Have you met Jet? He's the ugly guy in the corner, with the mop. You probably used to know him.
Jet was handsome. It was his whole thing and always had been, that he was gorgeous, conventionally speaking. He had golden hair and blue eyes, perfect skin, toned muscles and a bizarrely glorious dusting of facial stubble, just enough to look rugged and masculine. And so he was a model and an actor and a spokesperson and all that hot, rich guy shit he's now totally unable to do.
If you looked like he used to, wouldn't you be a model too? Unfortunately, Jet was also a bit of a rude fucker, always yapping away gossiping even in front of the targets of his disdain, always treating his support staff like actual servants, and always showing up late to set. His looks carried him throughout life as if upon an enchanted breeze and he loved both said looks and said life.
One Friday, his coffee order was late. The air conditioning wasn't broken, but it wasn't exactly working either. And the photographer didn't smile at Jet when he walked onto set! Jet was FURIOUS. He stormed back to his dressing room and fumed like a little kid, whining to nobody, texting on his phone to anyone who might reply about how awful his life was.
A PA came to grab him for the last shot of the day, and Jet SNARLED like a villain from a cheap movie at her, making her cry immediately. He sat in his steaming rage for another hour or so and eventually went back to set, having made everyone stay late without pay. Everyone, unsurprisingly, had lost interest in his beauty and just hated the guy.
When Jet eventually went home, he of course didn't notice the hex bag affixed to the bottom of his car. No one would. He was so exhausted from being a brat that he crashed into bed immediately, into a dark and dreamless sleep.
The next morning, he woke up, belched like a trooper and then paused. He didn't burp. He didn't even drink sparkling water, for god's sake. So he was surprised when he let out a rancid fart too. Clearly yesterday's shitty coffee disagreed with him? Maybe they'd used oat milk instead of his requested fresh macadamia. He stumbled out of his silken bed and went over to the mirror, itching his face slightly. He felt oddly heavy, really drunk on sleep or hungover with it.
Ew!
There was a stubborn...beard appearing all over his face and his neck! What the fuck?! It was hideous and he felt like throwing up just seeing the unkempt mess spreading across his face, obscuring his features. Jesus! And he... He... His tan had faded into pale, spotty looking skin. He looked at the blotchy pockmarks of his face and felt deep fear. He looked both ten years older and ten years younger all at once. He let out another fart, this one a faint squeak of panic. He looked like some fucking nerdy creep, not like the hunk he'd been the night before, the hunk he'd been for his entire life.
And, dear god, he was hungry. He ran downstairs, oddly aware that his gait wasn't quite right, and, feeling out of breath, he ate an entire packet of "health" cereal. It tasted like dirt. It wasn't enough. He finished everything in his cupboards and literally listened to his stomach gurgle like an animal. It still wasn't enough. He needed to get out. He pulled on a coat over his t-shirt and underwear and stormed out of his apartment and across the street, where a neon sign announced "DINER". He'd never really noticed the place before.
He stumbled into the diner, breathing heavily, feeling yet more hair burst from his chest, his face, even his toes. It was like a forest was emerging from his body, and with the hair came sweat and a thick scent of body stench. He was like a hog under the hot sun. People waiting, queuing for a table, dodged out of his way, given him a clear path to a booth which he slammed down into, feeling himself itch and moan uncontrollably. He howled like a wolf upon seeing nearby food, scratching his now incredibly hairy genitals.
"BURGERS!" He roared, like an animal, literally feeling drool pool at the edges of his mouth and drip down into the table in front of him, forcing the approaching waiter to back up and give him a look halfway between pity and fear. "MILKSHAKE," he screamed. Shortly, a plate of burgers appeared in front of him accompanied by the world's largest milkshake which was really more of an ice cream sundae on steroids. And boy, did Jet go to town on all of it, making a real mess, shoving it down him, burping and crying slightly as he did so, dribbling meat juice and ice cream down his shirt. His shirt...which was...bubbling and pushing outwards, as his belly and chest started to swell to mammoth proportions, spurred on by some foul magic and his new appetite's demands. By the time he finished his meal -- and the other meals he then ordered -- he was vast.
He had almost womanly breasts bursting from the sides of his shirt, only recognisably male due to their hideous hair. He had love handles which had their own gravitational pull. He had a hugely fat gut itching to expand even more. He could feel padding of flesh on his ass and thighs and hips. He felt vast and he needed to escape, run back home to his old life, to bed, to his regular dreaming sleep immediately.
But he was so big he was sorta trapped in the booth! It took a real struggle for him to break free and by that point the entire diner was gazing at him. He stumbled back to his apartment, unsteady on his fattened feet. But when he got there, things seemed... different.
His flashy gadgets were gone. The apartment was grubby. His expensive artworks had been somehow replaced by flaking movie posters. And the photos from his modeling career were just pictures of other hot men, clearly ripped out of magazines. And his phone suddenly was a worse model -- with a cracked screen! What was happening to him?
When he stumbled to work, wearing the largest clothes he could find, belly hanging fleshily and whale-like from a t shirt's bottom, he found he was not the talent as he insisted, but the building's... janitor. He was handed a broom and a mop and a uniform that barely contained him, and told to get to work in the background while a new model strolled in, all sweetness and light, treating everyone well. Jet burped and started to cry.
It was almost like he'd been cursed?
Since the curse hit, Jet's been a lot more polite, but the world doesn't care. It treats him just as he used to treat like: like shit. He's a fat slob and he's treated like one.
Does he deserve it? Jury's out, but he's gotten really good at sucking cock since his transformation, and he's discovered he loves pleasuring guys who are particularly cruel to him -- do you wanna give it a go? Go on, call him a gross fatty and see what happens.
Jerry had a plan, cobbled together from shitty internet forums mostly. He was going to bring him and Wes closer together, no matter the consequences. Some of you might think the occult is a little bit of an extreme way to bring people close to you, but... Jerry was a weird dude.
Wes was a fat man Jerry had his eye on, had always had a crush on. But Jerry was an even less appetising social prospect, a scrawny nerd with a bad eye for fashion and a crappy sense of personal awareness, making people shy away from him. Wes was fat, sure, but he was confident and kind, and Jerry had fancied him for years, even to the point where he had humiliated himself in public offering treats and snacks, clearly begging for the bigger guy's attention. Awkward stuff, especially as Wes was very public that he was trying to lose a bit of his 300lbs bulk. People would leave supportive comments on his socials, encouraging him to just slim down a little, keep going at the gym a little more. Jerry hated it. He wanted Wes as he already was: curvy and cuddly. But Wes had no interest in Jerry, likely no interest in men at all...
Jerry had a plan, cobbled together from shitty internet forums mostly. He was going to bring him and Wes closer together, no matter the consequences. Some of you might think the occult is a little bit of an extreme way to bring people close to you, but... Jerry was a weird dude.
Wes was a fat man Jerry had his eye on, had always had a crush on. But Jerry was an even less appetising social prospect, a scrawny nerd with a bad eye for fashion and a crappy sense of personal awareness, making people shy away from him. Wes was fat, sure, but he was confident and kind, and Jerry had fancied him for years, even to the point where he had humiliated himself in public offering treats and snacks, clearly begging for the bigger guy's attention. Awkward stuff, especially as Wes was very public that he was trying to lose a bit of his 300lbs bulk. People would leave supportive comments on his socials, encouraging him to just slim down a little, keep going at the gym a little more. Jerry hated it. He wanted Wes as he already was: curvy and cuddly. But Wes had no interest in Jerry, likely no interest in men at all...
Jerry had a plan, cobbled together from shitty internet forums mostly. He was going to bring him and Wes closer together, no matter the consequences. Some of you might think the occult is a little bit of an extreme way to bring people close to you, but... Jerry was a weird dude.
Wes was a fat man Jerry had his eye on, had always had a crush on. But Jerry was an even less appetising social prospect, a scrawny nerd with a bad eye for fashion and a crappy sense of personal awareness, making people shy away from him. Wes was fat, sure, but he was confident and kind, and Jerry had fancied him for years, even to the point where he had humiliated himself in public offering treats and snacks, clearly begging for the bigger guy's attention. Awkward stuff, especially as Wes was very public that he was trying to lose a bit of his 300lbs bulk. People would leave supportive comments on his socials, encouraging him to just slim down a little, keep going at the gym a little more. Jerry hated it. He wanted Wes as he already was: curvy and cuddly. But Wes had no interest in Jerry, likely no interest in men at all...
When he says, "that's because you're fat", or "you don't fit into that, don't be ridiculous", or "I'm pretty sure that would be enough food for a regular person" -- but there's a glint in his eye and you've put on 70lbs since you met.
Summary: Personal trainer Tom helps a college classmate—Bryce—lose weight. But after graduation, Tom struggles to practice what he once preached, and the effects start to show around his waistline.
Author’s Note: this is a role reversal story, so there will be weight loss. This story also discusses body image—so much so that it’s kind of a theme. Reader discretion is, accordingly, advised.
This is also another slow burn... sorry! It just happened!
~
October 13, 2021
Tom was having a hard time staying focused on his client. Poor Bryce was definitely trying, but his form was terrible, and he was taking too long between each set—and between each rep, for that matter.
“That’s, uh, eight,” Tom guessed. In truth, he’d lost count. “Two more.”
Bryce grunted as he struggled with the leg press. After he eked out the last two reps, Tom helped him push the foot platform back into place.
They were done for the day. In an ideal world, Tom would have taken him through at least another set of lower body exercises, but at 350 pounds (give or take), Bryce moved pretty slowly. The full hour had already been used up.
“Great work today, bud,” Tom said, giving Bryce an enthusiastic clap on the shoulder. And he really meant it: even if Bryce’s form sucked, and he couldn’t do that much, he was clearly pushing himself to his limits, and he kept coming back. He had a great attitude. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I just got the shit kicked out of me,” Bryce said, between gasps. “But in a good way.”
Tom smiled. Bryce was new to the gym world, but Tom had been an athlete since high school, and he knew the rush of post-workout endorphins better than anyone. It was easy to get hooked.
