Ederlot Hoevendam

Personal growth in more than one way

[ederlot]

You yourself are the centerpoint of your life. Everything that happens in it flows from yourself. Your life is not about others, but about how you deal with situations, what you do with your energy and which choices you make.

[ederlot]

Darkness had nothing to do with evil, but with ignorance. Ignorance is bliss, but is also the greatest evil.

[ederlot]

You will know the truth and the truth shall set you free. In order to experience freedom you need choice. To have a choice there must be multiple options to choose from. This means that there is no such thing as THE truth, but that truth must contain multiple options in order to set you free.

[ederlot]

Everything has two sides; a light and visible one, and a dark and therefore invisible one. No one can see in the dark, so to see the dark side we’ll need light. If you can see the dark side of things you can practice magic.

[ederlot]

To see means to take responsibility. If you see a loved one is in trouble, don’t turn away and pretend you did not see it so you can say afterwards; ‘oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that, otherwise I would have helped’. If you are able to let a loved one fall, then there is no love in you at all.

[ederlot]

Jackson in the basement

*WEIGHT GAIN Jackson receives his birthday present, which is more than he can handle.

Jackson lay restless in bed. He had woken up early this morning. It was still dark outside, he saw through his closed curtains. His big, black gut rumbled. He farted and turned around awkwardly due to his large size. The view didn't get any better. Through the dim light of the lamppost in front of the house, shining through the cracks in the curtain, he stared into his messy bedroom. The office chair was almost invisible because of all the clothes hanging over it. On his desk were the dirty plates from which he had eaten his snacks for the past few days and on the floor were empty bags of chips and the plastic packaging of donuts and other sweets. More empty bags and packaging were bulging from his trash can. Jackson scratched his deep crack between his plump, bulging buttocks. He had thrown off his blanket in his sleep. He did that often. He found his bedroom far too warm, even in winter. His housemate Ederlot had rejected the plan to install air conditioning. He just had to open a window. But then all kinds of dirty bugs came in, so that was not an option. In the beginning, when Jackson moved into the house, he made an agreement with Eder that their bedrooms would be the only non-shared rooms. He had no business in Eder's bedroom and Eder would not come into his bedroom. So he didn't come to clean it up and although Jackson also thought his bedroom was a mess, he hadn't been able to find the energy to clean it up himself. He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling. The weight of the fat in his belly pressed down on his stomach. Another fart. In the morning he often suffered from gas. Especially if he had eaten a hearty meal the night before or if he had woken up during the night for sweets like this night. Fortunately, Eder had brought him a pack of large cookies and a cake from the supermarket. Jackson had already laid them out on his bedside table. His stomach gurgled again. He was hungry. Staring at the ceiling he thought about his friends. About his past, before he moved in with Eder. To his mother, who never gave a shit about him. To his sisters who sold themselves to men in exchange for money. Of the good times with his friends, his brothers. Yes, he lived on the streets for the most part. Sometimes he dealt drugs, sometimes he stole from shops and from the bags of unsuspecting passers-by. Now he also saw that it was not the best way to get money, but then… Then he had to survive. He thought differently. His friends were his real family, it felt like. He did everything to protect them. To satisfy them. But that was two years ago. Now he saw them no more. Maybe for the better. They had not understood his decision to participate in that municipal project. Traitor, that's what they had called Jackson several times. He felt ashamed and remorseful for how they had treated Eder. They had scolded him, robbed him and even threatened him. He had participated in it himself. Everything was still new then. He had never had a home before and was quite proud that he now had one. He got Eder for free. He would have preferred to live there with his friends. But they did not choose for a house. Not even when they got the chance. And now his best friend was in jail. There was nothing he could do for him anymore.

Jackson yawned loudly, his chin almost disappearing into the fat of his neck, and stretched his arms above his head. A bubbling fart left his body at the same time. He had to go to the toilet, but didn't want to get out of bed yet. He lazily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. In recent months he found it increasingly difficult to wake up. He felt as if he had run a marathon in his sleep. Eder had recommended him to purchase a sleep apnea device. He had once heard that fat people did not get enough oxygen while sleeping because it was too heavy for the lungs to breathe and that was why they woke up with difficulty. If breathing stopped for too long during sleep, it could even lead to death. Jackson had waved him away with his scary story. He wasn't that heavy after all. He couldn't deny that he was no longer as fit as he used to be, but he would rather go on a diet than purchase such a device. Eder immediately shut up. Strange, normally he kept whining for a while. Jackson had gotten used to it. Eder was not a bad boy. He took good care of him. Jackson groaned as he stood up. His big belly didn't cooperate again and he spread his sturdy legs to make more room. Phew, he really needed to go to the toilet. He clumsily threw one leg over the side of his bed and with some effort he twisted the rest of his body. He got out of bed after a few minutes with a groan. Drunken in sleep, he waddled to the toilet in the bathroom. His legs rubbed together awkwardly with every step he took. Eder had bought him an ointment that he could apply to the resulting chapped spots. He had accepted it with hesitation and although it was not easy for him to reach the chapped areas, he did use the ointment. He had postponed the idea of ​​asking Eder to oil his legs. He thought it was too personal to let another man touch them. Especially where the ointment needed to be applied, close to his crotch. With another groan he threw himself onto the toilet. My God! This is going to be a big one, he felt by the pressure in his rectum. With a slight contraction of his untrained belly muscles, the big splash into the toilet water began, followed by a burst of body gasses. Jackson looked around the bathroom with satisfaction. What a relief... It wasn’t always this easy. Then he could easily sit on the toilet for half an hour without anything happening, while the pressure in his body became more and more intense. Painfully sturdy bricks then came out. His gaze lingered on the new scales that Eder suddenly came home with. What was wrong with the old one? Jackson had not noticed it was broken. He thought this scale was an ugly thing, big and clumsy. The other one was much flatter and looked much smaller. Eder immediately weighed himself. He once told Jackson that he had lost a lot of weight and now wanted to gain it back. He also asked Jackson to stand on it. He had not responded. What nonsense. That was one of those moments when Eder kept nagging. Jackson had walked to his bedroom. That evening he had not been able to contain his own curiosity and had stepped on the scale without Eder's presence. The thing had indicated 463 pounds. Oh well, maybe it was broken. And what was wrong with a big boy?

Eder had left early again. It was busy at work, so he was able to put in some extra hours. With a large plate full of toasted bread, a mountain of scrambled eggs and a few sausages he had found in the refrigerator, Jackson plopped down on the collapsed couch. After putting one of the sausages in his mouth, he took the remote control off a railing and watched several channels, looking for something fun to watch. By now he knew there wasn't much interesting on the television in the early morning, so he switched back to the cooking show, which he watched every day around this time. Even though he never cooked himself, he found the program inspiring. All those good-looking dishes. It seemed to make the eggs and bread on his plate tastier. He looked around the living room, somewhat disappointed. Last year Eder had hung party streamers. He had even received a birthday present from him, for the first time in his life. Jackson liked that. New shoes. He still had them, safely tucked away in his wardrobe. It wasn't about the gift, it was about the unexpected attention. He had only mentioned his birthday once. Ederlot had apparently remembered it. He thought that was special. But this year there was nothing special. No streamers, no presents. Not even an Eder. He felt sorry. More of a disappointment. This promised to be another boring day, like all the others. Life on the street was difficult, but also much more exciting. No day was the same. Sometimes he would pick the pockets of passersby hoping they had a full wallet, the next moment he would have to steal food from a supermarket to get something to eat. The next day there was a job. Then he went into the city with bags of cocaine to sell it. He was good at it because he always sold everything he was given. He was not allowed to keep most of the proceeds for himself, but he always had enough money left over to survive for a few more days. In the evening he always asked himself whether he would wake up the next morning. Every morning he wondered whether he would be arrested by the police that day. The police, they had become acquaintances of him. They didn't mean any harm, they just whined so much. And the cell… well, at least it was dry and warm. Jackson often thought back to his first day in this house. He was arrested again when he and his friends were doing a job for a new customer. They had to steal a car. It later turned out that that customer did not exist at all, but that the police wanted to trap them. Assholes! More severe punishments were handed out than for stealing an apple from the greengrocer. He had been given a choice; a heavy community service order, or participation in a new municipal project to get young people back on the right path. In the beginning he received intensive guidance from psychologists and social workers. Wow, what a bad time that was. They had found him a home where he could relax and work on his new life as a good boy. His friends had opted for community service. He didn't know why. They were already living on the streets before he came along. Perhaps they were afraid of losing their freedom if they joined the project. Freedom… Jackson understood that now. He wasn't having a bad time, but everything was different than before.

