Teddy looked down at the scale and saw the number 302. He looked at Coach, who was shaving and staring in the mirror, and said "I'm 302, Coach."
Coach stopped shaving and put down the razor and walked over. He looked down at the number, back up at Teddy and made a strange exhale. "My boy is..."
He stood up straight and just breathed in for a few seconds. Teddy watched him with curiosity, not knowing Coach to ever not finish a sentence. But then suddenly, as if snapping out of something, Coach stood behind him, and jiggled his overhanging belly and slapped his ass hard. "Good boy. Keep it up. Now go downstairs and eat something."
Teddy did as told and when he looked behind he saw Coach still standing in the bathroom, not moving, looking as if he was thinking. Teddy wondered if something was wrong but figured maybe it was nothing.
The problem was that coach was a little distant the rest of the day. Sweet but distant. He seemed off in his own world and as he fed Teddy some cookies he had made, he tussled Teddy's bushy head of hair and said, "My boy."
Things continued like this for the next few days, and Teddy began to feel strange. Had he done something wrong? Was Coach losing interest suddenly after Teddy’s having finally blown up?
"Is everything okay, Coach?" Teddy asked three days later as Coach was muttering to himself over his laptop.
"I...well, there's stuff to do...and I..." Coach said. "I forgot to mention that that your friend Henry needs a place to stay, and I offered to rent him the basement."
A slight sinking feeling hit Teddy, but only slight. Henry was hot and skinny and Teddy knew that Coach found him sexy but... it didn't seem that Henry could replace him. Maybe he did need a room.
"Oh, okay."
"You two can play together," said Coach, grinning evilly. This reassured Teddy. "When I let you, anyway."
A few days later, Henry appeared at the door with some boxes. Coach told Teddy to keep out of the way as they brought stuff in and told Henry that he had ordered a bed and a few other things that would be delivered in a few days.
Henry stayed for dinner and he and Coach talked about his new living situation. He and Coach ate salads as Teddy ate lasagna directly from the glass baking dish. Coach specifically refused to give him a normal fork and Teddy had to use the serving spoon, which was slightly messy. Every time he reached for a napkin Coach slapped his hand down. "You'll have to watch Teddy when I'm not around. He needs looking after. Look at him. He can barely feed himself."
"I think I can do that," said Henry, who picked up his salad fork and fed Teddy a manageable bite of his lasagna. "
As if putting on a show, Coach forced Teddy to eat his lasagna until he was painfully stuffed. Teddy protested but Henry cooed gently at him. "Aw, c'mon, just a few more bites."
At the end of dinner, Coach got up to clear the table and do dishes and Henry cleaned Teddy up, gently, unlike Coach, and asked him what he wanted for dessert. Teddy moaned as Henry started to rub his distended stomach. "Big boy," laughed Henry. And then into Teddy's ear he whispered, "maybe you need some exercise. I can help with that."
A few days later a bed was delivered. Henry and Coach put it together, as Teddy laid in the living room, listening to the two men chat. When they were done, Henry said he was going to meet a friend. "I'll bring you back a treat."
Coach was at his computer when suddenly he asked, "Teddy, there is a receipt in the basement for the bed, would you go down and get it? It's right on that table down there."
"Sure, Coach."
Teddy got off the couch and Coach watched as the young man lumbered to the basement. Between his natural clumsiness and rapid weight gain, Teddy moved inelegantly at his new size, uncertain of how much size he was taking up and the most efficient way to walk while his thighs rubbed together and even unsure how far or close his arms were to his widened sides. In the shirt he was wearing, his love handles and round ass were clearly outlined, and Coach could not stop himself from smiling a wide, wide grin as he watched Teddy head to the basement door.
The basement was dark and Teddy had forgotten exactly where the switch was. When the light came on, he saw the usual finished basement, except now there was a very large bed and a nightstand with a lamp. And the boxes which they had not yet unpacked. The table that had been there had been moved to one side and Teddy descended the staircase and walked towards the table.
And then above he heard the door shut. And the sound of a lock.
And as Teddy turned around, he saw into one of the boxed realized as he looked in the boxes, which were filled with his favorite M&Ms and cookies and chips, that the bed in the basement was for him and he was locked in.
Taking this in, he saw down on the bed. When time passed and he grew bored, he opened up a package of cookies.
Coach did not come until after Teddy had fallen asleep. In the dark, he fucked Teddy roughly and told him in breathy, feral tones that he was never going to leave. Coach slept with him but was gone when Teddy woke up.
Teddy didn't see Coach again until the next afternoon, which was strange because he was so used to his breakfast being such a concern of Coach's. But Coach came in and, with a strange look on his face, and strange, pleading tone which was unusual for him, looked Teddy in the eye as held Teddy's face in his hands (after pinching his double chin, as if he couldn't help himself) said, "Teddy, I...you...you cannot leave. I...unless I say so..."
Teddy's large body tightened for a minute but he knew, from Coach's intense stare and tone, that Coach was actually asking a question. And so, like the good boy he was, he simply said, as flatly and submissively as he could, "Yes, sir."
Coach planted a huge kiss on him and yanked his hair. And then remembering himself, put on his usual tone and said, "And you haven't eaten or been fucked all day." He slapped Teddy. "Let's get to it."
Teddy heard the door lock when Coach got up the stairs. He looked around and grabbed a box of cookies and settled into bed. It would make Coach happy to see he was at home.
Derek came back to consciousness, finding his 458 pound body seated against the wall of the kitchen floor, surrounded by food packaging and remains of what must have been another one of his spontaneous binges. He felt full but not in the sense of satiated. He felt simply that his stomach had an excess of food in it. Since the onset of his condition, he registered fullness like a storage tank. These sudden binges had happened here and there, and he turned red in embarrassment to be reminded again of his inability to control himself. Peter would come home and find him again having made a mess and have to clean up after him.
Not that Peter minded. He had infinite patience for Derek it seemed, and Derek still occasionally marveled that Peter cared enough for him to not only stay his friend but become his partner. In fact, Peter seemed to embrace Derek’s condition, feeding Derek then getting him off. And now they lived together in some little place that Peter explained vaguely had been found by coach.
As it was, Derek had not left the house since he first awoke there that weekend his condition presented. In fact, Peter was pretty much the only person Derek saw except Professor Schneider, from Derek’s former university, who was took an interest in the young man’s condition. Everyone else had been told that Derek had unenrolled from school after his mental break down, which did not get better after he quit the team. Derek felt uncomfortable with these visits because while Professor Schneider was very professional he seemed to get a certain glee in hearing Derek describe how he was doing. Derek knew it was natural that a medical scientist should be interested in such a strange case but it made him feel like a test subject.
Derek could not remember anything about the week prior to waking up. The last thing he remembered was getting his vaccine and making plans to have Mexican food with Peter. Peter said that he had gone on some kind of terrible eating binge, and when he came he had somehow woken up 150 pounds heavier in a bed in a strange house with Peter standing over him holding a box of donuts. Gone was the young, tight, muscled jock : he was now a fleshy spherical young man with an inexplicable appetite: never really hungry but always ready to eat. Each time Derek chewed and swallowed, his mind went somewhere else.
Gone also was any semblance of a confident, masculine young man. Derek had become shy, submissive and what lack of confidence he was compensating for before had been brought to the forefront.
As he thought this he found himself reflexively reaching down to finish a half cookie that had not made into his mouth. He caught himself only after he swallowed and it was if he felt the cookie fall on top of the pile of food his stomach was digesting. The other strange thing was Derek was full but never at capacity. Peter’s enthused and loving feedings always showed there was always room for more.
“Babe, I’m home,” heard Derek a second before he heard the door shut. Peter walked in, fresh from working out, smelling of sweat and glistening a bit in the late afternoon light. He was carrying a carton of a dozen cinnamon rolls.
“I…uh…” sputtered Derek.
Peter looked around and smiled widely. “Oh, did we have one of our little binge sessions today, my sweet big balloon?”
Derek turned red again and began to try and excuse himself: “I don’t know what I was…”
Peter leaned down and put his finger on Derek’s lips to shush him. “Babe, it’s fine. What have I said before? You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a little cleaning.”
Derek stopped speaking and looked into Peter’s eye. They were very kind, and he felt that mix of reassurance and embarrassment that was how he always felt around Peter. He also felt stirred up in his groin. Peter could practically make him come with the right kind of stare.
Peter sat down with the carton of cinnamon rolls. Derek eyed them nervously and said suddenly, “Oh, I don’t think…I’m pretty fulll…”
Peter laughed. “I can see that! You did a pretty good job. I wish I’d known, I would have picked up groceries.” Peter set the carton down and pulled out the first cinnamon roll. He inspected it, as if for quality, and said, “Don’t these look good? New shop by campus. Everyone’s going there.”
“Well, maybe, later…”
With a swift move, Peter shoved the cinnamon roll into Derek’s mouth. On cue, he began to chew and his mind pulled away, focusing only on the mechanical chewing and the flow of food into the full yet paradoxically cavernous space of his stomach. Peter stared at him in the eye and he could feel himself getting worked up.
As Peter shoved cinnamon rolls into Derek’s mouth, he talked about his day. His professional prospects were essentially guaranteed, and Coach had been working hard to get him into perfect shape to start the next phase of his career. Old teammates were well. He had made a new friend at the gym, nice fellow gay guy whose name was —
When Peter said the name, even through the steady weight over his conscious mind, Derek recognized the name as the guy he had hooked up with that sent him into a spiral. Like a dam bursting, suddenly the weekend he had changed suddenly came back to him, even if very fragmented. He was not some medical freak…it had been coordinated! And Coach and Peter and even that fucking Dr. Schneider were in out it…
Derek stopped chewing and made a sort of angry sob. “You! You all did this to me! I…how could you?! Look at me?1”
Peter remained calm and pulled back the cinnamon roll. “Babe, I don’t want to tell you to calm down, but there’s no reason to get worked up.”
“Nothing happened to me! You did this!”
“Something did happen to you, babe. But it’s okay. You’re here with me.”
“Something happened?! Then tell me for Crissake what the fuck you call this?” Derek grabbed his flanks and shook them, making Peter smirk despite himself.
“Well,” said Peter, lowering his voice and pushing his face towards Derek, close enough to kiss. “There was beautiful boy named Derek…” he said then kissed Derek. He stared him intensely in the eyes and began to rub Derek’s spherical gut.
Derek could feel the rage welling in him but beginning to curve at the wall of Peter’s intense, almost devilish stare.