Bryce heaved himself out of the machine, his body wobbling as he came to a stand. He was fat everywhere: sure, he had thick man boobs, an enormous spare tire, and a huge ass; but even his calves and forearms were plump, and his fingers especially so. His face, red with exertion, was round and nondescript; a light-brown beard, short and scruffy, obscured what Tom assumed was a sizable double chin. His face was so chubby that Tom had no sense of his bone structure, but judging by his eyes, lips, and nose, Tom figured he was kind of handsome.
Bryce pushed back his hair, which fell wetly around his face, and pulled on a sweat-soaked reusable face mask, before retrieving a Lysol wipe to clean off the machine.
“Same time on Saturday?” Tom asked, tightening his own mask over the bridge of his nose as Bryce wiped down the hand grips.
“Actually, could we do Sunday?” Bryce said. “I was thinking I might come in on Friday, by myself, and I wanted a rest day before my next workout.”
Tom couldn’t have been prouder. Bryce was really committing to his program. “Sunday’s great,” he said.
Bryce finished his wipe-down, and they walked together towards the front of the gym, where the reception desk was positioned across from the entrance to the locker rooms.
“Thanks again for all your help,” Bryce said, as they sidestepped a particularly large powerlifter. “I’ve really learned a lot.”
“All part of the job,” Tom said. It wasn’t like he was helping Bryce out of the goodness of his heart—Bryce had been assigned to him by the campus gym, where he picked up shifts as a part-time trainer. It was really about the money. But Bryce’s earnestness made him feel a little guilty, and he resolved to pay closer attention during his next workout. Or at least to help him count his reps.
“I just can’t believe I gained so much weight during lockdown,” Bryce said. He gave an embarrassed smile. “And after.”
“That happened to everyone,” Tom said, trying to sound sympathetic. Of course, it hadn’t happened to him. The only weight he’d gained during lockdown had been muscle mass. But he definitely knew a few guys who had let themselves go over the past year and a half.
“It’s not like I was thin before, or anything. I mean, I weighed 250 last March. But I don’t know how I let myself pack on a hundred pounds in 14 months,” Bryce said, as they reached the front desk.
Tom resisted the urge to whistle. That was an enormous amount of weight. “Well, you’re here now, and you’re putting in the work to make a change.” He gestured to his own torso: “And if you keep at it, maybe someday you can look like this.”
Bryce chuckled. “Hah, yeah right. That’s a fun thought.”
It didn’t seem likely to Tom, either, but he wanted Bryce to stay positive. They were both the same height—about 5’11”, give or take—but their bodies stood in stark contrast, and it was difficult to imagine Bryce shedding enough blubber to match Tom’s godlike physique. No use reminding him of that, though. They said their goodbyes, and Bryce headed to the locker room.
Tom glanced at the time: half an hour before his next client. A nice chance to squeeze in a little extra cardio.
April 17, 2022
“Look at you, great form!” Tom said, as he watched Bryce deadlifting a fairly decent amount of weight. This time, he really meant it.
Bryce hadn’t needed a personal trainer since last semester, but Tom still made a point of offering a few encouraging words whenever their paths crossed at the gym. Which was fairly often, since Bryce had become a regular.
He finished his set, and turned to chat with Tom, who had just finished up on the rowing machine. “Thanks, Tom. I’m down almost 50 pounds now. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Tom smiled. It had been nice to get to know Bryce over the past year. They were both in the same faculty—engineering—and Tom vaguely remembered meeting him during orientation week. But Bryce had been much smaller, back then, and had since gotten his braces taken off. Add on the weight gain, and a little extra height, and Tom had completely forgotten their first meeting. But it eventually came back to him, as they bonded over stories of professors they’d both had.
Bryce was wearing his grey Starforce: Horizons t-shirt, which now fit him loosely. Tom had never expected to get into video games, but Bryce mentioned it so often, Tom eventually caved. After his first battle, he’d been hooked. He hadn’t worked up the courage to play online yet, but he’d played the campaign at least twice.
“My last exam is tomorrow,” Bryce said, as he wiped his face with a paper towel. “For Software Reliability and Testing.”
“Mine is Tuesday,” Tom said. “Advanced Structural Analysis. I’m not feeling great about it.” At least he already had a job lined up.
They chatted a bit about finals, and plans for after graduation. Both intended to stick around, and Tom’s office was close enough to his current apartment that he didn’t even have to move. Bryce had started to send out job applications, but without luck.
After finishing their respective workouts, Tom and Bryce said a fond goodbye, promising to stay in touch. Tom actually hoped they would, since Bryce had definitely grown on him over the past year. And, if they stayed in touch, Tom could keep Bryce committed to his goals. He’d enjoyed being a positive influence, and he wouldn’t mind keeping it up.
November 22, 2022
“Pass the orange chicken,” Tom said, gesturing with his chopsticks as he typed one-handed on his keyboard.
“You finished it,” Fadi said. He sounded a little disgruntled; not out of judgment, but because the large man most likely wanted it for himself.
“Wanna kill the Mongolian beef?” Brenna suggested, extending her arm to offer it to Tom without turning from her computer.
“Deal.” Tom accepted the carton, and paused his work to take a few bites. He’d been resistant to these working dinners at first, but he’d come around over the past few months. The team often had to work late for time-sensitive projects, so it was a good way to keep spirits high. He’d actually started looking forward to their takeout orders.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His office clothes were so constricting these days. Mongolian beef finished, he looked for a place on his desktop to put the empty container. There was a spot at the edge of his desk that seemed suitable, so he leaned forward to set it down.
And as he dropped back into his chair, he ripped the seat of his pants. He could feel the seam blow out as his ass spread out beneath him.
The colour drained from his face. Even if nobody had seen (or heard) it happen, Tom was humiliated. This was not a familiar experience. He was used to having a nice, solid ass, but it had gotten a little too thick and juicy over the past few months.
On graduation day, Tom had been a lean 187 pounds. As of that morning, he was up to 216. But it’s not like there weren’t good reasons.
First, there was Derek. They’d met on a hookup app a few weeks after Tom’s graduation, gotten serious over the summer, and split up at the beginning of October. But between the “getting serious” and the “splitting up”, Tom spent a lot of time eating out at restaurants, skipping the gym to meet up, and generally ignoring the steady increase in his weight.
On top of the relationship weight, there was his new job. The hours were less predictable than he’d realized, and there were often urgent assignments that required the whole team to stay late. It didn’t seem like a good sign that so much work was getting done at the last minute, but the even bigger problem was the effect on Tom’s daily routines. In college, he never struggled to find time to work out. But now, with 60-hour weeks not uncommon, fitting the gym into his schedule became a challenge.
Which led to the third culprit: Starforce: Horizons. Tom had gotten a little bit hooked since graduation. When he found himself with free time on the weekends, he skipped the gym with increasing regularity, opting instead to fight digital enemies. And since he’d bought the new DLC during the Steam Autumn Sale, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the willpower to change that any time soon.
In short, he didn’t feel too guilty about a few extra pounds. He could afford it: he was much thicker, sure, but he could still pass it off as bulking, with his healthy base of muscle underneath. He could credibly blame the day’s wardrobe malfunction on an intense leg day, even if the true culprit was an excess of orange chicken, and his leg days were getting less and less intense.
After finishing work, Tom tied his jacket around his waist and made his way out of the building, satisfied that he’d at least covered his exposed boxer shorts. He was approaching the bus stop when he saw a familiar figure waving at him. It was Bryce.
Tom cursed inwardly. Of course he’d run into his old fitness protege when he was at his fattest. “Bryce! How’s it going!”
Bryce beamed at him. He looked… great, actually. His hair was still long, but it had a little more shine and volume, and he’d trimmed his short beard, which seemed fuller and more deliberate. And his weight loss was dramatic—he was still a big guy, of course, but he made a very desirable bear: his shoulders were broad and muscular, and the softness of his chest didn’t take away from its obvious power.
He was also dressed well, in a well-fitting dress shirt and khaki pants, with a tidy jacket completing the look. “So good to see you, Tom,” Bryce said. “I feel bad for not keeping in touch!”
“No, it takes two,” Tom said, shaking his head. He really had meant to stay in closer contact with Bryce after graduation. “How’ve you been? You look awesome.”
“Thanks, you too,” Bryce said. He sounded genuine, although Tom didn’t believe him. “I’ve been good. Still working on the weight loss, thanks to you. And my new job is alright. I’m way overqualified, but it’s a foot in the door, at least.”
Bryce had really launched into it; Tom was surprised by his confidence. “Gotta start somewhere,” he said. “I feel like it’s tough to be new, in any job.” He was certainly experiencing some growing pains, himself.
“But you’ve been doing alright? I really do want to hang out sometime,” Bryce said. “I’d say over the long weekend, if I wasn’t going out of town.”
“Definitely. We could even do Starforce Online sometime, if that’s easier,” Tom countered.
“Oh, man, I haven’t even gotten the Revenge of the Imperium DLC yet,” Bryce said. “No spoilers. Maybe I’ll get it for Christmas. But yeah, we should definitely do something soon.”
Tom smiled, and agreed. His bus was pulling up, so they said their goodbyes. He couldn’t believe that Bryce would be waiting a whole month for Revenge of the Imperium; six months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to shut up about it!
As he stepped onto the bus, he reflected on the need to get his shit together. No more skipping the gym.
Right after Thanksgiving weekend… that’s when he’d start.
July 7, 2023
Tom bit into his cheeseburger, savouring the taste of the applewood smoked bacon and how it complimented the house burger sauce. His friends always complained about the food at O’Brien’s, but Tom thought they were too picky.
“Don’t install that patch, it’s unplayable,” he said, through a full mouth. He didn’t like to talk with his mouth full, but this was urgent: Brenna had mentioned a Starforce mod she’d heard about on Discord, but Tom had tried it out, and it crashed his game over and over again.
“Guys, no more Starforce,” Nils said, with his faint Norwegian accent. “I’m the only one who doesn’t play.”
“There’s an easy fix for that,” Fadi said. He turned and reached for one of Tom’s fries, but Tom smacked his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, how are you even still hungry?”
Tom felt heat in his cheeks. He’d actually already eaten an order of wings, but he’d seen a server pass by with a burger, and it had driven him to distraction.
“Leave him alone,” Brenna said, resting a tattooed hand on Tom’s shoulder protectively. Brenna was 29, and she once remarked that Tom reminded her of her little brother. They were roughly the same age, and upon seeing a picture, Tom was not shocked to discover that he was also fat.