With difficulty he pushed his fat body to the edge of the couch and with some effort, pushing himself firmly with one arm on the back of the couch, he stood up. His belly hung in front of his knees as he bent down to pick up the empty plate from the table. With one hand he pulled up his torn purple boxer shorts that had slipped off his buttocks. It wasn't much use as it barely went over his ass. It stopped halfway up and pushed the buttock fat up, so that two large lobes bulged above it. Jackson was bummed about it. Two months ago it still fit fine. Eder had washed it too hot again. It wasn't just the lobes protruding from the boxer shorts that shook violently as he waddled to the kitchen. The fat at the bottom of his belly and love handles also moved quietly. There was a loud belch. Jackson was no longer ashamed of it. He was alone after all and Eder had once explained to him that it was unhealthy to keep gasses inside. From the doorway he looked at the empty kitchen table. A gift wasn't necessary, but streamers would have been nice. At least something that showed that he had not forgotten his birthday. There wasn't even a nice cake in the refrigerator. Disappointed, Jackson placed the plate on the counter and took a pack of large chocolate cookies from one of the kitchen cupboards. He clumsily tore open the plastic packaging, wondering why some products were so tightly packed. Those cookies broke in his mouth anyway, so why did they use that thick, stiff plastic? The first cookie disappeared greedily into his mouth. With the second cookie in his mouth, he opened the refrigerator and poured a large glass of coke, which he immediately drank, followed by a deep burp. He heard his phone beeping from the living room. A message. He filled the glass with Coke again. After placing the glass on the table, he plopped back on the couch with the pack of cookies in his hand. Those chocolate cookies, he could eat three packs of them. Again he stuffed one whole into his mouth and leaned forward to the table, groaning. First a big sip of cola. The person who sent the message just had to wait a moment. As he munched on the fourth cookie, he looked at the text on his phone. It was from Eder.

'Are you already awake?'

“I don't sleep all day,” Jackson replied curtly, because Eder hadn't thought about his birthday.

He didn't expect it to affect him so much. He didn't know why. He had never celebrated his birthday until last year. No one had ever hung streamers for him or bought him a gift. That had always been okay with him. What was the problem then, he asked himself. Another cookie disappeared into his mouth, which he washed down with large gulps of cola. There was still nothing on the television. The cooking program was over and for lack of anything better he switched to an animation where a dog and a cat were chasing each other. He lazily placed his feet on the table. Even those were fat. When Eder was home, he was never allowed to do that. It was dirty, bare feet on the table, where people often ate. Jackson farted loudly. Right now he didn't care about Eder. He shouldn't have made him happy with a nice day, only to forget it a year later.

His phone beeped again.

'Do we have any baked-off rolls?' Eder asked.

What the fuck? What do you mean bake-off rolls? How was he supposed to know that? Eder always did the shopping! He was always busy keeping track of how much Jackson ate and what was left in the house. Eder had never asked him if he knew what they had stocked.

“I don't know!” Jackson responded.

He had another cookie and looked bored at the television. The fun programs would start in an hour or two. The action series and certain game shows he followed. A piece of a cookie had fallen on his stomach. It almost rolled onto the couch, but Jackson caught it just in time and devoured it. Shit, the glass was empty. Almost the bag of cookies too. Jackson wanted more, but he didn't want to get up from the couch and he didn't feel like arguing with Eder if he thought he'd had too much sweets. Then again, it was his damn birthday! He lazily pulled his feet off the table and tried to stand, losing his balance and falling back into the couch. Cunt bank! It's way too low! The second attempt was successful and just as he was about to grab the empty glass from the table, his phone beeped again.

“Then go take a look in the basement.”

Jackson sighed in annoyance. Did he have to go into that filthy basement too? The house they lived in was certainly not new construction and like most old houses, this one also had a basement. It was a fairly spacious room where, in addition to a lot of junk and detergents, Eder also stored well-packed and long-life foodstuffs, such as baked-off bread and canned goods. Yet neither of them liked coming there. It was a stuffy, damp room with many wooden beams behind which bugs hid. Especially in the back, where they certainly didn't go, there were large spiders hanging in their webs and a friend of Eder had placed mouse traps there. It often happened that something had gnawed on a package. To get to the basement you first had to go down a clumsy wooden staircase where you had to be careful not to hit your head on part of the ceiling. Once down, the space was high enough to stand upright, but it was still wise not to jump. The placement of the light switch was completely inconvenient, at the bottom of the stairs. Jackson had fallen off the stairs once because the door closed behind him and there was no light at all in that room. Why hadn't Eder looked himself? He had been busy in the basement for the past few weeks. At least, Jackson had seen him go in there several times with bags. Even at night, when he was lying in bed, he thought he heard noises coming from it. He waddled to the front door. There were Eder's slippers, which he almost never wore. Jackson did not go into the basement barefoot. Not only because he was afraid of splinters in the sole of his foot from the steps, but mainly because he needed something to kick dirty bugs or mice to death. In the kitchen he quickly drank another glass of coke before opening the basement door next to the stairs that led to the first floor. He had expected a musty smell, but luckily it stayed away. The wooden steps creaked loudly under his weight. He almost tripped because of the size of his own legs, but in time he found support on the wall. The light in the doorway behind him allowed him to see where the ceiling was, so he could get under it without hitting his head. It became dark underneath, because the light was not strong enough to shine there. Luckily, he felt the light switch. That meant he was almost at the bottom. He always found it exciting to turn on the lights there. Who knows what unpleasant surprise awaited him.

Jackson looked through the illuminated basement with wide eyes and suddenly realized what Eder had been doing for the past few weeks. Large party streamers hung from the walls and ceiling. On the wall further away there was a sign that said 'Happy Birthday'. Everything seemed to be cleaned and painted, there was not a spider web to be seen and the mouse traps had also been removed. There was even a beige, fluffy carpet on the floor. But none of this caught his attention. His gaze wandered along the long racks that Eder had placed there. What on earth is this? Jackson couldn't believe his eyes. The racks were filled with all kinds of tasty things. He saw three large cakes in a transparent package. Next to it were bags of chocolate cakes of such he had already eaten a bag. In another rack were boxes of donuts and a stack of thick chocolate bars in various flavors. Smoked sausages were gracefully hung on a wall. In the rack next to it were different types of cheeses. A large knife to cut it was already placed there. There was a large cake box on the floor in front of the rack. For a moment, Jackson thought he was going crazy. He had never seen anything like this. All that colored packaging. All that good stuff. It made him dizzy. How had Eder gotten that refrigerator and freezer in the basement? The refrigerator was filled with bottles of soda, more sausage, various salads, a bowl filled with eggs and more cakes. In the freezer he found large tubs of ice cream, including two liters of his favorite Ben and Jerry's flavor and a large nougatine ice cream cake. That damn Eder! What a crazy person! Jackson laughed to himself. Any disappointment he had felt for him before disappeared instantly. He would text Eder later. Let's have some fun first. He walked to the rack where a stack of plates was already waiting for him. There was cutlery next to it. Once again Jackson looked around the room. Where should he start? As he thought, he opened a bag of chocolate cookies and wildly stuffed the first cookie into his mouth. First a piece of strawberry pie. In no time the chocolate cookies were gone and he dropped the empty bag on the floor. Eder had placed a trash can in a corner of the basement, but Jackson didn't feel like walking to it. He was too busy cutting a wedge out of the strawberry pie. Oh, this was delicious. With large bites the wedge disappeared into his mouth. One more wedge, that was probably allowed by Eder. As he cut a second wedge he suddenly realized that Eder had done all this for him. Of course he was allowed a second wedge. And a third. And a fourth. Jackson wanted to scream at the thought. Instead, he took the strawberry pie out of the package with both hands and took a big bite out of it. Big blobs of whipped cream hung from his face. Jackson didn't care and took another bite. His eye fell on a blueberry cake. He roughly tore off the wrapping and took a bite out of that too. He took turns eating the strawberry pie in one hand and the blueberry cake in the other. The plate he had taken was lying where he had found the strawberry pie. He didn't need it at all. When he started on the second box of donuts, he thought it would be smarter to collect some tasty things on the floor so he could eat while sitting without having to stand up all the time. So he carried handfuls of treats to a spot near the freezer and refrigerator, so he could reach there to get a drink, and nestled between them with his mouth full of donuts. With his thick legs spread wide, so that his belly had room and he could fill his stomach with all this good stuff.