“I… I have to…I have to…” Derek was wavering. “I’m going to tell them what you did to me, I’m going to…”
“And you ate him,” finished Peter on a tone so smooth and lustful that as he shoved the cinnamon roll back into Derek’s mouth, Derek’s fury fell again, getting swallowed up no differently that the cinnamon roll.
In a second, Derek was no different from before his little outburst.
Peter smiled contentedly as he reached for the 9th cinnamon roll. The weather was nice; he had had a good day. “I could do this all day,” he thought to himself, then out loud, “I should have gotten a dozen more.” Derek chewed mechanically, not really hearing his partner talk.
Peter was used to these little outbursts. They happened every time Derek went on a binge. Dr. Schneider had offered to add a little fog to Derek’s brain but Peter rejected the offer. He felt that his ability to handle Derek was what made them such a perfect couple: Derek wanted to make Peter happy and Peter wanted what was best for Derek. Before, he had been such a tormented young man. Peter could not help but notice from the moment they met And then to have a breakdown over a little sex! Now he here he was, his big stretchy guy, well taken care of making Peter happy as could be.
He looked around the room noting what needed to be cleaned up and what needed to go into his human garbage disposal. More than a dozen donuts, he wanted to just be in a grocery store with Derek, alone, bringing him food to eat. Dr. Schneider said if Derek did not burst during that seven day interval of feedings that first week, he probably never would. “He’s just the best,” thought Peter, and he began to tickle Derek, which sent Derek’s eyes, over the constant of his mouth, back into his head.
It was difficult for Derek to process as his mind tried to race while the great expanse of radiated waves of pain and is was stretched to its limits. He groaned loudly, and tried to say something, the words being overtaken by a moan each time he opened his mouth. His eyes darted back and forth across the room, as if looking for someone to help him. All he saw were people staring back.
Suddenly from the back of the room, there came a voice saying, “I’m here.” And the group turned and made room for nobody other than Peter, who dashed to the front. “Sorry, I took a little bit longer. But I just wanted to —,” Peter did not finish his sentence. Upon seeing Derek, the young athlete, dressed in shorts and a tight t-shirt, bounded over to the now more spherical athlete, exclaiming, “BABE, OH MY GOSH YOU LOOK AMAZING! YOU’RE DOING SO GOOD!” To only further Derek’s confusion, his crush bent down and planted his lips on his and kissed him deeply for a few seconds. Derek was in too much pain to fully reciprocate, but somewhere, in his vast expanse, he could a faint tingle, even under the pain.
Peter straightened up again. “Did you tell him yet?”
Coach smiled. “We were just about to.” Coach took his turn to walk up to Derek and patted him on the head. “Derek, I know you’ve had some food already, but can I get you anything?”
Something about the question made Derek convulse a bit and he made a strange sound between a gargle and moan.
“Just so long as long as you’re comfortable.” Coach paused and took a breath. Clearly, he had known exactly what he intended to say. “You know, Derek, one reason our program produces such great athletes, why I produce such great athletes, is because of a lot of effort on my part. You come to me, I shape you into the men you are meant to be, sometimes more than you’re meant to be, and then I ship you out having done as much as I can to set you up for success. And I know that it’s not always easy to make it out there, but seeing my boys do their damndest to succeed is always repayment enough. You see Mehdi there? Just could not make it after college. But he did his absolute best, and then he came back to me and we found something else. That’s the kind of coach I am to all players.” Coach bent down and lift up Derek’s head by the chin and stared him in the eyes. “Especially my best players.”
“Now, knowing that, you can imagine how I felt when one of my best players quits the team out of the blue. Just quit! After all that time! After all that effort! And don’t think I was just thinking about myself. I was thinking about this teammates, his school, his best friend who had taken him under his wing. He just quit! Didn’t talk to me and didn’t even tell me why!” As Derek heard these words he felt the sort of hot guilt kids feel when they have done something to disappoint adults. A small sob jerked across his face.
“And, if I can be honest, I knew why. My boy was gay. Gay? As if I cared! As if Ray and I haven’t been seeing each other for five years…”
“Six…we just celebrated six,” said Ray, irritably.
“Sorry, dear.” Coach grinned sheepishly before turning back to Derek. “Peter’s a romantic one so get used to that…” Coach turned serious again and resumed is speech. “So there all my time and effort down the drain, my dreams for him vanished into thin air, my very best player sad and moping around all the time because his boy crush isn’t there anymore…what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to make everyone whole again?”
Coach cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Professor Schneider. Have you Derek?”
Derek nodded lightly. Tears were running slowly and steadily down his face. His body felt hot all over, not simply from the pain but an odd sick feeling that he had done something wrong and something terrible was happening.
“Brilliant, brilliant scientist. It’s rumored he did all sorts of government work before he got here.” Coach grinned devilishly.
“Just rumors,” said Professor Schneider, grinning . “Who’s to say their true?”
“They say all sorts of thing, mind control, physical enhancement…anyway…just rumors. One day my good friend and colleague tells me he’s been working on a little formula. It makes human flesh…how shall we say…stretchy. Nothing radical. Of course, he wants to see what can do before he goes ahead and tosses it into the pit of bureaucracy and regulation.”
Derek moaned again. His brain seemed to be actively resisting understanding what Coach was saying.
“And on the flip side, as I’ve mentioned, I have my mopey best player, filling my ear everyday about how he misses his little friend. And it’s not just that. Because he’s my very best player, and he tells me everything, like a good player should, I happen to know exactly what kind of body my little sicko is into and always wished his little friend had.”
“Coach!” Said Peter, mock objecting to the word.
“I said what I said. And therefore, with my usual inspiration, I realized I could put you to good use Derek while killing two birds with one stone. I get to help Professor Schneider take a step forward for medical science, and I get to set up my best player with the love of his life, looking just the way he wants him to.”
Derek eyes darted around the room again. As a sort of helpless panic built within him, he could not help but notice how calm. Peter was even hugging coach, saying, “Thank you so much.” Professor Schneider had walked over to Peter, and as he felt various pokes into distended gut, he realized he was being inspected. His head lurched as deep sob hit his face.
“Truly remarkable,” said Schneider.
“Can we play with him?” Asked Lucas.
“You have to ask Peter.”
“Peter?”
Peter smiled. “Oh yeah, go ahead.” He and Coach turned to Derek as the four athletes started poking at Derek and rubbing themselves against him. Derek waved his limbs in a sort of weak protest, saying: “Hey, c’mon guys…”
“Is he as you like?” Professor Schneider asked Peter. “I can do some other things to if you like. More sex drive, more obedient. Or even dumber…you know about that, Peter.”
Derek heard this and shouted, “What?! No!!”
Peter walked over to Derek and rubbed his head. “I like you just as you are, babe. He’s just talking about Dylan there. You see that blond guy? We hooked up my junior year; he was a grad student in physics. And since I can’t be out as the star quarterback, I told him to be discrete and well, he let it slip. So Schneider…I guess…”
“I wiped his mind. Or at least a lot of it.” Schneider looked at his former victim, who was sitting on Medhi’s lap. “He still understands a few languages. Ray says he’s a hard worker. And Mehdi takes good care of him. See?” Schneider pointed to the blond, who was sitting on Medhi’s lap. “Just a fuck toy now. It was a shame to do, he was one of the most brilliant students anyone had seen in some time.”
Somewhere in the pit of his impacted stomach, a tight sinking feeling hit Derek. Between that and how full he was and the impotence of his limbs as he flailed them about and the realization that the four athletes were playing with him, sending waves of sexual arousal that felt like nausea and the sudden realization his body was being permanently altered, he shouted, “NO! MAKE IT STOP!”
Everyone froze. For a minute all eyes were on the young man, as he kept shouting, “Make it stop!” Peter broke the silence, asking Schneider. “Is he really at the limit?”
Schneider shook his head. “Oh, I think you could keep filling him up no problem. He’ll keep stretching.”
Peter wheeled over a basket of cookies and approached Derek’s head which was shaking furiously. With a kind authority, he said, “Let’s eat, babe.” Derek tried to resist but only a few seconds after Peter had pressed it against his lips, despite all his pain, he found himself mechanically opening his mouth and chewing. Peter successfully got in a number of cookies before asking, “Didn’t we also get waffles or pancakes?”
“Dylan will get them,” said Mehdi, who instructed his boy to bring over the trays.
Peter spent the next hour feeding Derek despite the excruciating pain. But no amount of pain or fullness would stop his mouth from accepting food and swallowing. In an brief second of lucidity, Derek thought to himself: “I’m a bottomless pit!”
As Derek continued to eat, the boys kept playing with him, and a certain arousal was building up inside him. When Peter shoved the last little bit of drenched waffle into his mouth, he got up, grabbed the keg hose, inserted it in Derek’s mouth and let it run. Derek’s eyes grew wide.
“Oh, babe, I think I’m ready,” Peter whispered huskily into Derek’s ear.
As Peter disappeared from view, Derek, with the keg hose in his mouth and feeling cool bill run down his throat into his stomach, looked around the room at those who had conspired for this to happen who were chatting happily amongst each other. They seemed as normal and alien to him as his new size and distended gut seemed abnormal and alien. But suddenly there was another wave of pain that shot through him interrupted suddenly by another sensation: that of Peter mounting him behind and sliding well-endowed member into Derek.
In just a few seconds, Derek could feel his stomach expanding as it filled with beer, a pain more intense than any he had felt until then, and suddenly a wave of orgasm that sent his eyes as far back as they could go into his head. It was at that moment that Derek’s brain broke for good.
Derek could feel his larger cheeks turn bright red the second he heard Coach say, “Jesus!” As he saw his former player’s new size. “What have you done to yourself?” Coach asked as he walked up to the young man, who was seated on his well-worn sofa. Derek had put on the clothes Peter had brought him, and he could feel the subtle brush of the fabric against his skin, signaling quietly to Derek that he was only continuing to expand. As Coach muttered the question once again under his breath, Derek protested, “I don’t know what’s happening! I can’t stop eating!” Saying out load caused Derek to give a few halting sobs.
“You certainly were putting it away last night,” responded Coach, dryly, stepping back. “I guess we should get you to a doctor…” Coach stopped and frowned, as if the idea was no good.
“Oh please, Coach, anything!”
“This might actually be case for one of our medical faculty,” Coach said thoughtfully, nodding in agreement with himself. “Certainly not a for a general practitioner.”
Derek nodded. “Really, Coach, I’ll do anything.”
Coach nodded again. “And I think we can see someone tonight. There’s a large donors event that the professor I have in mind is attending. I think we could catch him at the tail end and even if he can't talk tonight, he’ll get an idea of the urgency of the situation.”