“He’s the one who told us to hold him to his diet,” Fadi said, raising his own hands defensively. “Like, two days ago.”
“It’s true, I remember this,” Nils said, with a knowing nod.
“I didn’t say that,” Tom lied. “What I said was, ‘don’t let me pig out today.’ That was on Wednesday.”
“You definitely didn’t mention ‘today’,” Nils said. “You said, ‘you all need to stop me from making such a pig of myself.’ I assumed you meant in general.”
“Well, I meant on Wednesday,” Tom mumbled, embarrassed by the implication that he was currently making a pig of himself.
In truth, he had been making a pig of himself. His attempts to get back into his old diet and workout regimen had been disastrous. He made sporadic trips to the gym, but found himself increasingly frustrated by his loss of fitness. Exercises he used to do with ease had been getting harder, and he’d been lifting less and less weight as the months crept by. Rather than motivating him to work harder and recover his strength, Tom was growing more resentful as his weight increased. In school, he worked out every day. A year ago, it was three or four times a week. Now, he was lucky to get in an hour a week. And lately, a week sometimes passed without him going to the gym at all.
Eating better hadn’t panned out, either. Tom never used to be gluttonous; he always ate to live, balancing his macros to optimize his physique. But with the stress of his job, he slipped into a new habit: comfort eating.
It sort of crept up on him. It started with grazing on the leftovers after takeout dinners at work, to help him relax and focus. Then, he found himself picking up a complimentary donut or danish from the break room, when they were on offer (which was almost every day). Then, he was tossing the occasional bag of chips into his cart at the supermarket, and snacking on them at home. Then, the bag of chips made friends, and instead of an “occasional” thing, he started loading up on snack food every time he got groceries.
In just 15 months, his diet had gone totally off the rails, and his workouts had fallen off a cliff. Of course he was gaining weight: he’d never been hungrier or more sedentary in his life. And now, here he was, 265 pounds and eating his second dinner of the day.
“Did you mean every Wednesday, or just this Wednesday?” Nils asked, pulling Tom from his thoughts.
“Okay, no more talking about how fat I’ve gotten,” Tom said, crossing his arms. He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but it definitely came across that way, and he instantly regretted snapping.
“Uh, hey Tom,” Bryce said.
Tom hadn’t even realized he was standing there, but there he was, right next to their table. He wore an awkward smile. He’d definitely heard Tom’s last comment.
Tom took him in. He looked amazing. His hair was slightly longer than it had been, but it was glossy and full-bodied. He wasn’t just “kind of handsome”, as Tom expected he might be, he was downright hot: he’d shaved his beard down to a light coat of stubble, revealing a nice jaw and definite cheekbones. His tanned, dewy skin complemented his features. He was dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, revealing strong arms and an average build.
Which meant that Tom was now far fatter than him.
“Hey, Bryce!” Tom said. He could feel himself blushing—of course Byrce appeared, at exactly this moment, looking like that. “How’s it going? Good to see you.”
Bryce’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m doing really good, thanks. It’s great to see you, too. I don’t mean to interrupt your night out, I just wanted to say hi.”
“No interruption at all. Hey, guys, Bryce and I went to school together, maybe he can join us?”
Tom’s friends nodded. “Please, tell us some embarrassing Tom stories,” Fadi said, gesturing to the space in the booth next to Tom.
“Unless you have plans,” Tom said.
“I’m actually early to meet somebody, so that sounds great,” Bryce said, sliding into the booth. “Please kick me out if I’m imposing.”
His voice was softer, lighter than Tom remembered. It was gayer. Tom found it endearing.
After introductions, the conversation turned to the origins of their relationship. Tom kept it vague, not wanting to embarrass Bryce. Or, himself, for that matter, since his history as a trainer might invite some unfortunate comparisons. Bryce kept it vague, too, and they landed on “old gym buddies”.
“You two must have made quite the pair,” Brenna said, with a smile. She took a sip of her IPA, which made Tom think about ordering one for himself.
“Yeah, this guy introduced me to Starforce,” Tom said. “So you can thank him for our little department-wide addiction.”
“Really? Tom got you guys into it, too?” Bryce asked, giving Tom an amused, sidelong glance.
Nils quickly commandeered the conversation before it could veer back into interstellar combat, asking about Bryce’s work. Apparently, he was not enjoying it—it was basically glorified tech-support, for which he was vastly overqualified. But he spoke excitedly about a video game idea he had, an RPG set in a cyberpunk dystopia, and Tom agreed with his friends that it sounded like a great concept.
After a little more chatting, Bryce checked his phone. “Oh, my date’s almost here, gotta run. But it was great to meet you all!”
Everyone said their goodbyes, and Tom got up to give Bryce a parting hug. Standing beside him, Tom couldn’t ignore the difference between their bodies. Tom had gone soft all over: his pecs had thickened and softened into a pair of plump moobs, his round, prominent belly spilled over his waistband, and a huge amount of weight had attached itself to his hips and thighs, widening them considerably and making his big, round ass bigger and rounder than ever. He’d grown his first stretch marks last fall, and the blubber on his thighs and ass started to dimple, slightly, not long after that. The loss of muscle mass made his fattening even more obvious. Bryce, on the other hand, looked downright lean, although it was hard to really tell through his loose-fitting clothes.
After Bryce left, Tom sat and stared at the empty basket in front of him, red plastic lined with grease- and sauce-stained paper.
“Aside from Tom, who else would join in if I ordered nachos?” Fadi asked, pointing around the table.
Tom suppressed a sigh. So, it was now a given that he would eat whatever was put in front of him. Fadi was definitely still bigger than him, but Tom was increasingly sharing in his status as a fat guy.
And, irritatingly, Fadi was right; Tom would definitely eat some nachos. He figured they might soothe him after his embarrassing encounter with Bryce.
November 10, 2023
“Mm, you look like you’re enjoying that,” Nolan said, in that sexy Irish accent of his, resting his chin in his hands. The look on his handsome face was hungry, but not for food. He tucked a lock of long, russet hair behind his ear.
Tom felt heat in his face as he chewed his cheeseburger. This was by far the strangest first date he’d ever been on. A few months ago, he’d updated the pictures on his dating profile. The ab pics in his Grindr gallery had become indefensible as his bulging belly ploughed further into his lap, his thickening boobs and juicy ass getting ever-more squeezable.
But his more honest approach to dating had an unexpected side effect: he was finding himself in the company of guys like Nolan. Guys who didn’t just tolerate Tom’s appetite, but actively appreciated it.
There had only been one other, in September—his first and only hookup since Derek. The guy, decently attractive, had taken him to a buffet, of all places, and it was awkward. He was clearly trying to get Tom to eat more, and Tom was having none of it. They did have sex, but they never saw each other again.
Tom still didn’t know how to feel about any of it. It was strange to think of himself as an object of desire for chubby chasers, but it was nice to be desired—he’d spent so much of the last year feeling un-desirable.
Nolan was certainly making him feel desired. He’d eaten about half of his own dinner, and he pushed his plate in Tom’s direction. Tom glanced down at it, knowing he would end up eating it all.
After finishing his dinner and Nolan’s, the two went back to Nolan’s apartment. It was tidy and spacious, a corporate short-term rental, and Tom looked around as Nolan poured them drinks.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in some… dessert?” Nolan asked, as he handed Tom a glass.
Tom grinned, leaning close. “Yes, please.”
Nolan pulled away. “Great! I’ll go get it.”
Tom’s grin turned to a frown as he realized that Nolan was talking about a literal dessert. I walked right into that one, he thought.
Nolan emerged a few moments later with a (relatively) small cheesecake. It had already been cut into eighths, and melted chocolate had solidified into a tantalizing drizzle around its perimeter. Tom was full from so much dinner, but the sight of it made his mouth water.
“Sit down,” Nolan said, balancing the tray in one hand as he led Tom to the couch.
Tom complied. He expected Nolan to put the cake on the coffee table and go back for plates and forks, but instead, he seated himself next to Tom and removed the plastic lid.
“You should take your shirt off,” he said. “This might get a bit messy.”
Tom blinked at him. He looked from Nolan’s face to the cake and back, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Moving the tray to the coffee table, Nolan started undoing Tom’s shirt buttons for him. The action made Tom realize how much those buttons were straining; now that he was seated, he could see that it was worse than he realized. The shirtfront practically sprung apart when Nolan released the buttons. It was a bit embarrassing, given that he’d specifically chosen his loosest shirt.
His cock twitched, his erection now poking against his pants. Nolan kissed Tom’s neck as he finished unbuttoning the shirt, and Tom shrugged out of it to ease Nolan’s access. After a few kisses on Tom’s neck, Tom whispered: “Your turn.”
Nolan pulled back, removing his t-shirt and exposing his trim figure. Looking at the two naked torsos, Tom felt enormous… but not in a way that he hated.
Nolan leaned over and lifted the tray of cheesecake, and Tom sighed quietly as Nolan picked up a slice with his fingers. Am I seriously doing this? he thought. He looked down at his exposed torso. Soft, pale, hairy flesh, covered with stretchmarks… a round belly that pooled out in front of him, love handles that spilled over his waistband, puffy nipples poking out from budding breasts. And his cock twitched again, aching with desire.
He opened his mouth. Nolan fed him a big bite. Tom barely had time to chew before Nolan was going back again, and again. The whole piece disappeared, and he picked up a second before Tom could object.
It went on. Tom kept eating. Nolan kept feeding him, by hand, until half the cake had vanished.
Tom was breathing heavily, and he could feel beads of perspiration on his face from so much rich food. Nolan was massaging Tom’s belly, carefully pressing in just the right ways, at just the right places. Tom was rock hard, and he could feel pre-cum leaking into his underwear. “I’m so full,” he whined.
Nolan reached under Tom’s belly and located the groaning button of his pants. He felt so much better when Nolan released it.
He didn’t stop with the button—he undid Tom’s fly, and then reached under his belly once more to pull down the waistband of Tom’s underwear. “This good?” he asked, as Tom tried to catch his breath.
It was so good. Tom nodded, biting his lip, and Nolan wrapped his fingers around Tom’s cock. “Fuck yeah,” Tom murmured, as Nolan started to squeeze.