The first collection of pies, cookies, croissants, cakes, sausages, pastry snacks, a gallon of ice cream and three bottles of soda were gone when Jackson left his seat. Crawling, he moved towards the large box, which contained another cake. He didn't feel like getting up. His stomach almost reached the floor. Oh, those pastries looked delicious too. But they were higher on a rack, so he had to stand to reach them. And those bags of chips… They were stacked next to a rack. He hadn't even seen them yet. And what is this? Behind the refrigerator was a large, sealed barrel with a large label, on which something that looked like a slice of pie had been drawn in marker. A thick hose protruded from the top of the barrel. Curious, Jackson tried to see what was in the barrel while peering into the hose. He saw nothing, but he did smell a very sweet fragrance. It probably wasn't for him. He clumsily sat down by the large cake box and opened it. Oh… this is sweet. Inside was a huge, rectangular birthday cake with a print of the only nice photo he and Eder had ever taken. They stood there laughing with an arm thrown over each other's shoulders. Jackson got a little emotional about it. He stared at the edible version of the photo before slowly leaning forward to bury his face in all that delicious whipped cream. The treats and soda weighed on his stomach. Jackson took a bite. Then there was a loud belch. Oof! He moved into a more comfortable position and lifted large chunks of cake to his mouth with his hands. Whipped cream and crumbs fell on his fat body, but he didn't take time to clean it up. He wanted that cake. Must have been made by a real baker, because it tasted so much better than the cakes that came from the supermarket. Jackson was in ecstasy. He could no longer think clearly and felt lethargic. He often had that when he had eaten a lot. Then he would take a nap on the couch and when he woke up in the evening, he would go to bed. It must have been all the sugar. He didn't want to sleep right now. There were still so many tasty things to eat. He turned his broad back to a wall and leaned against it. His belly stuck out far in front of him. His underbelly rested on the ground. With difficulty his hand reached his navel to scratch. It was itchy. He pulled at a long sausage that dangled from the wall next to him and began to eat it. It was spicy, with garlic flavor. A nice change from all the sweets. He didn't know how long the sausage was. One foot? One and a half? He ate it. Oof! That was harder on him than he thought. In the meantime, he had also eaten some bags of chips and another box of donuts. Panting slightly from all the food, he sat, leaning back against the wall, next to the empty cake box on the floor. Those cheeses in the rack next to him also looked very tasty. And there was more sausage. And ice cream. Suddenly his phone beeped.

“Are you enjoying yourself a little?”

It was a message from Eder. Shit! Jackson had completely forgotten to thank him. He immediately wanted to write something back, but another message came in.

'There is a blue box in the rack next to the refrigerator. It contains dragees. Get two of them. What happens then is still a surprise.'

Jackson read the message carefully. He thought it was a bit strange. What were dragees? And what did he mean, another surprise? Opposed by the weight of his overfull gut, he wanted to pull himself up by something. The sausage he was holding onto immediately fell down. Oh… He thought it was a rack. The actual rack was located a little further away. With pain in his stomach he crawled towards it. He shouldn't have eaten that long sausage. That had been a little too much, but eventually he stood up. Holding his stomach with both hands to support the extra weight of all the food eaten, he waddled over to the rack and found the mentioned blue box. It looked like it was made from thin cardboard by Ederlot himself. Inside were some sort of large, shiny pills. So those were dragees. And he had to take two of them.

When he was sixteen, he had sold a box of sleeping pills to Mr. Jones, a homeless man who always slept in the same alley near the hotel behind the station. He had taken all the pills at once and had not woken up after going to sleep. Jackson preferred not to take pills. No medicines and no drugs. He looked doubtfully at the two dragees in his hand. Why had Eder bought them for him? Apparently there was a surprise involved. He was  sure they couldn't bring his friends back. With his painfully full stomach he waddled to the refrigerator. His eyes were still spinning. He could trust Eder, right? He wouldn't hurt him. He swallowed the first dragee with a large gulp of cola. The carbon dioxide made his stomach swell even more. A hard burp. It sent the dragee shooting back into his throat. Coughing, he almost choked in it. Hesitating, he also took the second dragee. Not much happened. With the bottle of Coke in his hand, Jackson waddled over to the rack where another bag of chocolate cookies lay. With a cookie in his mouth he walked back to the place where he had been sitting all the time. He noticed that the pressure in his stomach decreased. The pain disappeared. Good, then he could eat a little again. Before he sat down he took the cheeses that looked so delicious in his arm. Some sausages were also pulled from the wall, some bags of chips were collected and the stack of chocolate bars was removed from the rack in its entirety. He also saw a chocolate, a lemon and a coconut cake. And the large tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream was taken out of the freezer. Sighing, Jackson sat down among the collection of treats and started eating again. He felt like new. Even the haze in his head was gone. Bite after bite he wolfed down all the food. There went another thick, long sausage. It disappeared into his stomach along with the lemon cake. Everything was washed down with large gulps of cola. The bottle was empty. Jackson tried to get up to get a new bottle from the refrigerator, but he couldn't. He could no longer move his fat body, it was too stuffed with food. Then no drinking, Jackson thought. But I still like this sausage. And… first that tub of ice cream. He pushed more and more food into his stomach. His belly was large and bloated. Tasty!

Sweaty, Eder closed the front door behind him. He had cycled home in a hurry. He had received no message back from Eder. Curious, he walked down the hallway. The basement door was open. There was a light on downstairs. His heart pounded in his throat with tension as he walked down the wooden basement stairs and lowered his head to avoid hitting the ceiling. There he lay, on the floor among the empty packages and half-eaten food. The shelves were mostly empty. Jackson’s belly stood out above the rest of his body like a tall, black mountain. As he got closer, Eder saw that his eyes were closed. Chunks of cheese and a long sausage stuck out of his mouth, but Jackson was still breathing. Good. He wasn’t dead, but fainted. Eder walked over to the blue box on the rack. They had worked. He gently patted the enormous belly before leaving the basement.

[ederlot]

Noah

The thought of his new colleague makes Noah start jerking his extremely thick cock.

Dissatisfied, Noah looked at the sketches he had just spread out on his wooden work table. He had spent most of the day designing jewelry, but most of the sketches were just not good enough. With a sigh he sat down at the work table. He wasn't quite there in his thoughts, but if his sister came, he had to have something decent to show her. Luckily she was in Milan this weekend, so he still had some time. It was Saturday afternoon. Noah didn't have to go to work and drove to his studio early this morning to make the sketches. Usually things came easier for him. He designed last season's collection in a week. Now only three sketches had been approved by his sister. And she was the boss, at least she was in charge of the business, commercial part. That's why she was in Milan now. Just a year ago, Noah and his sister decided to start their own jewelry line. Back then it was still a hobby, with the intention of growing into something bigger. They soon found some retailers who wanted to work with them. And there was an online shop. It provided a nice income, but not nearly enough to pay all the costs. The rent for the studio was especially expensive, but it was in a beautiful location and Noah enjoyed working there. And they employed two people who actually put the jewelry together. His sister was busy full-time with Stylish Beezz, as they called the jewelry line. Noah worked during the week at a large logistics company. Not at all what he aspired to be, but after he suddenly stopped studying business administration, this job came his way by chance. And oh well... in time he would make enough money with his jewelry. He didn't want to spend energy looking for another job. He now needed the money to cover the costs of his company. And to be able to pay the rent on his far too small apartment. He had already gotten rid of his car. He didn't like expensive clothes anyway and he could also do fine with a sandwich or bread instead of a restaurant meal. Going out could be expensive, but he didn't do that every weekend. Noah grabbed a blank sheet of paper and started sketching again. The men's line had to be expanded, his sister had decided. Women's jewelry was nice, but Noah of course had much more affinity with men. He had even already selected a model, which he kept in mind while designing. That was one of the nicer things about working at a large company, you got to know people there. Not everyone was suitable for him. Noah was picky about the people he hung out with. Private, but also business. He didn't want to exploit anyone, but there had been people who tried to frame him. Who made him promises that they didn't keep, leaving him behind in shit. There were people, young people, who had made it their business to destroy start-up companies in order to become richer themselves. Once, they succeeded. It had been a hard lesson. From then on, Noah was always on his guard. There were even people he didn't even tell about Stylish Beezz and the plans he had for it. But some could help.