Derek shuddered at the idea of being seen by someone else but knew that this was better than he could do trying to wish it away on his own. “Okay, Coach.”
Coach picked up one of the empty boxes Derek had left out during his binge. He looked at Derek and said, “You can come stay at my house tonight. You probably shouldn’t be left alone.” He put the box down and looked Derek in the eyes and smiled like he would have if he had been sending Derek onto the field when the stakes were high. “You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”
There was something reassuring about Coach’s reaction, reminding him what a decisive, problem-solving type of person his former Coach was. In fact, he felt almost second of relief everything would be all right. The feeling was interrupted when he leaned back and clasped his hands over the belly shelf that had formed in less than 36 hours. “Make it stop…” he prayed in his head.
A few minutes later, Coach helped Derek maneuver his new body into the front seat of his car. Thankfully, the SUV was sufficiently spacious, and the front seat was already rolled back, as if expecting Derek. Although the evening was not especially warm, Coach turned on the A/C and the cooling air made Derek realize how warm he felt.
As they drove, they only exchanged a few words here and there. Derek was occupied by the faint relief of getting help, but also the fact that he was sure he was still growing, swearing that his clothes were tighter than when he had first put them on. He wondered how much it would go on, and if someone could find a way to get him to control his binges. Even just that much…
“Have you seen, Peter?” Coach asked suddenly.
Derek froze, blushing even more than earlier. “I mean we yesterday…I….”
“I think he misses having you around. I asked him if he wanted to come over with me but he said something had happened this afternoon between you two and he needed some time and that he would tell me about it later. Did you fight?”
Derek could feel himself tense up. “No, we just…today, he and I…” Derek searched frantically for something to say.
Coach waved his hand dismissively. “He’s a bit of a diva, I get it. Misses his best friend, wants to make it about him.” Coach chuckled. He did not appear to notice how much Derek was squirming. “I think he liked to imagine you had a little boy crush on him.” Derek did his best to laugh nervously. “I’m sure it’s fine,” said Coach. Derek tried to laugh again but made only a strange yelp that Coach didn’t seem to hear.
A few minutes later they pulled up to an event venue. There were a few cars, although it certainly did not look like there was an event, or if there had been one it had ended. Once parked, Coach looked at his phone. “Okay, he says it’s winding down. Oh damn… do you mind if I leave you alone for a second? He says I should come chat first.”
“Wait in the car?” Asked Derek.
“Oh, sorry. There’s back room I can stuff — sorry! Put you in! It’s an old club building.”
“Okay, Coach.” Derek thought for a moment. “Is anyone going to see me?”
“It should be fine.”
Derek got out of the car, still unused to his new relationship to gravity. He walked slowly behind Coach, who held a back door open for him and led him down to a small side office where there was an old desk and some boxes and was otherwise used as storage for things that did not fit elsewhere. Derek sat down on a bench against a wall.
“I’ll be back ASAP.” Derek watched Coach disappear down the hall, seeing a light brighten the hallway and then dim as he open and shut the door to what Derek supposed was the main hall.
Derek guessed that he had been alone for 15 minutes when he heard the voice of rambunctious young men coming down the hallway, from the same door he had entered. Before he knew it, the door was open and school athletes, all known to Derek burst in.
“—and so we were three miles into the trail and he realizes, oh hello! Sorry didn’t see you there” Said the tallest of the group, a 6’6” rugby player named Steven. Shorter than him, but still towering, was Carter, a member of the school swim team. Below them was a 5’10 rower named Adam, in an almost humorous contrast, was a soccer player of 5’5” named Lucas. All were outfitted like waiters.
Derek felt that he was in a nightmare. The fit, toned, disciplined bodies stood out so sharply in his mind as he felt his larger body appear to go on fire. He struggled to say, “Oh, no worries….” When Lucas went suddenly, “Wait…is that you Derek….”
Derek gulped his, “Yeah!”
“Dude, we heard you quit the team,” said Adam. “Everyone was so bummed about it.”
“Looks like you’ve been eating well,” said Steven, walking up and poking Derek’s distended belly. “Fuck dude. Look at this thing.”
Carter, whose voice was noticeably deep and silky, said quietly, “He looks just fine.”
“Oh, no, judgment,” said Steven. “You’re carrying it well. Come feel this Adam!” As if all were normal, Adam came over put his two hands on Derek’s gut and gave it a quick shake. “Mmmm…beefy. Lucas, come see this.”
Before he knew it, Derek had three athletes inspecting his body. Although his embarrassment had been able to keep a lid on his arousal, he could feel himself getting hard. Thankfully, Carter said, “Are we doing this or not?”
“Oh yeah…well I think Derek should join us,” said Lucas.
“Yeah, it’ll level up the challenge,” said Adam.
“Do what now?” Asked Derek, his voice now constantly underlined with a quiet panic.
“Oh we’re gonna do a wing contest. We catered this event and there’s a bunch of leftover wings. Then probably go out?” The other men nodded.
“A wing eating…no, I can’t I…”
Carter, who had not approached Derek yet walked over, leaned down, look into his eyes and said, “C’mon, Derek. You should put this to good use.” Carter pressed his hand into Derek’s gut. “Pick him up guys. He’ll come.”
Derek had spent so much effort repressing his arousal that he was lifted up almost without resistance by the four jocks. He acceded as they drove him down the hall into the main banquet room. The hall was empty except for what appeared to be many steam tables and all the other elements typical to a buffet. At the table were four plates of wings. “I’ll go get a fifth,” said Lucas, as the three other athletes seemed to force Derek into his chair.
Derek looked at the wings for about a minute when he looked up and realized he did not see Lucas in the room. “Where did he go?”
“Let’s start,” said Steven. “He’s not gonna win anyway.”
“Let’s eat,” said Carter.
“Wait why is the —,” Derek was about to ask, realizing the hall looked as if they had arrived after a party but at the start.
“I said, ‘Eat,’” and before Derek cold say anything else, Carter’s hand brought two chicken wings to Derek’s mouth. Like clockwork, his mouth opened mechanically to chew them, only Derek had to work around the bone. As Derek pulled them out of his mouth to attack them properly, he felt a surge of a feeling from the pits of stomach. He began to work as fast as he could, eating the bones clean and grabbing the next.
He did not notice that neither Adam, Carter, Lucas or Steven was eating. He barely registered that when he had eaten all four plates of wings, that they had brought him a chaffing dish filled with buttery mashed potatoes, which he finished in its entirety. He welcomed almost unconsciously the spigot that allowed him to glug down beer between each dish. That blissful disconnect that wanted to just chew and swallow and fill the small knot of bottomless pit that seemed to be at the center of his stomach filled his entire mind. He was barely thinking.
And the boys kept bringing dish after dish. And Derek barely noticed how his stomach was continuing to stretch out as it had done, only barely could he feel the table being pushed away, the sides of his stomach bowing out pushing over his fattened thighs. And sometimes, for a brief second, his stomach would feel tight for a moment, but then suddenly give, allowing room for more. And sometimes, he could feel someone rubbing his stomach, and hear, “What the fuck man, he just keeps eating…”
Derek had no idea how long he had been eating, when suddenly the first little pang arrived, around the time when he had reached his limit at the Chinese restaurant. The little “agh!” It produced made him realize that was no longer in a chair, and, in fact, he had been rolled onto his stomach and he was eating from a makeshift table meant to match the height his head was kept at by his protruding belly. His legs hung down towards the floor, and his hand were filled with what looked to be lasagna. He almost dropped the lasagna but as he stared at it, his mind kicked in again. He did not realize his sweatshirt had been cut to give him room in the back and that his ass had split his sweatpants.
As Derek continued eating, the pangs grew sharper and sharper. Now, with his stomach’s new surface area, being pushed in by the floor beneath it, the pain felt sharper and bigger, and it determined him all the more to try and keep ahead of it by eating. He felt was barely chewing, and he heard himself shout out beer, wishing to keep his mouth occupied the easiest way possible. He felt the little spigot in his mouth; he could not tell how long it was in his mouth. Except that when suddenly his stomach appeared to hit capacity, he yelped like a wounded animal, sending the spigot out his mouth and noticed a distinct sloshing sensation within.
“AAAGGGGGHH! IT HURTS SO BAD!” He shouted as he lifted at his head to see who he was crying to. The shock of what he saw was enough to snap him entirely out of his trance. Surrounding his enlarged, growing body was Coach, the four athletes who had brought him into the room, Ralph, Medhi, Ray and the blond man from the Chinese restaurant. There was also the school nurse who had given him his vaccine.
Coach turned to the nurse and asked, nonchalantly, “Think it’s working, professor?”
The professor nodded. “Even better than expected.”
For sure! It’s just an open ended series so I don’t have any end point and not the same momentum with a story that would have clear end. I know the next one I will write will be.
When Derek came to, he found himself back in his apartment. He blinked, still very disoriented, not remembering how he had gotten home. He had a clear memory of repeating his performance at the Mexican restaurant, and he realized that his gut still felt like a boulder in his body. Reaching his hands down, he was met with a round ball that had still some ways to digest from the night before. He was unable to even get his hands around it. He was also met with a surprising softness as his hand pressed to his stomach. Shocked and terrified, he shook the mass, which, while still held in place by the contents of his stomach, was now undoubted covered in a hefty layer of flab. Derek screamed and threw himself out of bed. Unfortunately, unused to his new size, he fell to the ground, feeling his two new side flanks jiggling before they settled.
The young man pulled himself up. He was entirely naked, and he walked over to the mirror, feeling his thighs rub together in a way they never had before. Seeing himself in the mirror, he could only bring himself to say, “Holy fuck” as his hands went over various parts of his body, pushing into the fat as if it could be returned to where it had come from.
His face was chubby, forming a clear little double chin, and his sharp jawline was nowhere to be seen. It gave him a youthful edge. His ass jutted out, with two large cheeks to complement his stomach, which looked like a pregnant beer gut. He had the start of two not especially prominent but distinct moons that rested on his belly, and his thighs and calves had blown up a bit as well.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck,” he thought to himself. “What happening to me?” Panicked, he knew he needed to get help. But as he went to grab a shirt, he realized he didn’t have any clothes that would fit. He was trapped in his apartment, unless he wanted to walk the streets in an underwear and a shirt riding up his belly.
He started sobbing to himself. After a few minutes he realized he would have to ask someone to bring him clothes. Perhaps, Coach or more likely Peter.
He sobbed again. He couldn’t bear the thought of Peter seeing him like this.