He thought the “feeding” portion of the evening was over, but Nolan reached over and picked up another piece of cake. “Just a little more,” he said. He wasn’t jerking Tom off, just holding Tom’s dick in his hand, while the other held the cake next to Tom’s mouth.
Nolan was so hot, and Tom just wanted to come, so he took a big bite. That earned him a few strokes, but it was just teasing—he was so close to coming, but Nolan wasn’t quite bringing him over the finish line. Just edging him mercilessly. With cake.
Nolan balanced himself on Tom’s thigh, close enough that his lean torso pressed against Tom’s swollen belly. Every bite of cake was rewarded with a few jerks.
“You’re so good at this,” Nolan whispered, before nibbling at Tom’s ear lobe. “A natural.”
In spite of himself, Tom whined with pleasure. He was beyond reason; the sheer, intense pleasure of the moment had replaced any inhibition he might have felt. He wanted Nolan. He wanted the cake. And holy fuck did he want to come.
So he kept eating. But Nolan had taken his hand off Tom’s dick and directed it back to Tom’s belly. Honestly, though, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference—the pleasure he was getting from Nolan’s skillful rubbing seemed directly connected to his arousal. He wondered if he might come just from this.
Nolan reached for another, but Tom put his hand on Nolan’s wrist. “I’m good, for now,” he said, softly.
Nolan nodded and turned his attention back to Tom. His left hand was covered in cheesecake, which he rubbed into Tom’s belly, while his right hand worked Tom’s shaft. He backed off from his perch on Tom’s leg, positioning himself on the ground between Tom’s knees. “Now, are you ready for real dessert?”
Tom nodded. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned, as Nolan’s lips glided down his length.
He really didn’t. Between the feeling of Nolan’s fingers on his abdomen, and Nolan’s lips on his dick, and the incredible, pleasurable fullness in his gut, he shot his load in seconds, coming like a torrent as electric jolts of pleasure pinballed through his nervous system.
After a lengthy, blissful orgasm from Tom, Nolan pulled back, licking his lips. Tom looked down at him over the curve of his cake-streaked paunch; he was fucking gorgeous. But I’m definitely not doing that again, Tom thought.
February 5, 2024
ERR.
Tom exhaled, and stepped back onto the bathroom scale. Come on, come the fuck on… he thought, hoped, prayed. He waited.
ERR.
He’d maxed it out. He had exceeded the weight limit of his goddamn scale. The digital scale that went up to 300 pounds.
His large stomach flipped. Fucking fuck! He yelled, internally. How did he let this happen?
Automatically, he blamed Nolan. That little bastard seemed to love feeding Tom bigger and fatter, piling blubber onto his body until he became even more unrecognizable from the jock he had once been.
But even without Nolan’s help, Tom knew his eating habits had only spiralled further out of control. His solution to even the slightest emotional disturbance, no matter how trifling, was to find something to stuff in his face. I’m already fat, so what does it even matter, he’d think, as he shovelled chips and cookies and pizza into his mouth.
Which is how he spent a lot of his time. In fact, he so excelled at eating that he no longer knew his own weight, because he’d eaten himself beyond the limits of his scale’s capacity for accurate measurement.
He planted his hands on the bathroom counter, looking in the mirror. He was stark naked, and the way he leaned forward forced the accumulated fat around his torso to pool out below him, gravity tugging his gut and tits downwards. God, they’ve gotten so big and soft. He couldn’t even see his dick behind the slope of his belly—although it was hard, now, in spite of himself. Stretchmarks had appeared all over his body: at his sides, under his arms, on his ass and legs, and especially around his belly. Even with his increasing hairiness, they were obvious.
Looking up, he studied his face: his neck was thick, and quickly giving way to his large double chin. His jaw had lost all definition, and his stubble did little to hide that fact. He looked like a completely different person.
He stood up straight, grabbing one of his moobs in his hand and hefting it. He searched for his pectorals underneath all the flab, but found no trace of what had once been one of his best features. It was like he had no pecs at all, anymore; just a pair of big, fat boobs that gave way beneath his probing fingers. Even his nipples had stretched and grown.
As he squeezed, he felt his annoyance start to subside. Gently, he cupped his other breast, so that both of them were squeezed in his hands. He pressed them into cleavage, pushing them forward, stunned at how round and full they looked. Without context, they looked like actual breasts.
Tom released his tits and let his hands slip down his sides, trailing over the thick curve of his meaty love handles. He gripped them with his fingers and bounced them, watching, entranced, at the way his whole body quivered and wobbled. It reminded him of wave theory, fluid dynamics—the motion spreading across his bulky frame in ripples.
Slowly, Tom spun around, craning over his shoulder as much as his fat neck would allow to look at the size of his ass. The thing was fucking colossal. His gut was big, sure, but it was eclipsed by his dump truck. Each stretch-marked cheek seemed to slope outwards forever, turning his buttocks into a shelf behind him.
He lifted himself up onto his tiptoes, and then dropped his weight back down, alarmed at the way the whole room seemed to shake. His ass bounced and wobbled, free and unrestrained by any sort of covering.
He plodded into his bedroom to start dressing for work. His boxer-briefs were fairly new, but his backside had grown so fat, so fast, that they now pulled across his butt tautly enough to resemble pantyhose, the fabric stretched to near transparency.
“Mm, aren’t you looking particularly fuckable this morning?” Nolan said, rolling over and rubbing the space next to him in bed.
“I’m not in the mood,” Tom grumbled. He rifled through his closet, pushing aside a mass of undersized clothes.
“Aw, what’s wrong, butterbean?” Nolan asked, giving Tom his best pout.
Even in the adorable accent, the nickname made Tom frown. “I’m getting too fat,” he said. “You’re making me too fat.” He pulled on a collared shirt, tugging the front together so he could start to button it. The cotton strained across his chest, and strained even more as he started on the buttons over his belly.
“I’m not ‘making’ you anything,” Nolan said. His expression was calm. “You’re a big lad who likes to eat, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Tom sucked in as hard as he could, and he managed to get to buttons through their holes, but the fabric pinched and wrinkled around each one, and the fabric pulled apart wherever there was no button to force it together. He glared at Nolan as he went.
It was way too tight, but he’d gone to work wearing tighter, and he didn’t think any of his other shirts would fit him any better. That one was usually the loosest. He’d bought it loose, to disguise his extra pudge while he lost weight. He could still remember what a relief it had been when he first bought it, how much spare material billowed around him the first time he put it on. Not anymore.
“You want me fat, though,” Tom said, accusingly, as he started to tug on a pair of pants. The resistance increased as he forced his thick thighs into each pant leg.
“Of course I do,” Nolan said, he flipped onto his stomach so his pert ass was in the air, and he kicked his legs back and forth in the air, chin resting in his hands. “You make the most fuckable fat boy.”
Tom blushed bright red. Whenever he started getting embarrassed or feeling too big, Nolan went and said something like that, and he got all horny about it. He kept pulling on his pants, dragging them up his legs uneasily; they squeezed his flabby thighs and stretched precariously across the curve of his butt. Inhaling so sharply his face contorted, Tom managed to close the top button. It was a tight fit, but he figured they’d hold.
“So are you going to stop fattening me up?” Tom asked, crossing his arms. He looked in the mirror. He looked like he could burst out of his clothes at any moment. He looked completely, irremediably obese, every stitch of fabric on his body clinging on for dear life. He felt unprofessional, but he could hide his gaping buttons with a sweater, and by now, his coworkers were used to him growing out of his wardrobe.
“I mean, honestly, probably not,” Nolan said, with a shit-eating grin. “But would you actually want me to stop? Or to help you diet?”
Tom sighed, fixing up his short, dark hair before turning to his facial hair. He locked eyes with Nolan through the mirror, and sighed. He didn’t want to diet. Getting fed by Nolan made him horny as fuck. “Fine. But you better buy me new clothes when I outgrow these.”
“You outgrew them last week, porkchop,” Nolan said, with a wry smile.
Once he finished getting ready, Tom made his way to his building’s parking garage. Since he got a car, he’d all but given up on taking the bus. He used to walk miles with ease, but now he preferred to drive even short distances. His office was only a 5-minute drive, but he left a little early to get some breakfast sandwiches on the way.
“We’re having cake today for Nils’s birthday,” Brenna announced, after Tom had settled in at the office.
“Even though I do not eat cake,” Nils said, crossing his wiry arms.
“Well some of us do,” Fadi said. He turned to Tom for backup, and Tom nodded in agreement.
After the mid-morning break for Nils’ birthday cake, Tom helped himself to another slice. Well, ‘slice’ was understating it; it was more of a wedge, really, or a chunk. Much of it he devoured before he returned to his desk, and he grazed on the rest until lunchtime, when he decided to drive a few blocks over to get some proper food.
Tom parked in front of a gym that was located, somewhat maliciously, next door to the Taco Bell where he planned on eating. It wasn’t his gym, anyway, and he’d gotten quite good at ignoring the hard-bodied hunks as he walked from his car. His eyes were locked straight ahead as he passed Fitness Empire, and they would have stayed that way if he hadn’t felt a tap on his shoulder.
The guy’s body was the first thing Tom saw. He was dressed scantily for the biting February cold, wearing nothing but a small, meshy tank top and a pair of short-shorts that showed off strong, powerful thighs. A gym bag was slung cross-body over his brawny shoulders.
Then, he saw the guy’s face. It was Bryce. His skin was luminous, and his clean shave showed off his angular jaw. His chestnut hair was even longer now, falling around his shoulders, but it was bouncier and shinier than ever. He also sported an eyebrow piercing, and appeared to be wearing a little lip gloss.
“Ohmigod, Tom!” Bryce said, with a grin. “Good to see you!” He pulled Tom into a hug, and Tom felt a weird mix of emotions at the way Bryce’s taut body sunk into his much fleshier one. After the initial surprise, Tom wondered what that hug would feel like if he wasn’t wearing such a thick parka. Of course, then there would be no hiding the true extent of his awesome weight gain….
“Oh, uh, you too,” he said.
“I’d been meaning to message you, I just assumed you’d be busy,” Bryce said. His breath was steaming in the air, and Tom wanted to get him out of the cold.