26 years ago Noah was born in a village not far away. His father was Brazilian, hence his tan appearance. His black, curly hair was shaved high at the sides and he was wearing a sweatshirt with baggy pants. His clothes were always slightly alternative. He often wore simple sneakers, sometimes he wore his old, worn-out shoes. Branded clothes didn't bother him. After primary school, he moved to a room in the middle of the country for his studies. After his studies he returned and lived in the city center. He also had his studio there. No, this sketch was nothing either. Frustrated, he crumpled the paper and threw it into the trash can. Missed! He hesitated for a moment about staying seated, but eventually he got up to pick up the crumbled piece of paper. Noah had always been sporty. He was a big fan of basketball and had played basketball himself. At primary school, but also when he moved. He quit last year to devote more time to Stylish Beezz. He recently took out a gym membership. He no longer felt as fit as he used to and his body was no longer as tight. Noah was definitely not fat, but he no longer had a six-pack. And fitness… it wasn't really for him at all. He would rather be outside in a field, with his friends. His old friends. Recently he had found an opening to a whole new group of friends, but they were all these supposedly popular guys. Smooth boys who reminded him of the boys who had abused Stylish Beezz and who could only talk about expensive cars and hot chicks. Who you only met at discos where they were well seen by the 'normal people'. Noah laughed along with them, but he would rather sit at home on the couch with a bottle of beer. These guys had money, it was easy to see. Money that he might need one day. After dropping the wad in the trash, he used one hand to pull the awkwardly large bulge in his pants back into place. Yes, Noah was well endowed and he knew it. When he was still a toddler, he regularly went to the hospital with his parents because they thought he had an infection in his groin. The doctors couldn't find anything strange, but they also couldn't deny that they had never seen such a fat penis before. On a toddler. They assumed that it would diminish during puberty. In primary school, while showering after sports, the boys compared themselves with each other and Noah realized that his looked different from the others. He was never bullied for it. Somehow it commanded respect, a big fat one. Some boys were jealous of him, others wanted to touch it to see if it was real. The thought of getting a reduction came later. It wasn't all roses and moonshine having a dick his size. When he hit puberty, wearing underwear became a disaster. The doctors were wrong. Nothing shrunk at all. On the contrary. His penis not only grew in length, but also more in thickness. His first girlfriend ran away because of it. The second too. Thus his pride turned to shame and insecurity had caused him to be single for many years. He had secretly asked what the options were for a penis reduction... or rather a penis thinning. He didn't want to publicize it, they wouldn't understand him anyway. What man wouldn't want a penis so thick that you could only enclose half of it with one hand? They didn't know about all the problems it brought. Anyway, there appeared to be no possibility of dilution without damaging the deeper tissues. He did not take the risk of no longer being able to get an erection.

Lost, he walked to the large window at the back of his studio. It was a decent space, which he was able to rent after a tip from a friend. It wasn't cheap, but the kitchen and the closed office that he got made it relatively cheap. He even had his own toilet. Sometimes he used the space to chill with friends. Mainly on weekends, before going out. He was usually working there, in the evenings after his work at the logistics company. Sometimes it became too much for him, he wondered whether it was profitable to continue with Stylish Beezz and he wanted to quit with the studio. Especially in the summer, when it was warm outside and the sun shone longer. Then he would rather go to a terrace with friends or go on holiday more often. He had never talked about it with his sister. She would try to persuade him to stay, although Noah had the feeling that she already knew that he was not always motivated. Contact between the two was not always easy. She was very driven and did not hesitate to put her boyfriend aside for the company, even if only temporarily. She had completed her communications studies and had a clear goal in mind. Stylish Beezz had to and would become a well-known name or rather, a well-known brand. There was still a long way to go, but she did not avoid any obstacles. She was the type of woman who would readily punch an annoying guy in the face if he touched her the wrong way. That had happened many times before, when going out to parties. And sometimes father had to intervene to calm an argument between the two. The family hadn't been very happy when she and Noah decided to work together, but overall there were few arguments. As long as Noah did what he had to do; jewelry design. Dejectedly, Noah looked out the window at the lawn behind the studio. The sky was gray and it was drizzling a bit. Good for the grass, which had become almost yellow and dry due to the drought in recent weeks. It reminded him of his first girlfriend, years ago. He had surprised her with a picnic. It was so dry then and they couldn't find a green lawn to be romantic together. She was his first true love. For a long time he had thought that she would also be his only love. How long had they been together? Just under two years. Then suddenly she broke up with him. She loved him, but the sex… He couldn't make her wish to have children come true. That was the reason. Noah knew better. He smiled dreamily at the memory. His family and friends sometimes asked him if it wasn't time for a relationship yet. The family wanted to see grandchildren, many of his friends were themselves in long-term relationships. Some were married and one couple even had children. Noah was in no hurry. Although he looked attractive, he was not looking for a woman. Being alone also had its advantages. More freedom, time for himself and Stylish Beezz and no heartache. When he went out, he was regularly approached by beautiful girls. Nice for that evening, in the disco, but no one went to his house. He did kiss there. When he went out he only wore tighter jeans. They hid the bulge in his crotch better than looser pants. He didn't want to scare anyone. Or just attract for that reason alone. He didn't expect to ever fall in love again. His friends, who had tried for a while to match him with a number of girls, had also given up. Noah had noticed that because he was single, he had run out of conversation with friends who were in a relationship. He regretted not being able to participate in wedding plans and raising children. Now there were still enough friends to go out with, but that wouldn't last forever. Sometimes he felt alone, with his problem that no one understood. It was still drizzling outside. He hoped it would stop soon. He had agreed to go out this evening with a colleague and a bunch of those sleek guys at a big, popular club in Belgium, where their expensive cars would probably be clearly visible in the neon lights.

Not so long ago, new people were hired at the logistics company. The work had increased considerably and management had decided to split the administrative work. The easy part, which did not require a lot of responsibility and was quite error-proof, would be done by students. They were now in training. One of them was different from the rest. He was well-spoken, wore cool clothes and acted almost exaggeratedly masculine. At least, that's what Noah thought. A boy, who could have thought that. A few weeks ago, when that boy had started training, and Noah had seen him from a distance, it had confused him. He hadn't had feelings for a boy before and he wondered where the feeling came from. The boy wasn't even very handsome, at least, he wasn't his type. But no boy was. He felt a warm feeling in his groin at the thought of his new colleague. He'd been thinking about him all day. Every day since he saw him. Slowly the bulge in his pants grew bigger and took on the shape of a fat sausage. Noah felt his baggy underwear tighten as his cock filled with blood. He looked down at his growing crotch. Shit! Not again. He quickly tried to think of something else, but it didn't help. He walked away from the window with a painful expression. His underwear started to pinch. They didn't have a larger size. For a while he had not worn any underwear at all, but then the imprint of his cock was too visible in the pants he wore. He had received comments about it, at school but also at work, so he had no choice but to wear large, but still too small, underwear. Oh, fucking hell! That hurt so much. The pressure of his cock filling with blood stretched the white fabric of the underwear to the point of tearing. Fortunately, it didn't happen that often that he just got an erection out of nowhere, but in recent weeks a pair of underwear had fallen for this reason. He hurriedly walked with difficulty due to his growing member to the toilet and closed the door behind him. He didn't want people to see what he was doing through the windows. With one smooth movement he pulled down his sweatpants and rescued his semi-hard cock from the underwear, which was already tearing at a seam. There was a sigh of relief. His cock looked like a balloon filling with air and growing bigger and fatter by the second. He supported the shaft with one hand as it pointed into the air with an almost perfect curve. He always had to support it with one or both hands, even when he woke up in the morning with an erection and had to go to the toilet. It was too heavy to leave hanging. It hurt his groin and pressed on his balls, which were sizable, but out of proportion to his cock. A fat, brown banana. That's what it most resembled. Like many men with a thicker cock, the color was many shades darker than the rest of his body. As if the skin could not actually handle the tension of all the blood and was stretched too far. His foreskin couldn't hide the outline of a huge cockhead, and as the tension slid it back just a little, the swollen, pink flesh became visible. Due to the swelling, the piss hole became so closed that urination was almost impossible and reaching a climax was not always easy.