He paced around the apartment hopelessly, occasionally bumping into things, each time cursing new size. What was wrong with him? How was this even possible? As he sat down at the little table, he realized there was a paper bag. Looking inside he found some typical take out containers. “God damn it,” he thought, “I’m never eating again.”
He picked up the bag, ready to hurl it violently towards the garbage can in the kitchen, but as his mind lingered on food, it reminded Derek what an escape it was, how he felt blissfully outside of himself when he was eating. Wanting nothing more to escape the hell in which he was finding himself, he tore open the bag, opened one of the containers and shoved a handful of its contents into his mouth.
Like clockwork, his mind slipped into that strange space. And soon, he had consumed all four containers of food, and, his naked body dripping with sauce, went to his pantry to devour anything he could find there.
As he worked his way through a dry box of cereal, some old tortilla chips, the bottom of a bag of sugar, he surrendered himself to that bliss brought on by the mechanical sensation of chewing and swallowing and repeating. Somewhere, he even felt grateful that his stomach appeared to no longer have any limits, and he would never ever have to stop.
He had finished the loaf of bread, the gallon of milk in the fridge and had bitten into half a stick of butter when he heard a voice behind him. “Derek?”
Derek, chewing steadily on the stick of butter, holding the other half in his hand, turned to see Peter. He had clearly been out for a run and was wearing shorts that seemed to accentuate every one of his bulges. He shirt was slung over his shoulder, and his muscles glistened with sweat and he carried an air of rough, youthful masculinity.
“Peter!” Cried Derek, horrified, his mouth still working through the butter. “I—, I —,"
“Are you okay? Coach said he knew that you were out last night. I texted but I didn’t hear back from you.”
“I—,”
“I see someone had a little bit of a binge,” said Peter looking around the room and the various foodstuff wrappers on the kitchen floor and around Derek’s feet.
“I—“
“You’ve really been putting it away lately,” said Peter. He smiled. “Is that where that came from?” He asked pointing to Derek’s gut.
With a bit of sob, Derek let loose and explained that he had been eating in a way that he didn’t know people could eat. He explained all that he could remember about the night before was that he couldn’t stop eating, like at Las Alas. He had woken up like this, having gone from trim and athletic to obese in a single day.
Peter did not seem shocked. He only nodded, commenting that Derek shouldn’t be surprised if he gained weight when he was eating like that. Peter said he had a friend that struggled with emotional eating. “Are you sure your okay?”
“This is not emotional eating!” Shouted Derek. Peter seemed taken a bit aback, which prompted Derek immediately to apologize. “I just…I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
Peter smiled compassionately. “Well, how about we get you cleaned up and something to wear and see what we can figure out.” Peter pulled out a chair at the table. “Come sit here.” Derek took the seat, as Peter wet a cloth at the sink and came over and began to go over Derek’s face. “Oh, may as well finish that,” he said, taking the other half of the stick of butter that Derek had not realized he was still holding. Peter plopped it into Derek’s mouth and continued to wipe Derek’s face.
“Here, I’ll go get you a towel, and you just wipe yourself down while I go get you some clothes.” He put his hand along Derek’s head and stroked him with his thumb. “You’re gonna be okay.” He leaned back up, looked around, and seeing a package of cookies on the refrigerator, went to grab them and bring them back to Derek. “If you feel the urge to snack, just eat these and try not to feel guilty,” he said, with apparent concern. “A shame spiral will just make you binge more.”
Derek couldn’t bring himself to say a word, watching the man of his lovesick, aching, frightened and humiliated heart walk casually out of his apartment, sashaying almost. He found that he nibbling on the cookies did make him feel better. It emptied his mind, and he simply let his eyes wander about his apartment, trying not to look at his body. As he slipped away as he chewed, he didn’t think so much about his body, noticing really only that he took up more space. And space was fine.
He was at the end of the box when he heard Peter come back in. He was carrying a few different grey sweatpants and sweatshirts, the school logo showing on each. He explained he went to the student store and had guessed at the sizes. “I figured we should go larger.,” he said and then chuckled. “Maybe you’ll need some room to grow.”
Derek turned red and as Peter waited for him to respond, he felt suddenly that could so clearly see his new naked blob of a self next to this young Adonis, and feeling self-conscious and with Peter’s crack that maybe he would get worse, he started crying again.
“Oh, hey man, I just…” Peter dropped the clothes and ran over to Derek. Peter kneeled and stroked Derek’s face again. “It was just a joke. I’m sorry.”
And, as if to further stress his point, he put his hand against Derek’s ball belly, and rubbed it gently but with firm pressure. “This is all gonna be okay.”
The sensation made Derek gasp, and before the horror of knowing what was coming next could register, he felt an intense wave of pleasure, magnified in his now larger form, wash through him. He gasped, orgasmed, only to watch an intense spray of cum wash over Peter. It was all over his chest, face and hair, and Peter had to wipe it away, without much success, with his forearm.
“Jesus,” said Peter, getting up. “Jesus.”
Derek tried to explain. But Peter would not even look at him. He watched as his friend shook his head and slowly exit the apartment. He didn’t even stay to wipe himself clean.
Derek spent the next hour blubbering to himself, relieved to find a second bag of Chinese that he had not noticed by the door earlier. All he wanted to do was never eat again and also to never stop. As he finished, he realized he could shower and maybe get some food at the store or order delivery. It was then that he saw he had a text from Coach. “You OK?”
Derek texted back. “Coach, something’s wrong with me. I need help.”
Ralph chatted lightly with Derek as they waited for the first round of food to come out. The young man found it slightly difficult to focus. Ralph had silently instructed Medhi to keep Derek’s plate full with appetizers, and as Derek brought food to his mouth, his brain would jump from whatever Ralph was saying to the food being brought to this mouth. From time to time, Derek would shake his head trying to regain his concentration but without much success.
In his few seconds of lucidity, the sensation that his clothes were tightening also was becoming tighter, prompting him to scream inside his head, “What is happening to me?!” Which he would forget instantly his mind focused on the food he was about to consume. However, even in his state, Derek could tell the food was taking longer than what felt should be usual. And as he picked up his beer after cleaning his plate, he looked out at the table and realized all the appetizer plates had an almost licked-clean look to them. And he looked down at his stomach and it dawned on him that much of them were now inside stomach, which was rounding out the white dress shirt he wore.
He had intended to only take one swig of his beer, but after what felt like a few moments of that recurring sensation, he put his beer down and heard the clank of an empty glass. All three men were looking at him, grinning.
“Spice got you thirsty?” Asked Ralph.
“I…uh…it’s…” Derek stuttered. He felt as if he had walked into a room naked.
“He can handle it,” said coach, smiling widely. “Just getting used to it.”
Suddenly within reach, the blond man placed down a full pitcher of beer and from another refilled Derek’s glass and topped off Ralph and Coach. Derek blurt out suddenly, “I can’t drink all that” soliciting a hearty laugh from his dining companions.
“I think it’s for the table,” said Mehdi, who patted Derek’s thigh under the table. Derek looked at him, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just meant…I…I don’t want to seem…”
Ralph chimed in. “You’re nervous, Derek. Don’t be. You know, let me tell you about my first interview for an exec position…” Ralph launched into an amusing anecdote, and although Derek caught almost the first minute of how Ralph, paranoid, had brought two suits with him just in case but he should have brought three because that day…he found himself seeking out his beer and started slowly sipping it. His mind immediately forgot his embarrassment, and he abandoned himself to the relief of being aware of nothing of the cool stream of beer flowing into a gut that felt vast and waiting. As he sipped, the sips became swallows, the swallow turned to chugging and before Ralph had finished he had finished his beer, and before he could realize what he had done, there was suddenly the blond man and Ray coming in with the first round of food.
Derek could not believe the amount of food he saw. It was as if they had twice as many people at the table. The lazy Susan filled up so quickly that the blond man was forced to put a plate of noodles, piled quite high Derek thought, in front of him, and some others in front of the others.
Mehdi turned the table and generously served himself what Derek took to be a vegetable dish. Ralph and Coach served themselves, and Derek stood frozen for a second, unsure of what to do.
“Derek, just take a bite of those noodles,” said Coach. “It’s a house specialty. Spiciest thing they got. See if you like it.”
Derek lifted up his chopsticks and bit into the noodles. While they were delicious, they did not seem so spicy. He enjoyed the chewing, and for that alone was going to get more, when suddenly, as was picking up his chopsticks a second time, an intense sensation of burning numbness flooded his mouth. Derek had never felt anything like it. He audibly yelped, making the three other men look up, but he did not notice them. He wanted to get rid of the pain, but he could also feel the dopamine rush and, compounded with that sense of escape, he wanted it to never end.
He dropped his chopsticks, grabbed his beer, chugged it, loving the intense contrast between the cool liquid and the burning, numbing sensation that covered his entire jaw. He did not even think to wonder who had refilled it. With a darting motion, he picked up his chopsticks and shoveled in some more noodles.
Something about the bite was too small; so Derek took his hand, grabbed a handful of noodles and shoved them into his jaw, as wide open as he could. For a brief second, as he saw the other men look at him, expressionless, a little voice in his head cried out, “What the fuck am I doing?”
For a while, Derek lost all sense of time. The burning sensation did not subside and it was all he could do to keep it going while also trying to escape it. As he devoured plate after plate, put in front of him as the men talked amongst each other, it was all he could do to occasionally wonder what was wrong with him. At one point, finding his beer glass empty, he picked up the pitcher (which seemed always full) and slugged the whole thing down.
He did not notice when his stomach burst through his shirt, ruined and covered in food, and he did not notice that his gut was pressing into his belt so fiercely it would leave a bruise, or that his ass was testing the seams of his pants, and that the rounding of his features was giving him a sort of boyish air.
Although Derek could not realize it, it was around the point where he had eaten the equivalent of what he had eaten at Las Alas that afternoon where he started to feel that sharp pain in his stomach. The pain was just sharp enough to draw him out of his trance; he noticed that all three men seemed not to be noticing, chatting casually amongst themselves, as the blond man in the back tinkered with the steam trays, which had been turned on and from the smells of various foods emanated. The table was still piled high with dishes, as if nobody, had eaten.
Derek look at his hands and down at his food-covered shirt and saw that his gut, now covered in a substantial layer of flab was rounding out, bowing out, having broken through the buttons. Before he could shout from surprise, he realized how hard his gut was pushing into his belt, and he raced to undo it. “What the fuck is happening to me?!” He shouted but the only reaction he got was a head turn from the blond man.
Then suddenly he felt the sharp pain in his stomach again. It was intolerable, and, as if his body knew the only way to escape the pain was to keep eating, he dived into the full plate of food that had found its way in front of him.