“Definitely not too busy to catch up,” Tom said. “Listen, you must be freezing, did you want to get lunch with me?” He gestured to Taco Bell.
“Um, I actually have a shift,” Bryce said, pointing to the gym. “New job. No more tech support.”
Tom’s jaw dropped. “So you’re…”
“A trainer now!” Bryce grinned. “You really inspired me. I thought, ‘I want to help people like Tom.’” Bryce froze, seeming to realize the irony a moment too late.
It wasn’t lost on Tom, either: he couldn’t even help himself, these days, other than to help himself to another snack. His cheeks were hot despite the weather.
Bryce went on, changing the subject. “Have you ever been in here, by the way? I think you’d really like it, the equipment—”
Tom cut in: “I actually haven’t worked out in a while. As you can probably tell.”
Bryce considered this, looking Tom over with an appraising nod. “Well, I could probably get you a friends and family rate if you wanted to join up,” he said. “You were such a great athlete, I bet it would come right back to you.”
Tom doubted it, as he reflected on how desperately out-of-shape he now was. But then, it could be an opportunity to spend some more time with Bryce. “Maybe… maybe you could train me.”
Bryce grinned from ear to ear. “Of course!”
Bryce committed to booking Tom a 10 AM session for that Saturday, and they said their goodbyes. Satisfied that he’d taken control of his life, and with physical fitness once more within his reach, Tom made his way into Taco Bell, where he decided to add an extra Crunch Wrap Supreme to his regular order.
May 19, 2024
“It’s just so unfair,” Tom said, between sobs and mouthfuls of Rocky Road ice cream.
“Don’t cry,” Bryce said, as he traced soothing circles across Tom’s broad, fleshy back.
“I gained so much fucking relationship weight, and now he’s just gone?” Tom said. He shoveled another heaping spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
“Shh, don’t say that,” Bryce cooed. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
Tom’s spoon hit the bottom of the carton, so he tipped it into his mouth and drank the melted remnants. He tossed it on his living room floor, where it joined four empty friends, and forced out a painful, guttural belch as his stomach roiled against 5,000 calories of ice cream.
But he wasn’t done. There was one pint left, beading with condensation on the coffee table, and he snatched it up without hesitation. He peeled black the plastic covering under the lid to find it semi-melted, but that just made it easier to eat.
This was his second day of post-breakup binging. The first day had seen him plough through approximately 11,000 calories’ worth of burgers, chicken fingers, pizza, french fries, cheesecake, soda, milkshake, chips, snack cakes, pastries, and cookies… and a half-litre of coffee cream that had been unlucky enough to find itself in Tom’s way. His stomach had been agonizingly full by the time he drifted into restless sleep, but at least the physical discomfort distracted him from Nolan’s unexpected departure.
After three months as boyfriends, Tom would have expected Nolan to tell him that his contract had a fixed end-date. But he didn’t, until a week before his flight back to Dublin. Tom had offered to try long-distance, but neither of them really wanted that.
Which meant that all 330-something pounds of Tom was now single. Nolan had at least lived up to his word, and kept Tom in fitting clothes for the duration of their relationship. As nice as it was to be wearing jeans and a t-shirt that actually fit him, rather than bulging out of undersized clothes, he was still wracked with apprehension about his return to single life.
Bryce had suggested that a workout might make Tom feel better, but Tom couldn’t have agreed less. All he wanted to do was gorge and play Starforce and vent to Bryce about how horrible men were.
Bryce had been kind enough to oblige, and, instead of their planned training session, he arrived at Tom’s front door, offering a (very muscular) shoulder to cry on. He hadn’t tried to dissuade Tom from devouring pint after pint of Häagen-Dasz, although he did seem a bit surprised by how much ice cream he was steadily putting away.
“I don’t even know what I’m gonna do, now,” Tom said. He grabbed another spoonful of ice cream. “Ugh, I’m gonna have to update my dating profiles again.”
“That could be fun,” Bryce said. “Maybe a little photo shoot would cheer you up?”
Tom shook his head; his face was puffier than usual from crying, and he was enormously bloated after so much dairy. “It’s probably time for me to try one of those feeder sites,” he said, resignedly. “Grommr, or whatever.”
Bryce blinked at him. “You know about Grommr?”
Tom nodded. “Of course. Wait, you do too?”
Bryce gave a nervous chuckle, and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Um, guys used to tell me to sign up there when I was fat, but I never did. I wasn’t really into that side of things.”
Tom didn’t know what Bryce meant by that side of things, but he was too preoccupied to ask. “I’d probably do okay there,” he said, as much to himself as to Bryce. “I could post pictures of what I used to look like. Tell everyone I used to be a personal trainer.”
Bryce squirmed. “You’d really do that?”
Tom shrugged. That sort of public acknowledgment of his enormous weight gain would have been unthinkable a year ago, but being with Nolan had made him realize the pointlessness of denying his new size. Weight loss slipped from a priority to a distant goal over the course of his relationship, as he realized that fat was a turn on for some people—including, increasingly, for him. He was a really big guy, now, and he had to work with that. “Yeah, maybe.” He downed some more ice cream.
“So are you, like, a gainer?” Bryce asked. His eyes were wide and bright.
Tom shrugged again. He wasn’t ready to admit to Bryce just how sexy he’d started to find his feedings with Nolan. “I don’t even know what I am. I’m a big boy, and I’m probably gonna stay that way.”
Bryce nodded, considering this. “I think that’s a really good attitude. Healthy.”
Tom smiled at him, but felt a pang of guilt. Bryce was so accepting of him. It made him wish he had been more empathetic when he was Bryce’s trainer. Instead of following along as Bryce changed himself, why didn’t Tom try to help him find self-acceptance? “I—I wish I had been a better friend to you. When we were in school,” he said.
Bryce blinked back at him. “You were a really good friend to me.”
Tom shook his head. “No. The whole time I was training you, I never once asked why you wanted to lose weight. I didn’t make sure you were in it for the right reasons.”
Bryce put his hand on Tom’s forearm. “You’re really sweet. It wasn’t that I didn’t accept myself, I just… I don’t know. Once I started working out, I really liked it. And the weight loss went so well, I just kept it up.”
“But you had surgery,” Tom pointed out. “For your skin.”
Bryce sighed, slightly. “Okay, I admit it, that was vanity. But the rest of it… I don’t know. I didn’t hate being fat. I just like being fit, and I like how I look now.”
Tom slurped up some more ice cream as he pondered Bryce’s words. “So would you be upset if you gained weight again?”
Bryce hesitated, rubbing his strong chin. “I don’t think so. I’d probably miss being a lil’ twink that guys can throw around. But there’s nothing wrong with having a bigger body.”
Tom’s stomach chose that moment to register a loud protest, and he tried to soothe it with a rub. But Nolan’s hands were so much better at that….
He thought about Bryce as a little twink who could be thrown around by a larger, burlier man. A man like, say, Tom.
His stomach gurgled again. “You’ve gotta rub it right,” Bryce said, smirking at him. He held out a hand. “Can I?”
Tom froze, struggling to keep his jaw from dropping. Bryce, his gym buddy-turned-personal trainer, wanted to rub his big, round paunch? He could only nod, unable to form words.
Bryce’s fingers got to work immediately, and the relief was instant. He really knew what he was doing—plunging into the flab in just the right way to massage Tom’s aching stomach. After months of conditioning, he felt himself starting to get hard from the action.
“I used to do this on myself, during Covid,” Bryce said. He kept the motion going, and Tom squirmed pleasurably in his seat. “After a few too many bags of chips during Starforce marathons.”
“At least you had the pandemic as an excuse,” Tom mumbled.
“You don’t need an excuse to eat,” Bryce said, shaking his head.
“I certainly—” Bryce hadn’t let up with the rubbing, and he goaded a long belch out of Tom. He reddened a little, but they both chuckled. “Certainly don’t,” Tom continued, undeterred.
Bryce chuckled again. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” Tom tilted the ice cream carton back and swallowed the last few melted mouthfuls. When he was finished, he turned back to Bryce. “By the way, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea from what I said about joining Grommr. I still want to lose weight.”
“Of course,” Bryce said, pulling his hand away from Tom’s gut. “So, are you coming to our session at the gym tomorrow?”
Tom groaned inwardly. As much as he didn’t feel like working out, he knew it was probably good for him. And anyway, another day with Bryce sounded like fun.
August 25, 2024
“Um, so that’s… eight,” Bryce said. He didn’t sound particularly confident, but Tom had to trust him; he was so exhausted he’d lost count. “Two more and you’re done.”
Tom used to love the leg press. He liked feeling the burn as he pushed away hundreds of pounds with ease. He loved the way his steely thighs popped and rippled so perfectly after a great leg day. Now, he couldn’t wait to get off that damn machine.
“Watch your form, big guy,” Bryce said. Tom nearly cringed: watch your form; he’d used that very same line, countless times, when Bryce was getting sloppy. Now he was the sloppy one, with Bryce using what he’d learned to correct him.
His legs were trembling as he pushed the weight back for the final time. Bryce helped him push the platform back all the way, his biceps bulging, and then locked it in place.
“I can’t do any more today,” Tom said. He folded his arms. It had been all of 40 minutes. He was a little mortified, and also a little turned on. He blamed his most recent ex-boyfriend for those crossed wires in his brain—even though, months later, he still hadn’t managed to uncross them.
Bryce must have sensed his embarrassment, although Tom was fairly sure that his huge gut hid his arousal. “Hey, that’s alright,” he said. “Nice work today.” His tone was unconvincing, but his smile was as genuine as ever.
His authentic kindness made it even worse. Even now, Bryce was still grateful to him. He was patronizing Tom, but it was out of affection, maybe even admiration, not pity or condescension. Even now, after seven months of workouts that had only gotten worse, Bryce was still nothing but patient with him.
It made Tom feel a little guilty. He knew he’d been slacking—his sessions had dwindled to once every two weeks, at the very most, and he wasn’t exactly “active” on his own time. Add in his out-of-control diet, which piled ever more weight on his increasingly cumbersome body, and his athletic performance had never been worse. Five years ago, he quite successfully ran a marathon. Today, a few minutes of walking on the treadmill left him winded and sweating.