Noah groaned. He stopped trying to fight the erection. It was better that this happened now than tonight, among his friends at the club. No doubt it would help if he emptied his balls now. If only he could get rid of his horniness by the thought of…He slowly rubbed the underside of the shaft with his supporting hand. The skin was tense, there was no movement in it anymore. His cock was as hard as a rock and felt heavy and warm. Despite all the blood it took to get it that hard, his cock wasn't very veiny. Only one thick vein snaked from his crotch up the side of the shaft to the top of it, towards the glans. The foreskin had slipped off, revealing the swollen, pink head. Noah spread his legs and jerked himself off with both hands. He bent his knees slightly in pleasure. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was holding a large, dark roulade with both hands, but one without a net. Condoms didn't fit. They never did.  Even a plastic sandwich bag was too tight for him. Noah closed his eyes and thought about that new colleague. His light complexion, sturdy physique and masculine behavior. His small nose and sexy lips. Even his overdone, big smile and straight black hair were perfect. Noah rubbed the tight skin of his thick shaft harder. The inflated glans rose proudly like the golden orb on a sacred scepter, in front of Noah's belly button. He spread his legs and bent his knees a little more to keep his balance. His pants hung tight between his ankles, his torn underwear tight between his knees. He leaned back slightly to compensate for the weight of his cock. Fat and bloated it now stood before him, still held tightly by his hands, which were moving back and forth more and more violently. His big balls were sloshing furiously under the calf-thick cock. My God! How delicious this was. Once again he thought about every detail of his colleague. About the time he tensed his biceps at a disco. How big those things were! Panting, Noah placed a hand under the shaft for support. With the other he rubbed at the tip of it, just below the glans. His foreskin moved violently with it. There was a tingling sensation in his balls. Yes! Just a little while. He was almost there. His entire cock felt warm and the thick vein snaking along the shaft bulged as if it could no longer handle the flow of fresh blood. Noah felt pressure building, as if he were holding a volcano that could erupt at any moment. He quickly grabbed his cock firmly with both hands again and powerfully started moving them back and fort. It seemed even his balls were starting to swell as the tingling got worse. Noah's thoughts lingered on the big, overdone smile. What unnaturally white teeth he had. Noah opened his eyes with a shock and stared jerking at his large cockhead, which suddenly seemed twice as thick and was almost ready to explode. It was a good thing there was no one in the studio, because he moaned loudly as his balls contracted. Panting, he stared at the small lamp on the ceiling as he felt his cock fill with cum. He held the shaft in his hands almost convulsively. With difficulty due to the swollen mass, his seed found its way through the narrow urethra. Screaming, Noah felt it gather in his glans. Come on… come on, he thought. It happened much more often that the swollen glans closed off the urethra and the sperm could not pass through for a while. But if there was enough seed to build up good pressure... Three thick, white strings suddenly sprayed from the narrow hole in the pink head towards the ceiling. Three more strings. My God! Noah screamed again. Four times thick jets of cum shot down the toilet before the force became less intense and turned into a lumpy river that Noah drained into the toilet. He sighed. How good this was!

Noah had cleaned his now flaccid cock with quite a bit of toilet paper. More attention he paid to the toilet itself. He didn't want his sister or one of the employees to find a quack of sperm there. His cock dangled violently with the movements he made. Even limp, it was still a large piece of meat. To make it easier for himself, he had taken off his pants and underwear. Noah was certainly not a nudist. He had an aversion to people who wanted to walk around naked at all times. He wasn't a sauna goer either. But without pants he had more freedom of movement, which was nice while cleaning the small toilet room. Especially when squatting to clean the back of the toilet bowl, he couldn't use pants. The problem was not that he could not spread his legs properly, but that pants pinched his crotch quite quickly. Oh shit! Suddenly a lot of fluid sprayed from his penis to the toilet and on the floor next to it. He could start over again. It wasn't pee, but residual cum. It was not possible for Noah to shoot out all his cum at once. Because his urethra was pinched by his enormous, filled erectile tissues and considerable pressure was needed to squeeze the semen past it, so some of it remained in his cock. This could only come out when his cock deflated again, sometimes even when he went to pee. Now it was the squatting position that squeezed out the remainder. Irritated, he hit his penis on his thigh when it got in the way of cleaning. He had often wondered if he had the fattest cock in the world. That wouldn't be the case, would it? He wasn't that special. Yet he had sometimes thought about applying for a porn film. It seemed easy to make money this way to him. And he came into contact with beautiful women. But then again… he didn't want the whole world to recognize him as a porn actor. What would his parents say? He couldn't do that to them and his dreams weren't there either. He always wanted a wife and children. He still wanted that, regardless of his feelings for that male colleague. Well, don't think about it anymore. He had already discharged his seed. The toilet was clean. Time for some more productive activities.

He walked through the studio in his torn underwear. The large lump in it moved visibly with the movements of his legs. That was intense, he thought. But it was really necessary! He had never regretted his decision not to have a penis reduction. Imagine if he could never jerk off again. No, he would rather remain single. He looked at the faded jeans he had taken from his backpack. They were quite good. With some difficulty he buttoned it. The lump in his crotch was quite in the way. Hmmm… it didn't fit well, so he unbuttoned it again and repositioned his penis. That was better. And it wasn't that noticeable in these pants that it was so thick. Fortunately, the loose, eggplant-colored sweatshirt that also came from his backpack fit better. He pulled it low over his crotch. Now it was no longer noticeable that he had something to hide. Noah put his shoes back on, walked back to the work table and crumpled up the sketches that he didn't think were good enough. After sitting down on the chair, he threw the wad in the trash. Hit! His pants still didn't fit right. A little too tight. He looked around for a moment, as if to make sure no one was watching, then opened his pants and pulled them down. His underwear followed. Fine, liberation. He placed his penis on one thigh and patted it a few times as if to say; well done. Most people do something like this to their dog if it behaved well. He stupidly pushed the chair under the table. Ouch! His penis was stuck between his thigh and the table top. It was the first time he sat at a table without pants. When he stayed for dinner with his parents, he always wore his pants. In his studio, employees were often at the table stringing beads. He had never been naked there and he didn't have a table at home. He ate on the couch. Luckily, no cuts or scratches. There were evenings and nights when he himself was afraid that something serious would happen during jerking off. That his skin could no longer cope and would tear, or that cthe thick vein would burst and blood would spurt out. Sometimes it felt like his fat cock was even thicker than normal, or became so hard that it hurt. Once, when he was extremely horny, his glans was so swollen that there was no way the cum could get out. It had been an intensely pleasant feeling, until the pressure became so great from all the cum that not only his glans, but his entire cock seemed to burst. He almost called 911 then. The fright made the horniness disappear and thus the hardness of his cock, so that the seed could still find a way out. Noah had been wondering for a while whether his penis was still growing. He seemed to be increasingly bothered by underwear that was too small and his tight jeans. He really didn't buy them a size smaller than before. And being stuck between his thigh and a table was extreme, even for him. Once again he took a good look at his penis. No, there really wasn't a wound on it. He still had a few hours to make new sketches before he was picked up. He felt clearer in his head than he had felt this morning. Jerking off had done him good. It had relieved some of the pressure. Noah grabbed a blank piece of paper and started drawing again. A bracelet with square, black beads made of wood and clay. Some beads had what appeared to be Chinese characters in silver color on them. That would look good on him, Noah thought, as he visualized the bracelet on his new colleague's muscular wrist. After all, he would also be the model for the new men's collection. If his sister would approve, that is. Noah would make sure she approved.

Doeth, that was his name, the new boy at work. In the short time they had known each other, he had shown Noah a completely different side of life. The side of fast cars, money and showy behavior. Of seeing and being seen. Noah hadn't told him anything about his feelings for him. He had no intention of ever doing that either. Hopefully it was a phase that resulted from years of not having a girlfriend. It would probably go away on its own. And Doeth, he would never accept that a boy had feelings for him. He was far too masculine and tough for that. The way he talked about women… As if they were diamonds. He had had girlfriends, but never for long. There was always a better, more beautiful woman to be found. These stories didn't mean much to Noah, but they did indicate how Doeth thought about women and those friends of his, they were not sweethearts. They had the same way of thinking about women. Their girlfriends looked like they had walked out of a fashion magazine. Blonde hair, slim waist and big tits. Noah thought they were like whores. They weren't his type at all. No, he didn't thought it would be wise to make it known that he found Doeth attractive. He would certainly be disowned. Maybe even beaten up. He looked with satisfaction at the four sketches on the table in front of him. Much better than the sketches he made this morning. Noah walked to the large window. It was dusk. The sun set. It looked like it was no longer drizzling. He looked up when there was a loud banging on the front door. He had turned off the doorbell so he could concentrate on designing. He forgot to turn it back on. A deep sigh, then he walked to the door. As he passed by, he kicked his backpack against a wall behind the kitchenette. He’d planned to pick it up later this week. With a cool smile on his face, he opened the door and looked into Doeth's round face, who immediately showed his big, fake smile.