As he ate, his stomach pushed outward, taking on the proportions of an inflating exercise ball. As he ate, he noticed distantly that it was the blond man who kept food in front of him, and that Ray, the owner of the restaurant, had taken a seat next to coach, joining the men in conversation. Nobody seemed to notice him.
When he saw that the pitcher of beer was empty, he looked around for something to drink, which is when he felt the blond man put a keg pump to his mouth. “What the…” was all Derek could think before he started drinking the wonderfully cool, sweet beer. The steady glug, glug, glug carried high above the pains of his stomach, which at each step was further stretched to its limits.
At one point, Derek’s stomach had ballooned so large that it impeded him reaching food. Barely able to coordinate his movements, he let the men help him down from his chair and put him against a wall so he could sit up. The blond man brought Derek food, which he ate, until finally, as had happened that afternoon, the pain from his expanding stomach was too much, and he let out a cry of pure pain.
Although he had plumped up since the afternoon, he cut a surreal figure as his stomach seemed to dwarf him, round and coming higher than his head as it sat against the floor, a kind mutant monstrosity, smooth, taut but for the soft layer of fat that had retained its bit of give. His arms could barely reach around it and his legs were split as far apart as they could go. His clothes were in tatters, covered in food. He continued to moan, as if injured.
Then suddenly, he felt someone rub his stomach. It brought such relief to the spot, even in the intense pain, and it reminded him of Peter, who he wished was there to do the same. Instantly, he felt the intense shudder and pleasure of an orgasm.
He blacked out shortly after he could make out Raymond saying, “I’ll bring you the check.”
It took Derek, unsure of how to coordinate his new shape, into the front seat. Coach made no remark about the noticeable change he had undergone in the course of a single day. Derek wondered at his discretion but also was glad that he could ignore the troubling situation.
The only time the subject was broached was when Coach asked what Derek had been up to that day. Derek, perhaps still somewhat dazed from earlier, answered honestly about the burrito challenge. His response elicited a hearty scoff from Coach.
“You jackasses,” he muttered. “Feeling a little bloated there?”
“A little,” said Derek, bracing for more comments.
“You can do that at your age. It comes right off,” said Coach and that was all. Coach proceeded to talk about the upcoming season and some of the new recruits and how he thought that would do this season. As he listened, Derek realized that while his stomach seemed slightly in retreat, his clothes were feeling tight elsewhere. He felt it especially in his thighs and ass, but also in his sleeves.
Coach pulled into the Heavenly Palace. The building had the vintage decor of an American style Chinese restaurant, and for many years, it had been a nicer restaurant offering lunch buffet and dinner. In the last few years, a young member of the family had taken it over and redone the dinner menu, turning the evening menu into a profoundly more authentic representation of Chinese cuisine. Smartly, he had kept the lunch buffet, meaning the restaurant could rely on a steady number of college students in the afternoon hours.
They got out of the car, Derek still a little unsteady, and walked into the restaurant. Rather than going to the hostess stand, Coach went directly up to a man on the phone and tapped him on his shoulder. The man quickly ended his phone call and turned around. He was younger (but certainly older than Derek), quite fit, and walked over to Derek with Coach.
“Good evening,” he said, “welcome to Heavenly Palace. I am Ray, and I’ll be your server this evening. Please follow me to your table.”
Coach explained to Derek that they would be in one of the private dining rooms in the back. “You’re in for one of the best meals of your life.”
Ray asked if Derek had ever had authentic Chinese food. Derek said he didn’t know exactly what that meant. “Well, I think you’ll find you’re in for quite a treat. Do you like spicy food?”
“The spicier the better,” answered Derek, reluctantly, only because the thought of food was putting him off.
“Excellent.” Ray led them to a large room, where around a round table with a lazy Susan sat two men, one evidently very tall and bullish looking man, and a stern looking, scruffy man who looked like a bodybuilder. In the corner was a blond, tall, bespectacled stick of a man in a waiter’s uniform. Ray said something to the blond man in Mandarin, and the man walked out of the room. The room was absurdly large for a meant to hold maybe 6 people. On one end of it was a steam table.
“Jerry! It’s been to long.” The man sat up and shook Coach’s hand. From his tone alone, one could tell he was a man who liked to talk. “And you must be Derek? I’m Ralph Dalton, I’m an old friend of your coach’s.Pleased to meet you,” Derek took his hand and shook it. He sat down and pointed to the other man: “This is Mehdi. He’s my assistant.”
“Hello,” said Mehdi. He had a deep voice and seemed less gregarious than his boss. However, he smiled at Derek and looked him right in the eyes, Derek couldn’t help but feel attracted to him.
For the benefit of Derek, Ray launched into an explanation of the restaurant’s offerings, that the meal would be family style, and teasingly wondered if he needed training chopsticks. The young blond man brought in what Derek made out to be appetizers. Derek recognized none of them but noted that Ralph Dalton did not hesitate to dive in. “We’re gonna need another round of these, Ray” he said, interrupting, a little rudely Derek thought, Ray’s mini-lecture.
“Of course,” said Ray, smiling, unbothered by the interruption. Seeming to forget his explanation, he asked what everyone would be drinking, and again, Ralph said “Beers for us three…he gestured to himself, Coach and Derek…you having beer, princess?” Mehdi ignored the crack and politely ordered a chardonnay.
Nervous to even start evening, Derek hesitated to put anything on his plate, while the others helped themselves. Ralph noticed and said, “C’mon now, don’t be a wuss. Mehdi, serve Derek him some food.” Mehdi grabbed Derek’s plate and generously served a little of each dish, making what would be half a dinner plate. “That’s too much,” said Derek, meekly, but Mehdi patted him on the thigh. “There’s plenty more coming,” he said, flashing a reassuring smile at Derek. Derek looked to Coach who nodded at him, as if to tell him to accept.
Derek grabbed his chopsticks and bit into cold chicken, finding the flavor novel and tasty. He worked his way through the cold beef and jelly noodles and bamboo shoots. He reached for the small bowl of tea but nearly burned his hand grabbing it. With fortuitous timing, the blond waiter appeared beside him and placed on the table a large bottle of beer, which Derek picked up to take a few cooling gulps. He made an ooof sound as he put the beer down.
“You like?” Asked Ralph.
Derek smiled. “It’s really good.”
“Not too spicy?”
“It’s…different…” said Derek. After his binge that afternoon, he felt reassured that he did not feel that strange fugue state arising. A second round of appetizer came, and this time no one had to tell Derek to serve himself. And, however, normally he was eating, he had a strange feeling all over. He felt the fabric of his clothes clinging to him more, as if his clothes had shrunk. He realized it was fat from his large meal from the afternoon depositing over his body. He grew suddenly anxious and self-conscious about the food entering his mouth. He put his chopsticks down and sat back. But, a few instants later, he had to take a swig of beer because he could feel the lingering effects of the chili and Sichuan pepper. And as he swigged, he could not help but remember what it felt like to be in the trance that afternoon, where the mechanic rhythm of depositing food into his mouth, chewing and swallowing seemed to take him out of his discomfort and into the easy bliss of sensation.
As he put his beer down, he heard Ray ask if they were ready to order. “Yes! Let’s get this started gentleman," said Ralph enthusiastically, Medhi and Coach lifting their menus to remind them of their choices.
Derek, almost reflexively, picked up a piece of beef with his hand and chewed. As he focused on the movements of his jaw, he felt a slight relief, and, lingering there, did not hear a word of what Ralph ordered, notice how his belt was starting to dig intolerably into his gut, and his slowly expanding ass begin to terminally strain the fabric of the seat of his pants.
It had taken four pitchers of beer slowly sipped for Derek to overcome the pain from his stomach to move. While this served to only further inflate him, the gradual approach to come down. When he left the restaurant, his stomach remained taut, but it was no longer red from physical stress. He cut an absurd figure, looking like someone had sighed a flesh colored ball to a human figure, his gait made awkward from having to balance out his stomach’s new size. One could still make out the lines of abdominals, a feature which jarred with the immensity of his stomach. However, he was too stupefied to notice the stares his stomach drew as Peter led him out of the restaurant.
The first thing he did when he got to the car was lower the seat back. He moaned in relief, almost in tears, contemplating that in his gut was sitting some 25 pounds of food. Peter sat in the driver's seat, waiting to start the car.
“What time is it?”
“3:30.”
Derek thought ahead to the dinner, wishing he had said no to Peter.
“I need to just lie down.”
“Taking you straight home, champ.” Peter started the car and whistled tunelessly. “Maybe you could go into competitive eating.”
“What the fuck was that? Something’s really fucked up.”
Peter shrugged. “Hey, maybe you just have a Ripley’s believe it or not thing going on…a black hole stomach. If you can do that, you can basically eat at Las Alas for free every time.”
“I just…my mind…” Derek started wishing to explain but even the thought of trying to describe his experience seemed to stir up whatever that feeling was, clashing with his current revulsion at ever eating anything ever again. He convulsed and, made a strange, constrained coughing sound and did not finish.
They did not speak much on the rest of the drive home. Peter let Derek moan and occasionally gave a kind, “There, there…you’ll feel better soon…” As they pulled up to the little building where Derek had his studio apartment, Peter helped him get out of the car and into bed and drew the shades. Derek had him give him his phone and set an alarm for 7 PM. Just before he covered Derek in the light sheet, Peter placed his hand on Derek’s swollen stomach and rubbed it firmly.
Derek made a strange gulp and jerked in bed. The gentle massage seemed to suddenly take off the pressure off his stomach and his body felt a wave of relief and pleasure. Derek let out a moan, and when Peter lifted his hand, all he wished to do was ask him to keep rubbing his gut for relief. He realized he was hard and, although he still felt very numb to any sensations other than the pressure in his gut and need to sleep, he could faintly detect he was about to come.
“Oh, sorry,” said Peter. “Probably shouldn’t do that.”
For a brief second, Derek’s need to suppress his urge to ask Peter to continue was more painful than anything in his physical state. Mournfully, tortured, and sexually aroused and unsatisfied, he heard Peter say, “Good job out there, champ!” And shut the door behind him.
He fell asleep and was awaked by the sound of his phone alarm at 7 PM. Being summer, it was still relatively light outside. He noticed he felt more clear-headed. It was then that he noticed the sphere jutting out of his midsection. “HOLY FUCK!” He cried, running his hands over the spherical object. It was significantly smaller than when he had left the restaurant, but still made a clear pot belly. He also noticed that his abs, which had been there when he left the restaurant, were now hidden under a pinchable layer of fat. In fact, he noticed that his whole body seemed to have taken on a little layer, including his face, giving him a slightly cherubic appearance.