And fuck, the mortification of being so unfit only excited him! Posts about his disastrous workouts always got him so much thirsty attention from ‘nom’-ing admirers, and there was something very erotic about hot guys of all sizes getting themselves off to tales of his misadventures in the gym.
But he was supposed to be trying to lose weight—he used to be a typical hottie! He had to get back to that... that was the goal… right? Right.
After a moment spent catching his breath and mulling the exact wording of his post—was it too melodramatic to call this workout “the fight of his life”?—he eventually built the momentum to haul his bulk out of the seat. “Wanna just check the scales before I get out of here?” he asked.
Bryce opened his mouth to respond, but said nothing. He seemed uneasy, following along as Tom led the way. Tom was acutely aware of how much he waddled, now, as the fat around his hips and thighs struggled against itself.
He stared at the scale, the upright, analog sort that could be found in doctors’ offices. Moment of truth: time to see how well his weight loss was going.
He slid the marker to 300 pounds and stepped on. The needle hit the top of its window with a clang. Sighing, Tom started sliding the marker further. 310, 320, 330. The needle didn’t move when he got to 340, and he started to squirm. At 350, the needle started to move, but not all the way. So, he weighed more than 350 pounds: he hadn’t lost any weight; he’d actually gained even more.
Tom started sliding the one-pound marker, and the needle continued to drop. It came to rest at 357 pounds.
Tom turned to Bryce, whose expression was blank. Tom had gained another 8 pounds since their last workout, only a month prior. They were silent.
Bryce started to say something: “That’s—”
“I know,” Tom said.
He probably could have predicted this. Losing weight was hard. Really, really hard. During those weeks when he actually tried, he was hungry all the time, constantly, voraciously. It was the sort of gnawing hunger that changed him, made him distracted and irritable. He slept poorly.
June had been his “best” stretch: he’d locked in for the entire month. He’d eaten carefully, exercised at least semi-regularly, and lost six whole pounds. For a single month, it was an impressive result; a significant but sustainable number that he could build on over months and years. But after what felt like agonizing privation, all that was cold comfort. It just didn’t seem worth it.
So, in July, he let himself have a cheat day. And then another. And then a few weeks of binging ensued, and by the end of July, he’d gained back the six pounds he lost in June, and added on four more for good measure.
It seemed like the very act of trying to lose weight was only making him fatter, like he had locked himself onto some unalterable biological trajectory that rewarded his attempts at weight loss with even more weight gain. He would lose a pound one week, and gain two the next. He would deny his appetites, suffer, shed weight, celebrate, overindulge, and end up bigger than ever.
How had Bryce made it look so easy? How had he avoided this downward—or upward—spiral?
“Setbacks happen,” Bryce said. For the first time, Tom could sense some doubt. It was understandable: Tom had weighed 311 pounds when he started training with Bryce. Which meant that he’d gained close to 50 pounds in the past six months. If the goal was weight loss, this was far from the sort of result that either man could take pride in. “But—”
“I know,” Tom repeated. He knew Bryce would offer him some well-meaning advice that he already knew and didn’t want to hear.
Undeterred, Bryce changed tack: “Same time next week?” he asked. He didn’t sound hopeful; he must have known there was no way Tom would be back next week.
“Uh, maybe the week after,” Tom said, reaching across his fleshy torso to rub his arm.
“Okay,” Bryce said. “I guess I’ll see you then.” He started to turn towards the front desk. Tom wondered if, after six and a half months of diminishing returns, Bryce’s patience was running out. Then, he lingered for a moment. “You know, weight loss is really hard. It doesn’t work out for everyone.”
“Do you think I can do it?” Tom asked. He swallowed. For some reason, he didn’t quite know how he wanted Bryce to respond. He patted his vast gut: “Am I going to lose all this?”
“If it’s what you actually want, then I have no doubt,” Bryce said. And then he flitted away.
Afterwards, Tom made his way to the locker room. Bryce’s words rattled around his head: if it’s what you actually want.
As Tom set about lathering up his fat in the cramped shower stall, he felt his horizons starting to broaden. And as he rinsed off the soap, as he ran his fingers across the underside of his belly, gathering it up in his arms and feeling its heft, he formed a thought that had been percolating in his brain for a long time: he didn’t actually want to lose weight.
December 31, 2024
Fadi’s ex, Ramona, with whom he remained on good terms, was throwing a New Year’s Eve party. Fadi was invited, and he needed backup. But most of Fadi’s non-work friends were now also Ramona’s friends, which meant that Fadi’s work friends needed to provide said backup.
That was more or less the lay of the land as Fadi described it in the groupchat. Nils was persuaded on the condition that he could leave before midnight if the vibes were bad. After being told there would be weed and hot girls, Brenna was also on board. For Tom, the winning promises were food and beer.
In any case, he needed to find something decent to wear to a party. But that was a problem for later in the day. For now, Tom had an absolute mountain of Chinese takeout waiting on his doorstep, and his stomach grumbled with vengeful insistence.
So, Tom set about hefting his considerable weight out of his large, new gaming chair. He was nearly naked, wearing only a pair of stretched-out boxer briefs, but his stomach overhung his waistband to such an extent that they were barely visible. He didn’t want his food to get cold, though, so he waddled to the front door as he was, relieved that none of his neighbours had chosen that moment to step into the hallway. If they had, they would have met with their nearly-naked 380-pound neighbour, bending over to retrieve his next meal.
Tom carried the two overloaded paper bags to his desk, ignoring the kitchen table as he passed. He’d stopped using his kitchen chairs last spring; he didn’t know their weight limit, but they’d been making more and more worrisome noises as the months passed, and he was fairly certain they could no longer tolerate his significant mass.
His office chair, too, had been phased out of rotation. It had started screaming in protest under Tom’s bulk, and, more annoyingly, the arms dug deep into his broad love handles, making it difficult to escape.
The new chair, which he bought online, boasted a 500-pound weight limit, and plenty of room for Tom’s ample figure to spread out. It had seemed comically enormous when he first put it together, but it was actually a comfortable fit, and its size made him feel a bit like a king on his throne.
Tom tossed aside three of the four sets of chopsticks, and tucked into his feast. Four egg rolls, orange chicken, Mongolian beef, sweet and sour pork, shrimp fried rice and vegetable lo mein (for a healthier option) disappeared down his gullet, washed down with a few litres of Mountain Dew, until every container had been laid bare and Tom’s exposed gut plowed out even further in front of him, round and full and almost painfully packed beneath a heavy layer of soft fat.
You will meet new challenges with confidence, his fortune cookie informed him, as he put the capstone on his meal. He liked the sound of that. He briefly debated eating the other four fortune cookies the restaurant had included, but decided against it in a moment of superstition.
After discarding his empties, Tom spent most of the day playing Starforce Online, having just bought the much-vaunted Nebula’s Promise DLC during the Steam Winter Sale. Tom’s starfleet had grown almost as much as Tom himself, and his iron-fisted control over the Epsilon Quadrant made him a desirable ally and a regular fixture on the leaderboard. He spent a few hours asserting his dominion over the galaxy, until he realized it was time to get ready for the party.
The clothes he’d bought for the office Christmas party still fit him well enough, although even they had gotten a little snug around his giant legs and mammoth ass. At least his shirt buttons weren’t gaping apart over his gut.
He met his friends at Fadi’s apartment, uptown, and they had a quick drink before making their way to Ramona’s. The walk was only five minutes, but Tom would have taken an Uber, if his friends hadn’t outvoted him.
Ramona’s house—which also used to be Fadi’s house, apparently—was a small, eclectic bungalow with an overgrown front lawn. Tom could hear music from the front step.
As for the party itself, Fadi had not overpromised: platters brimming with food burdened Ramona’s kitchen table, so encumbering it that it seemed at risk of collapse; bottles of beer stuck out from an ice-filled cooler on the floor; the coffee table was strewn with weed and rolling papers; and beautiful girls lounged or stood all over the house. Tom couldn’t help but notice a few beautiful boys in attendance, too.
One, in particular, grabbed Tom’s attention and refused to let go. He was standing by the door to the patio, wearing a tight t-shirt and a tight pair of distressed, light-wash jeans. Tom studied him from behind, drinking in the guy’s taut body, his v-shaped torso, his shapely ass and his long, tousled, light-brown hair. Even as Tom made peace with the changes that had so transformed his body, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia as he remembered a time when he looked like that.
Then, the guy turned—it was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Bryce. He sported a few more piercings, with rings or studs now adorning his right ear (in two places), eyebrow, and nostril. His glossy lips caught the low light, looking plump and pink and kissable, while his eyes sparkled as he conversed.
Tom had quit the gym in September, and hadn’t seen Bryce since. He’d been too embarrassed—to see Bryce would force Tom to admit his indiscipline, to own up to the reality that not only had he really let himself go, but that he planned and wanted to continue. Any time Tom imagined a conversation with Bryce, it ended with an acknowledgment that Tom had failed. Even if Tom was learning to enjoy his new build, it wasn’t a conversation he relished having.
But Bryce had noticed him, his face lighting up as he traipsed over. “Tom!” he exclaimed, “I’ve missed you, big guy!” He threw his arms around Tom (as far as he could reach, at least) and drew him into a hug, his narrow frame sinking into Tom’s flab.
Tom was touched by the fond reception as he hugged Bryce back. Tom had forgotten that Bryce had become quite a hugger—three years earlier, the guy Tom trained had been shy and withdrawn, but the new Bryce exuded physicality.
“I missed you, too,” Tom said. It was true—without the gym to keep them in touch, and with Tom still a bit embarrassed about his turn to all-out gaining, they had nearly fallen out of contact.
They talked, catching up and discussing the holidays. Bryce had taken to streaming video games in his spare time, and his Twitch channel seemed to be taking off. He was still coding his new game, but had decided to pass the torch to a friend, so he could focus more on his channel without losing time at the gym. For his part, Tom had spent Christmas with his family, and he avoided mentioning the looks of exasperation and warning comments they had given him regarding his exploding weight—or how frustratingly exciting he found those comments. He just said it had been a nice Christmas.
Eventually, there was a pause in the conversation, and Tom had to address the (other) elephant in the room. “Sorry I never replied to your texts,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He searched for an excuse, but came up dry.