“Yo…”

Behind him stood the heavily bearded Achmed, another colleague who also greeted with a cheerful smile. Doeth had many Turkish and Moroccan friends. He was a Chinese who had come to the Netherlands with his mother as a baby. She had met a Chinese man here. By now they were married and ran a large, successful restaurant. They were a bit antisocial. That whole family, by the way. They were not always involved in legal business and the restaurant was also used to launder money. At least that was the story. A large, white Mercedes was waiting across the street to take them to Belgium.

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[ederlot]

Bullies

A short story about the erotic aspect of fat and weight gain.

Eder witnesses the bullying of a fat boy and wonders how bullies and bullied people think. He also decides to implement his own (fat) idea.

There was a college on the route to my work, which for some unknown reason was always chaotically busy. In the morning, when I cycled to work, but also in the afternoon, when I drove home again. What a racket those students made. They stood in large groups on the schoolyard, smoking cigarettes, acting cool and screaming loudly at each other. Even more annoying were that students did not go to school by bus, but by bicycle. Clustered together, they took up the entire width of the cycle path, so I couldn't pass them. Couldn't students take into account the world around them, instead of thinking they were the only ones? And these are the doctors and managers of the future. Where is the world going to go? I'm glad we already had COVID and that it didn't come in 10 years or so. Then there would probably be no scientist left who could discover a vaccine against the virus. That requires brains which those students didn't seem to have. For me, it had been a while since I had been to school and I couldn't remember that the schoolyard was such a mess back then. Times were different. At that time, young people were not yet environmental activists, they were not nong-binary and they did not experience burnouts. At least it never happened to me. I did a lot of studies, but most of them were home studies, next to work. I've been working since I was 16. First simple side jobs such as stocking shelves in supermarkets. When I was 18, I dropped out of college where I studied retail. I always wanted my own CD store. Yes, I was already that old, I had witnessed the rise and fall of the CD. Fortunately, I never continued with that study, because CD stores had become obsolete. I actually never regretted not completing my studies. An acquaintance recently said that this means I know a little bit about everything. I think that I have an above-average knowledge of many subjects, partly thanks to those studies. From the age of 18, I started working full-time and embarked on a career full of home studies. You would think that among those studies there would be something in which I wanted to continue, but unfortunately I never found anything in which I wanted to specialize. That's why I ended up in a boring office of a large logistics company, half an hour's bike ride from my home. Once you had a full-time job it was difficult to go back to school. There were often monthly costs that still had to be paid. A telephone subscription, insurance, rent or mortgage and unfortunately I didn't have those parents who were willing to pay them for me.

Oh look, there he was again. I didn't know his name...I never spoke to those students, but he was different. He was not too tall, had short, blond hair, a round head and even his baggy clothes could not hide his heavy, blubbery body. I thought he looked like a little pig, with his red cheeks and small nose. He always carried the same moss green backpack and always walked alone. I didn't see him every day, but he was quite a striking presence, standing out from the crowd of students. I also couldn't remember ever seeing him standing or sitting with others. I don't think he was looking forward to it today. He looked quite grumpy the few times he looked up from the ground. I always had friends when I was still studying at school. I was never one of the popular guys, in other words; the bullies, but I always found a decent group of average students to spend my time at school with. I was regularly bullied in the lower grades. I was really such a student. I got exaggeratedly good grades, was always modest towards the teachers and never went out, because well... I wasn't attracted to women so there was little point in going to straight discos. My life mainly consisted of going to school, eating, learning and sleeping. In retrospect, very boring, but at the time I didn't know any better. The friends I met later weren't really into big parties either. But at least they had hobbies. One of them was a drummer in a band, I remember. After two years of school, the bullying stopped. I still don't know why, because I hadn't changed that much. I still got good grades and still didn't go out. Of course I didn't have a girlfriend yet. I was more interested in that handsome boy who didn't go to my school, but who was always waiting for some of my popular classmates to ride their bike home. Yes, through him I discovered that I was a bit different than normal, so to speak. I had never approached him, I wasn't popular enough for that. And I was too busy trying to figure out why I liked him more than pretty girls. They were also walking around at school. Sometimes I took friends to my house, sometimes I went to theirs. Their parents always thought I was quiet and decent. My parents were still proud of me then. As if it were a competition to see who had the most well-behaved child. Again, times were different then. What I want to say is that I didn't have to be alone if I didn't want to be. This is something I could still say. My group of friends was not nearly as extensive as it was back then, but if I wanted to do something fun or talk, I could often find someone who was willing to make time. And if I wanted to be alone after a busy day, that option was there too. I had a nice bedroom in my home, which unfortunately I had to share for some time. But my roommate and I had built a relationship in which we left each other alone a lot. I was very fond of my privacy. Finally I was doing the things I wanted to do without everyone interfering.

“Hey pig!” someone suddenly sounded.

It wasn't me. I was too modest for that... or too shy. Sometimes I wish I could express myself like that. I cycled slower and looked for where the sound was coming from. It was clear he meant the boy I was just talking about. He had quickened his pace and was trying to slip his big body between a few students who had gathered at the entrance to the school grounds. One of them was roughly pushed aside by the large backpack and looked after him angrily. The boy kept his head bowed to the ground as he walked towards the entrance of the building. From behind a bus stop a little further away, five boys appeared, each with a big smile on their face. They didn't look bad. Sleek hairstyles, beautiful clothes. Especially the one in the middle, with his tight t-shirt and big, bare arms. He probably went to the gym often. Yes, these were undoubtedly the popular boys in the class and their leader. I recognized his loud voice. He was the one who had just shouted. It's pathetic if you can only gain popularity by destroying others. And please get off the cycle path. I have to go through.

“Shall we pull up his shirt when he walks past a bunch of girls?” I heard one of the boys say? “Maybe they'll get jealous,” said another. “His tits are bigger than theirs.”

They started laughing again. They were planning something and I was somehow very curious about what they would do, but I had to go to work. I cycled past them. One of the boys gave me a dirty look, so I quickly turned my gaze away and picked up my pace. I had often wondered what it was like to be a popular boy. What's going through their minds? Why were they often such bullies? What were they trying to hide, or achieve with their actions? It seemed so tiring to me to always have to act tough. To be better and stronger than someone else. Could it have something to do with the natural way of gaining a place in this world? For a moment I looked back. I didn't see that fat boy anymore. The other boys were smoking in the schoolyard with their friends. Better said, with people they knew, because I wondered if popular boys had real friends. I felt that if they showed a weakness, a “friend” was ready to take over. A big, white Mercedes drove past me. Oh my goodness, he was back from vacation too. Talk about pathetic popular boys. Well, popular. Popular wannabe might be a better description. I had more bond with my colleagues and was accepted by them better than him. He made really strange attempts to be more like me and I… I would have liked to be a little more like him. But I was almost twice his age and more aware that I could never be like him. Maybe for the best.

Doeth was undoubtedly the most ostentatious Chinese I had ever seen. He was 23, always wore the most expensive clothes, drove a Mercedes and had started bodybuilding a year or two after a long career as a karateka. And it showed. It was short, but wide. Apart from an impressive appearance, he wasn't much else. He tried too hard to get attention with strange statements and boastful stories. It led to irritation among colleagues. Especially the female ones. Everyone now knew that his parents had a successful restaurant and that he had not paid for that Mercedes himself. Neither his clothes, for that matter. What I found sad was that no one was interested in his holiday, so he started showing videos of all the expensive places he had been. It made no impression. The work itself was again very boring. I had a conversation with a Hungarian colleague, expressed my dissatisfaction with the chaotic way of working with my team leader, who would not do anything about it anyway, and often went to the toilet just to get away from my workplace for a while. But the money wasn't bad, so I had no reason to leave yet. During the lunch break, my eye fell again on the loose sweatpants of Noah, a tanned Brazilian colleague. He was standing casually against a wall, talking to Doeth. They were about the same age and although I had the feeling that he also thought Doeth was a strange guy, they still had regular conversations with each other. I don't know about what, because I was an old fart and their conversations fell silent when I approached them. I thought he was just using Doeth to fulfill his plan to start a jewelry line. Doeth had money. He had not. I noticed that he had a huge bulge in his pants. Especially when he wore loose trousers and stood in a certain way, it looked like he was extremely endowed. Even though I had little contact with them, Doeth and Noah were nice to see. They added some color to the gray intention there. Just a few more minutes and then I could go home again. As usual, I grabbed a last cup of coffee to kill time. I was at my quota again and leafing through my notebook, as if I was still working on something very difficult. Then it was finally five o'clock and I thought I could cycle home, but in the bicycle shed I quickly saw that my rear tire was flat. Fortunately I was not the only one with a bicycle and it happened more often that tires deflated. There was already a pump ready for unlucky people with weak tires. Company service. I had to admit, the work was boring, but the staff was well taken care of. As Doeth's Mercedes sped past, I stood roughly pulling and pushing at the pump. Noah even asked if he should help. He had sold his car not long ago and also cycled every day, although he had to go in a completely different direction. It was nice that he offered help, but my rear tire seemed hard enough to come home with. We said goodbye and cycled on.