He shook his belly and stared at himself in the mirror, cursing that he should feel so much better and now so much worse. When he looked at his phone, he saw a message from coach: “Forgot to say suit and tie tonight.”
If he had looked ridiculous at the restaurant, his attempt to put on a suit were more laughable. He could keep the pants below his swollen gut, he could make the belt fit, although it pressed into his gut, but the shirt would not fit around his gut.
But Derek realized that among the four dress shirts he had for formal dinners and occasions, one was bigger than the others. There had been a night for a teammate’s steakhouse dinner birthday that two of the guys, two drunk to get him, had crashed with him. He gave it a try and his gut pressed enough to the edge that an inch or two more would start to separate the fabric on each side of the buttons. I just can’t get any bigger tonight, he thought to himself, before he realized it was an insane thought. How the fuck could I even get any bigger?
He had always been able to pack it away. Maybe it was Peter being there, maybe it was his sexuality working itself out after years of so much repression. He’d be running and eating normally if not tomorrow, by the day after, he reassured himself.
He took off his suit to steam it and looked at his naked figure in the tall mirror on his wall. He shook his head, jiggled his gut, still firm, and said, “Fuck, man.” And then suddenly the moment when Peter rubbed it shot into his mind, and he felt a wave pass through him and as if into his groin. He came immediately, soaking his boxers in one of the most copious loads he had ever produced.
For a restaurant popular amongst college students, Las Alas offered food of good quality and generous portions. There was a large patio area, used in summer as a dance floor and an outdoor bar. The restaurant was busy, if not as packed as it could have been, and Peter and Derek were able to secure a restaurant in a shaded corner that made it feel a little more private. They had a their number on the table, chips, guac, and a pitcher of beer.
“Do you think we needed the chips?” Asked Derek, taking one despite himself. “We’re about to eat a five pound burrito.”
Peter shrugged. “I like chips and guac.” He dipped a chip and put it in his mouth. “Hmmm…Did they change the recipe?” He ran another chip generously through the guac and, leaning over, held it up to Derek’s mouth. “Try this.” Derek opened his mouth and Peter pushed the chip in his mouth, although there was too much guacamole on the chip and he got a good bit of it on Derek’s mouth. Derek, chewing what he had been offered, instantly felt Peter grab his mouth and rub the guac off. “In we go,” he said as he shoved his guac covered thumb into Derek’s mouth. Derek’s felt a flutter in his body, but as he looked at Peter, his friend just stared at him and asked, “This is different, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s the same…” said Derek, who had barely noticed the flavor of the guacamole, but suspected that he would not have noticed the difference.
“Okay, gentleman, welcome to our five pound burrito challenge. Have you done this before?” Asked the waitress placing two plates and a timer on the table.
“We both have,” answered Peter, flashing his most charming smile at the waitress.
“And you remember the rules?”
“If we eat it all in 45 minutes, the burrito is free?”
“Exactly that.”
“We have our work cut out for us,” said Peter. “Last time,” he explained to here, “Derek finished more it than I could. But I think I’ll win this time.”
“You didn’t even come close,” Derek said, feeling his competitive side kick in.
“We have a little side bet, whoever eats more has their meal paid for.”
Derek took a deep breath: bring it on, bro, he thought in his head. He was surprised how nice it felt to getting geared up for something. Maybe Peter had known this would be just the thing for him. He saw that Peter was grinning widely at him, and he regretted having almost cut him off.
“Can I get you anything else?” Asked the waitress. The boys shook their head.“Ready?” She set the timer for 45 minutes, quickly, and without much interest, knowing that most would not make the finish line.
Peter and Derek got out their silverware and did not even exchange looks as they dived into the burrito once the waitress said, “Go!” Derek ate quickly, devouring the meaty monstrosity as fast as he could, chewing minimally as possible. He occasionally looked over at Peter, who was eating quickly but in much smaller bites.
At around 15 minutes, Peter was slowing down. “Dude, I think I gotta take a minute. That was a lot all at once.” He had eaten less than Derek and, per his estimate, about the amount of larger but usual burrito.
“This is gonna be the easiest free meal,” replied Derek. Although, as he said it, it occurred to him that he was getting ahead of himself. He, too, felt the weight of the burrito. His stomach felt full and was starting to reach its limits. But he kept moving at a steady pace. At his estimate, he figured he would probably also be stopping around 20 minutes.
When 20 minutes came, a surge of pride came on him, and he made a point of taking an especially large bite. As he swallowed, he felt the first sense of real discomfort in his stomach, having clearly hit a point his stomach could not easily adjust for. His eyes bugged out for a second, and Peter, who was “resting” to try and get over the “wall,” laughed. “You’re killin’ it champ. Don’t stop.”
Derek took a few more bites and suddenly felt another searing pain; it was intense, almost like experiencing a tear, and made him jerk up in his chair; he was about to cry out but almost instantaneously, as he chewed, a strange sensation came over him. He had never felt anything like it. It was a relaxing sensation, a sort of ease in his body, that enveloped him. Somehow, even though he was very aware that the pain was very much there, this heady trance allowed him to ignore it. He then noticed that all was really aware of was rhythm of his chewing and the shoveling of food into his mouth. In fact, they had become rather rhythmic themselves. Push in, chew, swallow. Push in, chew, swallow. Push in, chew swallow.
I’m so full, he thought a minute or so later, as he ate some chicken drowned in salsa roja. Without perturbing his rythm, he looked down at his stomach, which was clearly distended, bowing out and taut; Shocked on level, he thought to himself : I should stop, I need to rest. But he could not quite tear himself away from that strange Zen feeling that came out of filling his mouth and chewing.
As he continued eating, he could swear he felt another horrible pang come from his overextended stomach. But unlike the first one, he scarcely registered it. It felt tiny, like the pinch of a small vaccine, even smaller than the jab he had earlier that day. And it was happening all over his stomach.
“Get it, Derek!” He heard Peter cheer in the background. His friend sounded distant, but also not; his voice sounded like someone sitting next to him. But Derek didn’t need the encouragement he could not bring himself to stop.
Derek bit into a jalapeño; he coughed strangely (or, quite simply, he was unable to pull in his stomach), and to alleviate the spice, he grabbed his beer and took what he meant to be a quick swig.
He was suddenly very aware of the cool feeling of the liquid running down his throat, and in the same way his attention had been fixated on the steady rhythm of shoveling, chewing and swallowing, he could only concentrate on the liquid moving steadily down his throat, further drowning out the pain of his stomach. Each glug registered gently inside his awareness, helping to drown out the stomach pain that each gulp was simultaneously exacerbating. Within a minute, he had downed the whole pint glass, and did not even notice that Peter pushed his full pint over, took Derek’s glass, and refilled it.
As he drank, he noticed more and more pangs from his stomach, until suddenly, he was sure it must have turned into a constant pain. He looked down once and was shocked to see the small beach ball his stomach had turned into, pushing out and tight, and blood red from physical stress.
“I’m so full,” he muttered, suddenly.
“Keep going, guy, you’re almost there.”
Derek looked down and saw that he had almost finished the burrito. As he debated finished, he felt a sudden pain and started eating again, not wanting to break his distracting focus, vaguely aware that, at this point, he could not just stop.
Within just a few minutes, he had finished the burrito and was scraping his plate. Finding only sauce, he remembered his beer and downed it, and then, still in need of relief, downed the second one Peter had filled. He wanted to stay in his trance and also not reckon with the pain its end would bring. He could feel his stomach jutting out and swear that he could feel it creeping onto his lap.
In the time it took him finish the second beer, Peter had slipped his own burrito under Derek. Derek was almost giddy to put down his silverware and find more food. To have to break his concentration would be intolerable. Somewhere in his mind, he was screaming, “What the fuck is going on?!” But with every bite his mind and body realized it had to stay in the trance it was in, because every bite was contributing to the pain in his stomach.
He could not find the words to express how he made such quick work of the second burrito. It vanished in a fraction of the time of the first. He was conscious only of the mechanic rhythm of his eating. He also settled into the warm, enveloping feeding it brought him and with each passing moment was drawn further and further in to it.
He felt his fork hit hard plate, and Peter said, “Dude you finished both of them with five minutes to spare!” Despairingly, but confused, Derek looked down at his stomach, which resembled a cartoon, bowing out on the sides and round as an exercise ball, his shirt riding up almost to his chest, revealing a inny belly button that had effectively become an outtie.
Derek looked pleadingly at Peter, who was smiling. Afraid to stop, he grabbed a handful of chips and jammed them in his mouth.
“Hey, you’re missing the best part,” Peter said, and he took his spoon and pushed a huge scoop towards Derek’s mouth. Derek could not help but the offering in, his gut screaming to be no further filled, his mind unable to acquiesce. However, in the wake of this offering, he felt a pang from his stomach that seemed to signal that even this strange state of consciousness, the pain was going to break through if he continued. This has to stop, thought Derek. He placed his hand on his distended stomach. But I can’t stop.
Peter had refilled both beer glasses as Derek had been eating, and with the totality of his willpower, Derek picked up the beer and rather than chugging it, sipped as slowly as he could; it was just enough to sustain his the strange trance while letting his stomach process whatever had just happened to it.
“I need to….*BURP*… just…oh god….sit a minute.” The pangs were stronger now but Derek felt that sipping the beer was helping. “What’s happening to me?"
Peter sat, just smiling at his friend. “That was fucking amazing! Peter poked Derek “You look nine months pregnant!”
Derek moaned, unable to even clear his thoughts to respond. He did not even notice the inch or so his stomach suddenly jutted out, making room for the food he had so dutifully eaten.
NOTE : *This is stupidly slow start to the story but it is what it is. It’s based on/is a rewrite of a story “Binge” that I can’t find but remember reading. Other parts forthcoming when I can*
Derek had mixed feelings as he descended into the locker room. While not the star quarterback, he had enjoyed a great amount of support and effort on the part of his coaches and teammates and the reasons for his sudden decision to quit the team that summer had been difficult to spell out. His coach had been understanding, albeit disappointed, and his teammates had tried to discourage him. Further complicating the situation was Derek’s decision to go MIA after he had made his announcement. This included going a few weeks without speaking to Peter, the team’s true star, a young, handsome quarterback who had already made it clear that his was a career to keep an eye on. Coming back today would be the first time he had seen anyone. He imagined the situation might be awkward and his guilt for not having behaved properly.