“It’s alright,” Bryce answered. He gave a small smile: “I’m sure you can only put up with a guy throwing himself at you for so long.”
Throwing himself at me? Tom was confused. Was that what Bryce was doing? He sort of assumed that Bryce had had a crush on him in college, when he was in his physical prime. But as the tables turned and Bryce started lighting up rooms, Tom had given up on thinking that the handsome twunk could still have feelings for him. He assumed that Bryce’s affections were platonic, or just an expression of his gratitude.
Oh, God, how did I not see this, Tom thought, as he mentally catalogued the many signs of Bryce’s true intentions. How excited he always was to see Tom. How he guided Tom during their workouts, with firm but gentle hands. The stolen glances, the relentless praise, that fucking belly rub: how had Tom not realized that this guy was flirting with him, had been flirting with him for months?
It occurred to Tom that a lot of time had passed without him saying anything. “I didn’t, um… I didn’t know that's what you were doing.”
Bryce laughed. “I don’t know how I could have been any more obvious. Short of, I don’t know, an unsolicited dick pic, or something. Did you really have no idea how into you I was?”
“‘Was’?” Tom asked, feeling a twinge of fear that his chance may have passed. He had to step forward, to allow a petite, pink-haired girl to slip around his gigantic ass, but he underestimated the size of his belly and it bumped against Bryce’s flat stomach. He inched back after she moved on, but the room was so crowded, and Tom so large, that only a fraction of an inch separated his body from Bryce’s.
“Am,” Bryce corrected. He looked down, like he wanted to gaze at his shoes, but Tom’s overhanging gut obscured Bryce’s view of the floor. “How into you I am.”
Tom’s cheeks burned. He could have kicked himself for being so oblivious, for wasting so much time. “But you never made a move,” Tom said, in his own defence. “Never, like, actually asked me out.”
Bryce shifted from foot to foot. He furrowed his brow and sighed. “I don’t know. I was always afraid you’d reject me. In school, you could pull any guy you wanted. I guess I just never thought I had a shot.”
Tom wanted to shake him: of course he had a shot! But it dawned on Tom that Bryce had probably been insecure his whole life. Being big could really mess with your confidence, as Tom had learned. Given how completely their roles had reversed, Tom hadn’t even considered that Bryce might still see him as a popular, unattainable jock; that version of Tom felt like a completely different person, now. But maybe he still lived on, in a part of Bryce’s brain where self-doubt still lingered.
Tom wanted to banish him for good. “I would never reject you,” he said, definitively. “I would be so happy to go out with you.”
Bryce exhaled, a sigh of clear relief, and his face broke into a massive grin. “How about Thursday, after work? We could do some sprints at the indoor track, and then hit the gym?”
Tom stared blankly at him, until Bryce burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you. What about… dinner and a movie?”
Tom nodded. “Sounds perfect. Maybe Imperial Wok, for dinner? Or Eastern Flavours?”
“Let’s do Imperial Wok. The manager at Eastern Flavours definitely has a thing for big boys, and I don’t want him competing for your attention,” Bryce said, his grin turning lopsided.
Tom was fairly sure that the manager of Eastern Flavours had an enormous husband of his own, but he liked the sound of Imperial Wok, anyway: their midtown location was all-you-can-eat, and Tom could eat quite a lot. The date was set, and Tom couldn’t have been happier.
Hours passed in a blur as Tom and Bryce chatted, reminisced, flirted. Tom pounded beer and Bryce sipped gin & tonic until both men were a little buzzed; the looks that passed between them became more loaded, and each touch lingered just a little longer than the last.
Tom continued to put away beers—he’d brought his own, since it took quite a few to get a man of his size properly tipsy. He also didn’t feel guilty about going to town on the snack table, even though none of that was his, technically speaking. But Tom increasingly embraced the mantra that, in relation to food, “for everyone” meant “for Tom”. Eventually, a spot on the couch opened up, and Tom deposited his substantial backside there, next to Bryce, who made regular trips to the kitchen to replenish Tom’s stockpile of food.
Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, too. Nils was speaking in animated Norwegian to a stony-faced beefcake, who responded occasionally in terse Danish. Brenna had found a girl almost as tattooed as herself, and they seemed to be getting together far quicker than Tom and Bryce had been able to. Fadi was laughing with Ramona as she poured a glass of wine, his chubby cheeks dimpling and her black curls bouncing, and Tom was happy for them.
Shortly before midnight, Ramona’s neighbours started setting off fireworks. Plenty of people rushed out to the deck to watch, but Tom’s knowledge of civil engineering led him to question whether he should really add his weight to the mix. So he stayed behind on the sofa with Bryce, the music seeming considerably louder without the boisterous conversation to drown it out.
“So, you’re really sure you wanna go out with me on Thursday?” Tom asked. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to reassure himself that their date was real, and not some beautiful hallucination.
Bryce nodded, unhesitating.
But Tom needed something more. “So you’re…” he gestured vaguely to his massive torso, “Fine with all this?”
Bryce nodded again, more vehemently this time. “Tom, I love it,” he said, with almost alarming clarity. “I’ve never been more attracted to you.”
Tom snorted. Bryce was laying it on a little thick, in his opinion. “Seriously, never? Not even in college?”
“Not even in college,” Bryce agreed. “Man, you have no idea how many times I checked out your Grommr profile since you started it.”
Tom’s eyes widened. So, he’d been completely ass-backwards, then; Bryce’s crush was not just vestigial. “You mean…”
Gingerly, as if to test the water, Bryce spread his hand over the widest part of Tom’s gut, just above his navel. His fingers pressed against it, and Tom couldn’t remember a time when being touched felt so good. “Yeah. I really, really like this,” Bryce said, with a shy smile.
More fireworks went off outside, and pop music blared through the speakers. But the whole room seemed to be fading into the background, like the universe itself was shifting focus to Bryce and Tom.
Heavily, and a bit clumsily, Bryce inched a little closer to Tom. Now, there was nothing separating them. They looked deeply at each other, neither saying anything.
A roar went up outside, as the partygoers swapped cries of “Happy New Year!”
Tom blinked, realizing that midnight had passed without him even realizing it.
“Aw, did we miss the boat on a midnight kiss?” Bryce asked, looking at Tom through lidded eyes. Their faces were so close together.
“Better late than never,” Tom replied. He trailed the backs of his chubby fingers across Bryce’s cheek, each staring deeply into the other’s eyes.
And they kissed.
February 14, 2025
“Happy Valentine’s Day, big boy,” Bryce said, entering the bedroom with a massive tray of breakfast. He was naked except for a pair of tighty-whities.
Yawning, Tom stirred in bed. He looked at the clock: it was only 7:30. At one time, he would have already been up for an hour, but his sleep schedule had shifted to accommodate late-night Starforce sessions, among other sorts of binges. “You’re up early,” he mumbled, as he considered the best way to maneuver himself onto his back. He slept on his side, to mitigate the worst of his snoring—although the necessity of mechanical assistance was really becoming undeniable—and even wiggling around in bed had become cumbersome, these days. A side effect, he reasoned, of his very rapid increase in weight.
“You know I like to pamper you,” Bryce said, balancing the tray in his hands as he climbed onto the bed.
With some undignified wobbling, Tom rolled onto his back. He struggled for a little bit to sit up, before remembering that he needed to use his hands for that now—to lay his palms against the bed and push against his own weight to overcome his incredible absence of physical fitness. Finally, he inched himself upright, relieving the pressure imposed on his lungs by his weighty middle.
“I like to watch you, too,” Bryce said, carefully placing the tray on the top of Tom’s belly after the big man had positioned himself. Then, he reclined at Tom’s side.
“Watch me struggle, you mean,” Tom said, smirking as he picked up a crispy piece of bacon. He bit into it; it was perfect. “Mm, you nailed it again.”
Bryce was a decent cook, but only in relation to two specific kinds of meals. The first consisted of bland health food, like grilled chicken breasts and steamed vegetables. The second, perfected during the most fattening days of 2020, consisted of the greasiest, sweetest, and most unhealthy foods that could be combined on a plate.
Tom learned early on that Bryce very much enjoyed feeding him the latter type of meal, with such frequency and in such quantities that Tom was almost always stuffing himself, these days. Which meant that, in the six weeks they’d been dating, his weight had climbed past 380 pounds and now loomed precipitously close to 400.
“You sure you can’t take the day off, today?” Bryce asked, as he rubbed the lower reach of Tom’s soft belly.
“Sadly, Valentine’s Day is not a holiday at my office,” he said. “But maybe I can make up for it tonight?”
Bryce agreed. Tom ate his breakfast with his usual haste, taking care not to nip Bryce’s fingers as he pushed hashbrowns and bacon strips into Tom’s mouth.
Finally, it was time to get up. Tom moved the tray from his belly-shelf to the bed, and Bryce sprung to his feet, moving gracefully to Tom’s side of the bed and offering a helping hand.
Tom didn’t need help getting out of bed—he wasn’t that far gone—but he did appreciate the gesture, and Bryce’s eagerness to please. And, if he was being completely honest, a hand did make it easier to get on his feet.
“Are you working today?” Tom asked, lumbering towards the dresser. His plodding footfalls seemed to shake every piece of furniture in the room; he could see ripples in Bryce’s coffee cup as the end table vibrated in response to Tom’s heavy gait.
“Nope, although I might stream Horizons this morning, and I probably will go in for a workout. Did you want me to time it so I can bring you home some Taco Bell, for after work?” Bryce leaned back on the bed, hands folded behind his head.
Tom couldn’t imagine any man luckier than himself, with an adoring boyfriend to greet him with fast food upon his return from the office. But he paused: “Taco Bell isn’t much of a Valentine’s Day dinner,” he said, as he retrieved an enormous pair of underwear from the top drawer.
“Oh, that wouldn’t be your main dinner,” Bryce said, as if it went without saying that Tom would eat two dinners if given the chance.
Which he really would, to be fair.
As Tom squeezed his enormous thighs and gigantic butt into his boxer-briefs, he and Bryce debated their options. By the time he’d pulled on some clothes—new enough to actually fit him, which was rare—they’d settled on a little Italian bistro for their “main” dinner.