It was noisier than usual on the square in front of the college. Most of the students had gathered in a large circle and were watching something. They shouted and laughed. it attracted the attention of passersby, who walked to the fence separating the square from the rest of the world to see what was going on. The students leaving the school building quickly joined the others, afraid to miss something. I too had put my bike against the fence and stared through the bars hoping to see what was going on there. I didn't see much. The students were too close together. Suddenly it was quiet.

“Do you ever eat anything other than hamburgers?” came the voice I had also heard this morning.

Although it was slightly distorted to sound funnier, I recognized the voice as that of the leader of the popular boys I saw this morning. There was loud laughter again.

“Look at that gut, it's hanging all over his pants,” I heard a student say.

A few students walked away. They apparently didn't like it, but they did provide an opening through which I saw what was happening. The fat boy walked shirtless across the schoolyard, carrying his backpack in one hand. Behind him walked the boys from this morning. The leader held his shirt crumpled up in the air, as if it were a trophy. But that didn't catch my attention. What a soft body, was all I could think as I looked at the fat boy. And so pink. Now he was completely like a pig. His stomach indeed hung over his crotch and swayed gently with every step he took. He turned his body for a moment, as if he wanted to walk back to the leader of the popular boys and hit him and take his shirt back. The two large, dark pink spots on his tits hung down sadly and a large lobe on his stomach pressed on his navel. Unfortunately, no fight. My pig kept walking. The fun ended when the boy left the school grounds through the gate and the leader threw his shirt after him. I thought that was sporty of him, that he didn't let the pig walk home half naked. Cautiously the fat boy turned around, picked up his shirt from the ground and walked behind me. For a moment I felt compelled to ask his name, but I restrained myself and walked back to my bike. In the distance I saw him put his shirt back on, put his backpack on his back and continue walking. The students had dispersed again in the schoolyard. Most walked to the bus stop, or blocked the cycle path, because they were walking home. The five boys smoked another cigarette at the entrance to the school building. An older man stood there who seemed to be speaking sternly to them. Definitely a teacher. With a sigh I noticed why my bike no longer wanted to move forward. The rear tire was deflated again. Then just go for a walk. Half an hour, something like that. And then tape the tire. At that moment I longed for a car again. It promised to be a nice evening.

What a lazy nigger he was! Jackson, my roommate had not done any shopping again. Last Tuesday I had a lot of trouble patching my tire, at least that was what I thought. Yesterday I took an hour off to go to the bicycle repair shop, because when I arrived at work my rear tire was flat. Not empty thankfully. Now it cycled like new again. I was on my way to Burger King. Jackson had texted. There was nothing to eat in the house, so he ordered quite a few double hamburgers with cheese from me. If I could take them with me after work. Maybe I should explain the route to Burger King to him, so he could go get them himself instead of lying on the couch all day. The Burger King wasn't my favorite. I'd rather go to McDonalds, if I was going to get fast food at all. It could have been six months since I bought myself something to eat at the Mac. I often cooked myself. I did that before Jackson moved in with me. It was rush hour. That meant a lot of traffic in the city center and a lot of traffic lights that were red and when they turned green, there was often a car stopped at the crossing, so I couldn't get through yet. I had the choice between two Burger Kings. A very large one, on the market square. But it was often busy there, so I went for the other one. A small branch on the edge of the city center, where I had not been before. I parked my bike and walked inside. It was much less busy than I expected. It was already dinner time, right? Of course, most people were still stuck in traffic. As I walked to the counter I saw a familiar face. It was that fat boy from college. It really was him, I confirmed to myself after taking a closer look. I immediately recognized the fat, red head protruding from under the too-tight Burger King cap. So he had a part-time job here. It suited him well, Burger King. He was standing in the kitchen, grilling burgers in his baggy Burger King shirt tucked into his pants, pulled tight by the weight of his noticeably large underbelly. Unfortunately, it wasn't him, but a petite girl who helped me with my order. Five double burgers with cheese, 2 portions of fried onion rings, 3 crinkle fries and two large strawberry milkshakes.

“It's not for me,” I said quickly when she looked at me with a strange face, as if I was joking. “It can be packed.”

Jackson was a big eater, because none of this was for me. I would eat an egg sandwich. Just as tasty and much healthier. I walked to a corner set up to wait for orders and grabbed my phone to play a game on it. Burger King was not known for having fast employees. Every now and then I looked up to see if my order was ready yet. And to take a quick look at that fat boy. I wondered if he had recovered from the bullying earlier in the week. Would he have told others about it? His parents? How had they reacted?

It was very quiet in this small establishment. After me, only four other people had come in, and just like me, they were standing in the corner waiting for their order. How hard could it be to make some burgers and fries? He wasn't a hard worker, that fat guy. Neither were his colleagues. After ten minutes nothing had been packed. Like the other people waiting, I looked around when three boys walked in making a lot of noise. I recognized them too. They were two of those popular guys with their leader. They both seemed to be fighting for his attention as they started talking louder and louder. That one boy who had given me such a nasty look when I cycled past had a plastic bag in which seemed to contain something heavy. Ah, Mitch… So that was the name of the leader of the popular boys' club. I think he had recently been to the hairdresser, because his dark blond hair looked tightly shaved. He wore a tank top that showed off his broad torso, and his muscular arms even more. You expect a guy like that in the gym, but not at a Burger King. The other two boys only stopped talking when Mitch gave his order. The fat boy had probably seen them too, because he hid behind a scaffolding, next to the machine where the hamburgers were grilled.

Fortunately, the boys did not come and stand with me in the waiting corner, but walked behind me to a table. The intense scent of Code, a men's perfume from Armani, followed them. I always hated that. If men had half a bottle of perfume on, so that everyone could smell that they had money. Not even Doeth did something like that with his overly large Mercedes. Curiously, I listened to the conversation Mitch had with his friends. Dylan, that was the name of that fat boy. Popular guys were usually not the smartest, I knew from experience. Let them talk, I listened. Dylan was almost on a break apparently. Then they were planning something with what was in the plastic bag. Hmmm… interesting. I was shocked when the number of my order was suddenly called. It was Dylan who gave me the two bags that contained Jackson's food. I looked at him for a moment and smiled, but he walked back to his grilling machine, where he once again hid behind the scaffolding. What did I do? Should I wait a while? How long would it be before he had a break? He probably had to finish the orders for the other people waiting first. I slowly walked outside. I could wait a while. I wanted to know what Mitch had planned for him. I stopped by my bicycle. Just one cigarette. In that time I could see how many other people were coming out and I could calculate how long it would be before Dylan had a break. I was lucky. The people after me had placed a much smaller order than me. My cigarette had been gone for a while when the last person who had been standing in the waiting corner with me came out. Sorry Jackson, but the food won't be very hot when I get home. Not much later, Mitch and his friends also came outside. They walked past me, into an alley that looked like it led to the back of the building. Mitch ate his ordered hamburger, while the other boys took something out of the plastic bag. I quietly followed them.