Derek had finally had his first sexual encounter with another man. The meeting was anonymous—for him, shame-filled—but also liberating insofar as it was the first time he was able to act on his own desires. His whole life had been driven by outrunning how he felt, pleasing those around him, and externalizing any notion of success. The encounter had made him realize that, perhaps, things could be different. So he had knocked down the monument to the person he was pretending to be: the straight college jock. He had
Although, perhaps, football might not have had to go quite so suddenly if it had not also been for the fact he had to also admit he was in love with Peter, who as a sophomore had taken in a freshman Derek under his wing, encouraging him, supporting him, with a generosity that Derek had never experienced. And with a 21 year old’s lack of perspective, it seemed to him impossible to start living differently while pining heavily for someone he could never have.
He had been surprised of course when he got a message from Coach saying: “Cut the bullshit and come get vaxxed. Friday, 11:30.”
The university was requiring vaccines and boosters for the fall but had grossly botched the roll out of jabs for students. There was not enough supply, the appointment system specifically for vaccines had crashed multiple times, and it was suggested that the contract had been given specifically to high-ranking administrator’s relative. Coach Hull had decided to take matter’s into his own hands. Derek, in need of a shot and wanting to maybe start repairing ties, decided to take the gesture as a good sign and said he would be there.
As Derek came to the locker room, there was a folding table with a stack of papers, medical paraphernalia, a chair placed so as to facilitate a shot in the arm. Sitting at the table was a nice looking man that Derek took to be a nurse, dressed in scrubs. The man smiled at him and said, “And now you’re here.”
“I’m sorry, am I late? I was told 11:30.”
“You’re good, Derek.” Coach Hull appeared suddenly out of the hallway leading out to the field. “I gave you the wrong time. We started at 10:30.” He turned to the nurse. “Sorry about that.”
“Not to worry.” The man shuffled through the papers and pulled out a form. As Derek sat down, he asked a basic series of questions about vaccination reactions, allergies, and which arm Derek would prefer the shot. “Sign here,” he said, and Derek filled in his signature and date.
“Just a second,” said the man as he prepared the shot.
“They say I’m overpaid but those assholes can’t even handle the most basic of operations.”
“Yeah, it’s nuts,” said Derek.
“DEREK!” Out of the same hallway from which Coach appeared came Peter. He was shirtless and Derek, who had seen him naked many times before, nearly gasped, as if he was seeing his love for the first time. The young man’s pectorals and abs were beautifully sculpted and Derek realized he was hardening, as if finally admitting how he felt changed his ability to repress his reaction to seeing Peter even only partially undressed. He was sweating, holding his phone and some headphones strung around his neck. Derek guessed he must have been running.
“Coach said you’d be here.” He approached Derek and rubbed his head. “You disappeared on us.”
“Sorry,” said the nurse, gesturing for Peter to move. Peter stood back with Coach and the two looked at him, and as they stood there, their eyes fixed on him, Derek had the odd feeling of being purposefully observed.
“And you’ll just stay here for 15 minutes just to make sure you don’t have a reaction.” Derek nodded and a second later felt a pinch and that tight build up of pressure. It was not the worst shot he had ever had, but he definitely felt it. He noticed Coach and Peter were still watching him. He supposed that they must be surprised to be seeing him in the same old locker room in circumstances that would have been unthinkable a few months ago.
“And now we wait,” said the nurse, who began to organize his things to leave.
“I need to shower,” said Peter. “Don’t go before I get back!” He ordered Derek. Derek watch the young man as he headed to the showers. He turned his head to coach, who was still staring at him.
“You still interested in broadcasting or are you over sports in general?”
Over the last few years, Derek had often talked about his wish to go into sports media. Coach had always been encouraging, although vague, wanting Derek to keep his focus on the field. However, since that was out the question now, maybe Coach was ready to shift focus.
“Well, tonight I have a friend in town whose a network exec, sports division. I think you should meet him.”
“We’re eating at 8, so I’ll come collect you at 7:20. You still at the same place on Pine?”
“Still there, coach.”
“He’s a busy man. We get a chance to get together only once or twice in town a year. But he’s a big fuckin’ deal. So you can’t back out. I was gonna suggest this to you awhile ago…but…” Coach’s voice dropped off.
Derek felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry, Coach.” The idea that his actions might have cost him a such a lucky opportunity. “I’ll definitely come tonight.
“He’s a really Type A, but if we can get you on his good side, I bet we can get you an internship. You’ve got time but no reason to not play the long game.”
The nurse cleared his throat. He said that it had been 15 minutes and Derek was free to go. Coach shook his hand, and he smiled widely at Derek as he left.
“That’s my cue as well,” Coach said, and then suddenly lowered his voice. “Also keep the dinner on the DL from Peter. It’s not so much about him, but I don’t like you idiots knowing what strings I’m pulling for who. And you know he’s a talker.”
Derek laughed. “Sure thing, Coach. See you tonight.”
A few minutes later, Peter reemerged, hair still wet, in shorts and a t-shirt that clung nicely to his v-shape. Derek noticed his shorts highlighted the beautiful curve of his ass and that they seemed to have a bit of a bulge in front. Derek hadn’t seen him wear that pair before and lamented that they seemed chosen just to torture him. Derek started getting hard.
Derek got up from the chair and stood up to talk to his friend. He braced for an emotional conversation, and as he locked eyes with Peter, he felt pulled back, and realized maybe it would have been worth staying on the team just to be near him. He also realized Peter was staring him back right in the eyes, as if looking into him. And that’s when Peter grinned widely and said, “You know, you owe me a rematch.”
“A rematch?”
“The 5 Pound Burrito Challenge.”
Derek laughed. It had been a minute since he had thought about the night he and Peter had taken on a local institution’s 5 Pound Burrito Challenge. Derek had a surprising stomach capacity and he had shown it off. Neither Derek nor Peter had been able to finish their burrito but Derek had roundly beat Peter by quite a margin, able to down about three pounds of the burrito.
“We should. Maybe some weekend this semester…”
“How about today?”
“Today?”
“Why? You have plans?”
“Yes, I mean…no, I, just, I—“
“C’mon. You owe it to me,” Peter looked at Derek right in the eyes. Derek felt a sudden pang and let his feelings decide for him. An afternoon with Peter? He had the dinner…Derek decided to hell with it. It was still early, and he just had to attend the dinner, not eat the whole menu.
“Okay,” he said, smiling, blushing a bit.
“C’mon. I know we can walk but I’ve got to move my car anyway.” He slapped Derek on the ass, “Let’s do this.” It was all Derek could do not to gasp from the thrill it gave him.
It had been 10 weeks since Teddy had left the house, and he had grown sufficiently that nothing he had fit, Teddy felt continuously bored, self-conscious and awkward, and Coach could barely conceal his glee. Once while painting the downstairs guest room, he asked Teddy to go into the basement and get some painter’s tape.
“No,” said Teddy flatly.
“Did you just—“ started Coach, who really did need the painter’s tape, only stopping himself when he realized why Teddy would not go down. “Clever fatty,” said Coach grinning ear to ear. As he got up to go fetch the tape, he whispered into Teddy’s ear as he passed, “That could have been the last time anyone ever saw you.” Teddy scampered outside.
Finally, out of nowhere, on Saturday morning, Coach returned from a tennis game. He crawled into bed, where Teddy was sleeping in. Coach shook Teddy awake with more force than was reasonably necessary.
“Wake up Teddy Bear. Today is the day you get to leave the house.”
“Today?”
“Today. You, my lucky love, are going to the mall.”
“Am I getting new clothes?”
“No. Well, yes. But not at the mall.” Coach poked Teddy’s belly. “That won’t fit in anything at the mall. But I got you some clothes. There on the dresser. I’m going to go shower.”
Coach bounced gleefully off the bed, and Teddy slowly went over and looked at the clothes he had to choose from. He found a navy polo shirt and some jeans (which were slightly loose) and put them aside. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Unable to resist, he walked over to look at Coach in the shower.
“You want to come in Teddy Bear?”
“I’m good, Coach.”
“Just wanted to see the show?”
“Always,” said Teddy, almost without thinking.
“Sweet, sweet boy,” murmured Coach to himself.
Teddy blushed and went to brush his teeth. When he went downstairs to eat before they left, he saw that Coach had put out two Boosts. On each of them was a post-it note reading “Drink Me.”
Teddy did as we was told.
***
Coach was sporting a new pair of sunglasses, looking handsome as he ordered Teddy two cinnamon roles. As Teddy ate, a man, rather classically handsome and around Coach’s age, approached him.
“Hewie!”
Coach smiled and stood up. “Sam! Good to see you! I didn’t realize you were in town.”
“Just a short trip to visit Mom before I leave for vacation. Next time we should definitely get together.” At this point, Sam noticed Teddy.
“Oh excuse me, Sam…this is my…” Coach paused wondering what word he wanted to use. Teddy, too, was curious but also a little afraid of what Coach was going to say. “This is my partner, Teddy. I would say husband but I can’t get Teddy to say yes.” Coach winked at Teddy.
It was obvious that Sam was surprised to hear this. “Hello, Teddy. Nice to meet you.”
Teddy had forgotten to finish chewing and trying to chew, swallow, and reply, there came a garbled, “Nith to meeth you.” Coach reveled.
“Enjoying those rolls?” Said Sam. It was unclear how much was snark or conversation.
Coach chuckled. “He was a thin thing when I found him. But it turns out my Teddy Bear doesn’t have any metabolism. I mean I figured maybe it would just be a few relationship pounds but then he just blew right up.” Coach puffed out his cheeks. “Look at him now.”
Teddy felt very self-conscious, and he realized that all he wanted was the taste of the cinnamon roll to distract him.
“Well, maybe he doesn’t need so many cinnamon rolls.”
Coach continued good-naturedly. “As you know, I have a hard time saying no.”
The claim was enough of a brazen lie that both Teddy and Sam’s eyes met in disbelief.
“Sure you’re not around this weekend?” Asked Coach, ignoring the reactions he had provoked.
Sam shook his head. “Next time, though” he said. “I should get going.” He gave Coach a hug, looked down at Teddy, and said, “He’s all yours, Teddy. We all wish you luck.”
As Sam walked away, Teddy resumed eating. He felt embarrassed but then he remembered that Coach had teased about calling him his husband.
“Are we gonna get married, Coach?”
“That would be you,” said Coach, “proposing while you stuff your face.” Coach broke off a piece of cinnamon roll. “But if you got on your knee, how would you get back up,” he said as he shoved the piece into Teddy’s mouth.
***
As they walked back to the car, they heard a voice behind them. “Hewie?” Teddy and Coach turned around to see Henry, in very short shorts and crop top, waving to them.
