a section for men who liked bigger women.
I worried it was a joke, but saw there were quite a few who weren’t attracted to skinny girls.
And that’s how I’d finally been asked out on a date.
His name was Alex, and we met at my local pub.
His eyes lit up when he saw me.
He wasn’t overweight at all; in fact, he was quite good-looking.
As we studied the menu, he encouraged me to order three meals – pie and chips, fish and chips, and fried chicken with mashed potato.
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“Let’s eat!” he said as all the food arrived.
“We don’t want you getting all thin.”
The food was delicious and Alex watched me gulp it down with a smile.
Afterwards, he kissed me.
We were soon an item.
He was 10 years older than me, but I didn’t care.
He liked me for being me – a big girl – and that was all that mattered.
Everywhere we went, girls stared open-mouthed.
They couldn’t understand why someone like him was with someone like me.
I could barely believe it either.
Me and my Nan.
The main thing we did together was eat.
We thought nothing of having a burger, followed by a pepperoni pizza with garlic bread, potato wedges, and chicken wings.
The bigger I got, the more Alex complimented me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, stroking my fat rolls.
In our first year together, I went from a size 18 to a size 30.
One day, we were watching TV when there was an advert for a plus-size beauty pageant.
“You should enter!” Alex said straight away.
I was horrified at the thought, but thought back to the bullies and realised I wanted to make a difference.
Alex came with me to the audition.
At 17, I was the youngest one there.
At 170kg, I was also the biggest.
I made the final and my picture was in the local paper.
“I’m so proud of you!” Alex cried supportively as the cameras flashed.
I pasted on a smile, but inside I was cringing.
Several people said some really hurtful things online.
More bullies.
One told me that I should kill myself.
“Ignore them,” Alex said, handing me a box of biscuits.
At the preliminary interviews for the beauty pageant.
By then, I’d eat a whole chicken for lunch, and dinner was four double cheese-burgers, two bags of fries, and countless doughnuts. I’d also down litres and litres of Lucozade a day.
Just before I turned 19, I weighed 222kg and was virtually bed bound.
Alex became my full-time carer and had to help me get out of bed to the shower, and dress me as well.
All I did was watch TV and eat the food Alex ordered for me.
Nan was very worried about me and offered to pay for a gastric band procedure, but I refused.
If Alex was happy with me the way I was, I couldn’t risk losing weight.
But I was in a bad way.
My blood pressure was sky-high and even sitting up in bed exhausted me.
I began to feel suicidal.
Finally, I rang Nan.
“I want the surgery,” I sobbed down the phone.
I thought Alex would be cross, but he was supportive.
“I just want you to be happy,” he said.
After the operation, I’d get full after only two mouthfuls of food.
As the weight fell off me, I became a different person, happier and more confident.
Perhaps predictably, Alex and I broke up.
Now i’m 130kg lighter!
I don’t blame him for how huge I got, because it was me shovelling the food down my own throat, but he was a feeder and only wanted me if I was morbidly obese and at death’s door.
Now I weigh 80kg and I’m a size 14.
0I need more surgery to remove the excess skin rolls.
Food isn’t my life anymore.
Instead of spending all of my time in front of the TV, I’m studying to become a social worker.
I can’t believe I put my life in danger to please a man with a fetish for fat.