Bryce leapt from the bed to kiss Tom goodbye, and Tom made his way down the corridor of his building. The elevator was empty when he stepped inside, which meant that Tom was alone with a large mirror.
He blinked, and the whale of a man staring back at him blinked, too. He was so much fatter now than Bryce had ever been—every part of him was large, doughy, protruding. He looked at his round, jowly face, its thickness evident even beneath his well-kept beard. He had no neck to speak of, anymore, and the fat around his face seemed to flow into his expansive torso. He looked past his broad, sloping shoulders, to his arms. They were huge, but his taut biceps had long since been replaced by pure lard.
He slipped a hand under his belly. It was so heavy; it boggled Tom’s mind to think that it was actually a part of him. His colossal gut was a perfect blend of roundness and softness, thick but buoyant, pushing outwards and dangling downwards simultaneously. His tits rested heavily atop his stomach, so bulging with fat that they cleaved plushly against his shirtfront, aiming outwards in opposite directions. His buttons weren’t straining per se, but he knew they would be before long. Already, his new shirt seemed to have very little fabric left to spare.
He felt his suspenders through his shirt; they were the only way he could keep his pants up, anymore. The problem wasn’t that his waist was small; it was that his ass was so big. He needed pants with a waistband large enough to overcome his butt. But the frenetic bouncing and wobbling of his paunch and behind exerted downward pressure on that waistband, threatening to expose his massive buttocks to the viewing public. A belt buckle dug painfully into his underbelly, so he resorted to suspenders. He thought they looked goofy, at first, but like so many other things, they’d grown on him. He was very curious about a certain type of fat-boy belt that had been making the rounds online, though.
He turned and looked at himself in profile. He looked even bigger side-on, with his sweeping curves laid bare. He just took up so much space, now. He trailed his hand along the curve of his buttocks, which seemed to go on forever, bounding out behind him. They rested atop thighs as thick as columns, and his light-coloured pants only emphasized the enormity of his lower half.
Gaining weight used to scare him. Then, it became an uncomfortable inevitability, until he learned to view it with indifference. After that, there was the first, tepid step into actively enjoying his larger body—those exhilarating moments that increased in frequency and intensity until Tom began to relish his size and heft and power. The thought of how much he’d grown excited him, now; he thought about it often, and he basked in it in that moment, as he studied the slopes and sweeps of his body, feeling his arousal budding. He wanted more.
The elevator dinged as it reached the garage, and Tom pulled himself away from the mirror. He could always check himself out later—it was more fun with Bryce, anyway.
June 28, 2025
“Our love is forbidden, Toran. It would jeopardize peace in the galaxy.”
“You are wrong, Byrneth.” Toran looked away, toward the horizon and the setting of the Two Suns of Vath’Nagoth. When he turned back, tears clouded his dark eyes: “You are a prince of the Empire, but you have lived among my people. The best of the Sarani dwells within you. I am Sarani, but I have pledged my life in service to the Empire. This love of ours—
“Did you hear me?” Bryce asked, his hand gliding smoothly across Tom’s enormous gut. Bryce’s hands had been so soothing, and Tom had been so unexpectedly entertained by this cheesy, gay Starforce novelization, that he barely heard what Bryce asked him. “Do you want some more ice cream, big guy?”
Tom burped into his fist. “Is that even a question?” he asked, with a smile, before tipping the last drops of melted Rocky Road into his mouth. It was a perfect Saturday evening: sunny and sweltering, although generous air conditioning kept Tom from completely overheating. But even with air conditioning, heat like this demanded ice cream.
That was the only prompting Bryce needed. He sprung to his feet, taking the empty pint from Tom’s hands and returning from the kitchen a moment later with a fresh one. “Can I feed it to you?” He asked, holding up a spoon.
“Yes, please,” Tom said, as Bryce slipped in next to him on the loveseat. There wasn’t much room left, but it was perfect for getting cozy.
He read on as Bryce spoon-fed him chocolate and peanut butter ice cream. Toran explained that their love was rooted in mutual understanding: each man had walked in the other’s shoes; they had changed each other. In spite of himself, Tom was almost getting a little teary-eyed as Byrneth left for battle. He opened his mouth for another spoonful of ice cream, but none came, and he saw that Bryce had set the now-empty carton on the coffee table.
“I can’t believe you’re reading that,” Bryce said, when he noticed Tom looking up. He looked amused as he uncapped his lipgloss, ready to reapply. “My big, chubby nerd.” He spoke with unadulterated affection, without a hint of irony or mean-spiritedness.
“You gave it to me,” Tom said, marking his page and setting the book aside. “I seem to remember a whole row of your bookshelf dedicated to these.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bryce said. “When I first read that book, you were probably sniffing poppers and doing CrossFit.”
“I didn’t typically do those things at the same time.” Tom chuckled. “But, if I’m a nerd, what does that make you?”
“A himbo, probably.”
Tom laughed. “You’re not a himbo. You just look like one.” It was true: anyone who judged a book by its cover might have assumed that Bryce was shallow or unthinking, but Tom appreciated his kindness and intelligence far more than his appearance, and he made sure Bryce knew that. As for poppers, Bryce wouldn't have had much use for those: it had been months since Tom had successfully topped him, and he wasn’t optimistic he’d be able to manage it again. No, Tom had made his peace with life as a power bottom, and Bryce was proving to be very adept at handling all that ass. In that regard, he had two important assets: strength, and length.
“And what does a chubby chaser look like?” Bryce asked, running his hand along Tom’s leg. “Do I look like one of those, too?”
Tom licked his lips, melting into Bryce’s touch. “I imagine a chaser looks like whatever guy I’m dating.”
“And what about a feeder?” Bryce asked, his hand gripping and squeezing the bottom of Tom’s belly so perfectly that Tom almost moaned. He could feel Bryce’s warm breath against his neck. “How do they look?”
“Like you, I hope,” Tom said. He couldn’t resist Bryce a moment longer; he had to kiss him. Tom tipped forward, causing his belly to push even further into Bryce’s hand, and their lips met. The kiss intensified; Bryce removed Tom’s t-shirt, and then his own. Bryce’s fingers sunk deep into Tom's belly flab, squeezing, caressing.
After a bit of making out, Bryce leaned back a little, his eyes wandering across Tom’s mountainous body. “I’m so turned on right now,” he said.
“Fuck, me too,” Tom said. He ran his hand along the small of Bryce’s back. “Maybe we need to do something about that.”
Bryce leaned forward and kissed Tom’s cheek, then his double chin, then his shoulder, his breast, the top of his belly… Bryce slipped off the couch and dropped to his knees, kissing along Tom’s gut. Tom helped him lift it up to let Bryce undo the top button of his shorts, and lifted his ass enough to pull them down.
Tom’s once-formidable cock was fully surrounded by blubber, now, with only the head poking out from his thick fat pad. Both he and Bryce strained to keep his belly aloft and out of the way, as Bryce slipped his mouth over Tom’s eager erection.
Tom tried to keep from shuddering with pleasure—and sending various parts of his massive bulk slapping against his poor boyfriend—as Bryce bobbed and licked and sucked. The pleasure was incredible, and Bryce seemed to be enjoying it, too, since he slipped his right hand into his pants and tugged his manhood over the elastic waistband. At least, that’s what Tom thought was happening, since he couldn’t actually see much behind the curve of his gigantic belly.
His fingers plunged into his yielding flesh as he held his gut out of Bryce’s way, his heart pounding ecstatically. He moaned, and leaned ever-so-slightly from side to side, to feel the weight of his gut shift against each hand. Bryce was feeling him up, too, rubbing his thumb along Tom’s tender underbelly, and it all felt so good.
Bryce kept going, and Tom felt his breath coming faster—it was getting hard to hold up so much weight! But it wouldn’t be a problem for long, since he was on the edge of coming, and as Bryce deployed some dazzling maneuver on the tip of Tom’s dick, Tom couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he finished, and oh, God…
Bryce swallowed it down easily, and pulled himself out of the way just in time for Tom to release his hundreds of pounds of belly fat. Bryce kept working his own erection, and he squeezed and fondled Tom relentlessly as the big man tried to catch his breath, until Bryce came, too.
After cleaning himself up with some tissues from the table, Bryce climbed back onto the couch and folded himself into Tom’s side. The skin of Bryce’s bare arms stuck to Tom’s sticky flesh: the mere act of getting head was enough exertion to leave Tom out of breath and, in this heat, sweating. He could imagine the sweatstain his bare ass would definitely be leaving on the sofa.
Bryce grabbed the remote and bumped up the air conditioning, before resting a gentle hand on the upper curve of Tom’s belly. “How much do you even weigh, now?” He asked. His face was alight with a mix of curiosity and hopefulness as he looked Tom up and down.
“Honestly? No idea. Our scale doesn’t go up high enough. More than 400, but probably less than 450.” He threw in a “probably” just to be on the safe side; it seemed unlikely, but he couldn’t rule anything out, with the way Bryce had been (over)feeding him.
Bryce whistled, patting Tom’s gut a few times as if to feel all that weight for himself.
Tom continued: “You know, I’ve gained way more than 200 pounds since we graduated. Like, an average of 55 pounds a year, at least.”
“If current trends continue, you’ll be half a ton before you’re 40,” Bryce said, smirking.
“Fuck off,” Tom said, although he couldn’t help but smile. He’d never let things go that far… right? He bumped his fleshy shoulder against Bryce. “Hey, that was some quick math for you, pretty boy.” He occasionally teased Bryce about quitting engineering, but it was purely playful: Bryce seemed much happier training and streaming than he ever had in an office job. Tom would never want to take that away from him. Even if Tom was the better Starforce player, according to the leaderboards.
Bryce kissed him on the cheek, and whispered: “But there’s another equation I might need your help with.”
Tom looked at him lustily. Only Bryce could make math sound sexy. “Go on,” he said.
“A large pizza, plus a twink, plus his 400-and-something pound lover,” Bryce said, still rubbing his hand along Tom’s colossal stomach and its acreage of hairy, stretch mark-lined flesh. “Can you solve for X?”
Tom didn’t need to be an engineer to figure that one out. With a belly full of ice cream and a heart full of love, Tom pulled Bryce into another passionate kiss… before pausing to order pizza.