“Henry!” Said Coach. “Good to see you!” He turned to Teddy. “We’re running into everyone today.”
Henry caught up to them. His eyes immediately went to Teddy’s stomach. Teddy turned red as Henry put his two hands on the sides of his gut and gave it a little shake. “Teddy! Oh my gosh! You’re looking great, big guy!” He gave it another shake. “Let’s see the rest of you.” Henry went behind Teddy and put his hands around his waist, pushing Teddy’s ass towards his crotch and pushing his crotch into Teddy’s ass. Teddy could swear he felt Henry’s dick hardening.
Coach grinned like a wolf who has had a baby lamb walk right up to it.
“I wish I had something to give you, Teddy.” He looked at Coach. “I should start carrying candy bars.”
Coach continued to smile. “You definitely should.” Coach changed tones. “I hadn’t heard from you in a while; how are you?”
Henry shrugged. “My boyfriend and I broke up. I’ve been staying with friends a few towns over. I’m looking for new job. It’s been a bit of nightmare.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Henry shrugged again and shook Teddy’s belly. Teddy was now quite sure that Henry was getting hard behind him. “It’ll blow over. I miss him, you know. But we…I don’t know.” Teddy felt Henry’s grip loosen slightly, as he thought of his ex. Then a moment later, he was pressing in, “Time for a restart.”
“Well, you should come by the house,” said Coach, watching Henry finally release Teddy. “Teddy and I would love to have you.”
“Sounds good,” said Henry, patting Teddy’s ass as a goodbye.
“Good seeing you, Henry,” said Teddy, unsure of what to say after what had just happened.
“And Milky Ways. King Size,” said Coach. Henry gave him a thumb’s up.
“Damn it,” Teddy said as he tried to button his shorts around what was already a defined, round gut. His ass, which was growing out just as prominently, did not help. No matter how hard he pulled, the two sides refused to meet and, although he kept trying, even if the shorts had just barely fit, any meal would put a quick end to them.
“Just take your time, princess!” Coach bellowed impatiently from downstairs. Teddy removed the shorts and found a pair of sweatpants. Teddy noticed that they, too, while not tight, were certainly not as loose as they had been when he had first gotten them. Before he went downstairs, he gave his body a puzzled look in the mirror. His face had puffed a slightly, but his ass, belly, thighs and calves were markedly rounder then when he had started living with Coach. He could not get used to it. On the other hand, he knew it was what Coach wanted and he wanted nothing more than to please coach.
Teddy only dimly understood how much Coach loved his alienation from his body. He liked to watch Teddy try to walk, sit, stand in a body whose new size he was not sure what to do with. He enjoyed the sort of strange confusion settle over Teddy’s face when he looked at himself the mirror or when Coach slapped his ass. Coach loved knowing that for him and him alone was Teddy becoming a fatty beyond the point of no return. And he loved knowing that he was so inside Teddy’s brain that Teddy would be whatever size Coach wanted.
“Ready, coach! Sorry, my shorts…” Teddy stopped as he noticed that Coach was frowning at him. Coach looked taken out of a magazine, and Teddy suddenly realized he must look schlubby with his sweatpants and shirt, both just tight enough to announce that they would soon go the way of his shorts.
“What are those?” Coach looked down at the sweatpants.
“My shorts didn’t fit.”
“I have never, ever been seen in public with a man in sweatpants.”
“Aww, c’mon Coach…” Teddy went to put on his shoes. As he bent down, he felt a firm kick in his ass. “Jesus!” Teddy sprang back up.
“Never, ever. No real clothes, no brunch.”
“Coach…”
Coach glared at Teddy. “Let’s see these shorts. Maybe you’re just too dumb to button them.”
“I can button shorts,” said Teddy. “They didn’t fit.” As Coach continued to glare at them, Teddy realized he was supposed to go put them on. He gave a mechanical, “yessir” and headed upstairs.
When he came down, he did not find Coach in the entryway but rather in the kitchen. He was pouring a some heavy cream into a glass, grinning satanically.
“You see?” Said Teddy pointing to the open shorts that would not button, his navy boxers poking. Coach put the glass down, walked over, crouched down to stare at Teddy’s waist as if he seriously inspecting the issue, got up again and then suddenly slapped Teddy’s belly with enough force for Teddy to cry, “Ouch! For fuck’s sake!”
The fuck’s sake earned Teddy another slap.
“Well, fatty, you ruined brunch.”
“I don’t know why we can’t just…”
A third slap hushed Teddy.
“Quiet. Go sit in your chair, Teddy Bear.” Teddy sat in his chair, and from a drawer he saw Coach pull out the rope. He realized rather than brunch, Coach intended to tie him up and stuff. His stomach, as if on cue, gurgled. He was, he realized, fairly hungry.
Once tied up and blindfolded, Coach grabbed Teddy’s hair, pulled his head back, and poured the cream down his throat. “There, a little fat bomb to take the edge off while I get your breakfast.
Until the scent of warm brownies wafted through the air, Teddy was unsure what Coach was preparing. But even then he could still hear the sounds of whisk. It wasn’t until Coach forced a piece of waffle drenched in syrup wrapped around a slice of brownie that Teddy knew what his breakfast was.
And a little heavy cream. And a glass of chocolate milk.
And when Coach finally let Teddy go lay down, he was painfully full but eventually was able to nap a little. What woke him up was Coach’s arm petting him, and his voice cooing “Sweet Teddy Bear” at him.
***
Coach’s refusal to allow Teddy to go in public in sweatpants was amusing for a week. The second week was a little grating. The third…Teddy went to the backyard to deliver an ultimatum. Not only did he need new shorts, he probably was going to be up a size in shirts, and Coach had to get him some…
“No,” said Coach flatly, looking up from his book in the deck chair. “Teddy Bear’s don’t make demands. They take what they are given.” He poked Teddy’s stomach. “From the looks of it, you get plenty.”
“Fine then I’ll order them myself.” Teddy pulled out his cellphone to make a point.
Coach rolled his eyes. “Here,” he said, gesturing for Teddy to give him the phone. “I’ll log you into my account. You have no money.”
Teddy handed his phone over. Coach looked at the screen as if to find the icon to tap, when, without warning, he tossed the phone into the pool, making a little “blop” as it hit the water. .
“Coach!”
“That solves that. Anything else we can help you with today? Please take a minute and fill out our survey,” said Coach returning to his book and ignoring Teddy’s hysterics.
“That was my phone!”
“Another sharp observation from Teddy Bear.”
Teddy went to the pool edge and looked into the 12 foot depths where he saw his phone, screen down. He realized it was his one connection to the outside world. Slightly shocked, he went and sat down next to Coach, who patted his mop of curly hair. “Cheer up, I still haven’t locked you in the basement.”
Teddy looked at Coach, now even more wary of what he had always assumed was only a half joke. He realized Coach might be serious. Coach continued to pet him, and Teddy sighed, like a teenager who has just had their car keys taken away.
“I want to go out.”
“Go eat something. It will cheer you up.”
Wanting to be defiant, Teddy did not move for five minutes. Then out of boredom, he found himself walking to the kitchen, wondering whether there was anything leftover from last night, his shirt riding up a little as he moved.
Geoff had met Ryan, by chance, in a bar and, for no other reason than Ryan’s insistence had brought him home. Ryan was an athletic, shredded, lean young man and Geoff was, unremarkable looking and in his later thirties. Geoff did not much understand Ryan’s interest in hanging out with him, and after a brief period of regular hook ups, Ryan had gone radio silent. Then suddenly the day before, Ryan had texted saying that he had graduated and deserved a night on the town. Geoff, enthralled, took him up on the offer.
Ryan had taken Geoff’s hand and was rubbing it along his washboard abs as Geoff admired the boy, lying on his side wondering, as always, when it would end. But suddenly out of nowhere, casually as could be, Ryan looked at him and said, “You like my abs?”
“I do,” said Geoff, drawing out the syllable a bit.
“Well, then I would say good-bye,” said Ryan, resting Geoff’s hand in the middle of his stomach and placing his hand on top of his. Geoff noticed Ryan was pressing down, emphasizing his stomach’s complete flatness. “Baby boy’s gonna get fat.”
“Huh?” Geoff was confused and unsure what he was supposed to say.
Ryan shook Geoff’s hand up and down his stomach. “One day you’re gonna do this and it’s gonna jiggle.”
Geoff remained confused. “I don’t think I’m…”
Ryan laughed, the way he had laughed when he had first met Geoff and asked him for his number and from shyness Geoff had responded with his age. He turned over, gave Geoff a kiss and said, “You’ll figure it out soon enough.” The young man puffed out his cheeks and then said, “You won’t be able to miss me.”
Geoff stammered: “I still don’t…”
“Shut the light out will you babe,” and with that Ryan turned over and signaled he was ready to sleep. Geoff, as always, did as he was told, and spooned Ryan until he heard the rhythmic breathing of sleep. Geoff nodded off not long after.
The next morning, Geoff awoke and did not see Ryan in bed. Usually a later sleeper, he worried that for some reason the boy had dashed off in the night. However, as he walked out of his bedroom and to his kitchen, he saw Ryan sitting at the dining table, with what looked to be some kind of scramble, pancakes doused in butter and maple syrup, and the carton of half and half open next to him and no coffee in sight. Ryan’s stomach was slightly distended.
“Good morning,” said Geoff.
Ryan burped. “Morning. Babe, when you go to the grocery store later, you’re gonna need to buy heavy cream, I didn’t even think of it, but the half and half remembered me. I put a list on the fridge.”
“What are you doing?”
Ryan patted his stomach. “Just getting my first meal in. I woke up and was like…well, let’s get a move on.” Ryan picked up the half and half and drank and Geoff could hear the glug-glug of thick liquid through Ryan’s gullet. “Carpe diem and all that shit.” He smiled broadly.
“Ryan…I…” Geoff looked at the kitchen, which was in complete disarray. Ryan had not put back anything that he had taken out.
“I think I’m gonna go nap this off,” said Ryan, gesturing to the meal in front of him. “You’ll take care of this won’t you babe?”
“Sure…I guess…I just…”
Ryan stood up and, a few inches taller than Geoff, looked down into his eyes and said, “Like you take care of me, right?” As he stared intensely into Geoff’s eyes, Geoff felt helpless to say anything other than a very sincere, “Yes.”
“Clean this up, grocery store and then maybe we can have some fun before my next meal. Also: donuts, babe. Could really go for some donuts.”
Geoff watched as Ryan headed to bed, sashaying his lovely ass exaggeratedly from side to side, and belching one last time before he shut the door.
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