The alley led to a messy courtyard, where Burger King employees dumped their waste. Not only in the three large containers that were there, but also next to them. There was a pile of bricks with moss growing on them. Long blades of grass stuck out from the poorly laid tiles on the ground. Next to the graffiti-covered back door of the building stood a collapsed metal rack that was probably once used to store stock. On one of the shelves was what looked like a short garden hose. On the other side of the door were open boxes containing bags of crinkle-cut fries. I was hoping they were old fries that could be thrown away and no longer used for sale. To be on the safe side, I decided never to eat crinkle fries from Burger King again. Poor Jackson. Although, he probably wouldn't care. As long as it tasted good. There were no windows at the rear of the building and the courtyard seemed dodgy. As if several drug deals were being concluded here every evening. It was quiet. The many sounds of the city center were blocked by the buildings around them. Dylan stood against a wall, staring at his phone. What a plump body that guy had. I thought blubbery fat looked unhealthy. Especially at that age. How old would he be? 16 or 17 something like that? His wide underbelly still hung low over his crotch and his wide hips jutted out considerably from either side of his body. It has always been a strange sight to me, a boy with such hips. The proportions were no longer correct and I thought it was too feminine. The outline of his breasts was clearly visible in his shirt. They were those flat low hangers. He looked startled, when the three boys approached him. He glanced at the graffiti-covered back door for a moment, as if he wanted to run toward it in search of safety. I think he knew that the boys would be faster than him, so he stood frozen in his spot by the wall. He quickly hid his phone in a pocket, which wasn't too easy considering his hips were pulling the pants quite tight.

Perhaps he was afraid they would take his phone away. The thing was apparently very important to him. He didn't know where to look as the boys came closer. One of them was carrying the bottle they had just taken out of the plastic bag. It was a two liter coke bottle. The red label was still on it. What was in it was not cola, but a brown, syrupy liquid. I looked at Mitch, who was leading the way. I couldn't help it much, but I found Mitch quite attractive. I have a weakness for muscular guys who thought of themselves as very beautiful. That boy carrying the bottle was a bit of a dime a dozen. Not very special. And the person carrying the plastic bag, who had given me a dirty look as I cycled past… he looked mean. Some people just have a mean face, as if it was shaped by their hatred of others. I once had a neighbor with a face like that. I don't think they can help it, but I'd rather not have them as friends.

From behind the wall where I hid, I saw the bottle cap being opened while Mitch walked over to Dylan.

“So Piggy,” he began. “We brought you something tasty.”

They spilled some of that brown liquid on the tiles. It looked like some kind of oil or old frying fat. Ah, frying fat, I heard Mitch say. Brought from his mother. Apparently his parents were divorced. The one with the mean face put some on his hands and after the other boy took the cap off Dylan's head and threw it down somewhere, the fat was rubbed through Dylan's short hair.

“Stop it!” Dylan whimpered, but the three boys just laughed.

He quickly bent over before drops of grease could drip from his face onto his work clothes. Old frying fat had a pungent, nasty odor that even I smelled while standing at a safe distance behind the wall. Dylan had some explaining to do when he returned to work straight after his break. This wasn't very smart of those guys. By their own actions, Dylan would have to betray them. Again, popular guys aren't usually smart. If I were them, I would use that brown juice in a different way. They held the bottle over Dylan head threateningly. It was clear they wanted to pour it on him. And then run away laughing. Very cool. Mitch squeezed the soft underbelly for a moment. Startled, Dylan stepped aside. His attention was on the bottle, which was held above him. He didn't keep an eye on Mitch's hands.

'Look at that body. It moves in all directions.”

To be honest, I didn't think Dylan's body was the prettiest either. For a moment the memory of the schoolyard flashed through my mind. When Dylan was walking around shirtless. It looked like a large, pink ham shaped like a bass guitar. Could he shape his body with training? Or is it genetically determined how the fat behaves? Dylan's body seemed almost liquid. It moved in all directions with every step he took, while Jackson was probably heavier, but also much sturdier. His body was more like a big pillow. I could imagine that this still gave Jackson some cuteness. Dylan had less of that. I'm not allowed to say it, but there are some people who are disadvantaged because of their appearance alone. That guy with the mean face was one of them too. You just wanted to slap him because of how looked. Dylan had that a bit too. And you didn't have to leave it for his character either. There wasn't much spirit in that boy. It was a bit of a loser. You didn't have to be a bully, but letting yourself be bullied wasn't good either.

'You don’t look good! Fat pig!'

They had pulled off his work shirt and were poking roughly into his exposed stomach with their fingers. Dylan's head was red and sweaty. Often he looked at the back door of the Burger King, but no one appeared and he was probably too tense himself to just push the boys away and go in. I wondered how often this happened. The realization suddenly came that this did not have to be the first time that those boys came here to do something to him. They slowly lifted the bottle higher above his head and tilted it. Stupid…stupid…I thought.

And just when things were getting exciting, I had to be interrupted by a loud beeping on my phone. It was a text from Jackson. Oh yes… he was there too. He must have been wondering where I was. There was no time to open and read the message, because the loud beeping had also attracted the attention of the boys. They looked at the wall, behind which I was hiding. After an approving nod from Mitch, the one with the mean face walked towards me. He had placed the bottle of smelly, brown liquid on the floor. Mitch stayed with Dylan, who was held against the wall by the other boy. In response, I reached for the Burger King bags on the floor next to me, which contained Jackson's food. There was still time to run away. And then? Then I would never know what would happen. They would probably cover Dylan with the old frying fat. That was funny, or cool. I didn't see the joke in it. This had to be possible differently. I placed the bags back on the floor and waited quietly for the boy with the mean face to appear.

“Come on, I won't bite,” I said when I noticed that the boy was hesitating to come closer.

Popular men. As strong as they were together, as weak they were alone. That's how far I had gotten in my knowledge of them. Geez, that guy didn't just have a mean face. He was also hideously ugly, I saw now that he was standing close. He looked at me with an aggressive look.

“What are you doing here?” he shouted loudly and clenched his fists menacingly, as if he wanted to hit me at any moment. He walked towards me broadly, but almost tripped over the Burger King bags on the floor.

“Be quiet, man,” I said softly. “If someone hears you screaming, they'll come and see what's going on. Then the fun is over.'

What an idiot, I thought, as the boy pushed the bags aside with one foot. If I wanted this to work, I had to stoop to his level. As far as that was possible. That may have sounded a bit arrogant, but I believe there was an intelligence gap between people that could be too big to bridge. I didn't think I was the smartest, but I was smarter than most other people. At least I could think. And keep my emotions under control. Screaming people were barbarians in advance.

“You don't have to tell me what to do and what not to do!” his voice echoed through the silence.

I did not say anything. Plan A had failed. This guy was impossible to talk to. I couldn't… no, I refused to lower myself to his level. Then Plan B. But plan B required something else. I hoped it came soon, because this boy came very close with his clenched fists and mean, ugly face. I wasn't a fighter. When I was young, my parents made me practice Judo. I thought it was terrible. I was way too nice to fight. But because of Judo and the bullying at school, I knew that my body could handle quite a few blows. Fortunately it didn't get that far, because Mitch appeared.

“What are you doing, Peter?” he asked the boy angrily, giving away his name. “Do you want them to come out and see which idiot is screaming, you bitch!”

Ah, plan B began. The leader of a bully club was also an idiot, but slightly less of an idiot than the rest. Otherwise he would never have become the leader, or so I thought. And once again, this leader was a lot of fun to watch. He turned his gaze from Peter and stood wide in front of me. I thought he made himself wide to impress, because although I immediately believe that he was often in a gym, he was not nearly as wide as he appeared.

“What are you doing here?” he asked me, while Peter took a few steps back and stood behind Mitch. “Go away before bad things happen.”

As if those annoying things weren't going to happen anyway. How can people be so short-sighted? They perform an action without thinking of the consequences. The action is based on what they want to achieve, but what good is that if the consequence takes them back to where they started? Like taking someone into your home because you need money quickly and then not being able to get them out. Or smear someone with frying fat, so that they have to tell what happened later. Nothing came out of my mouth for a moment. I quickly had to come up with something clever to say back.

“Aren't you the guy who almost ran me over on the bike path near the school?” Peter said loudly again, as if he were trying to impress with his voice.

“Are you following us?”

I really found Peter annoying. I'm not a cop, idiot! There are more important things in life than you to pay attention to. Mitch motioned for him to leave. Apparently he also had enough of that loud shouting. Now I was alone with him. A great opportunity to see if he would listen to me. I told him quietly, so that the others did not hear me, that it was not my intention at all to report them to the police, nor that it was my intention to help Dylan, but that I found the process of bullying interesting. Mitch looked at me in disbelief and pushed me back. Once again he told me to leave. I nodded understandably and asked if I could still grab my Burger King bags behind him. Fortunately, that was allowed. I didn't want to have to place a new order or come home without food. Jackson would never accept that. I slowly walked past Mitch, taking a good look at his muscular arms.

“Make sure you don't get caught,” I said. 'That would be a waste'.

Mitch turned and walked back to his friends. I couldn't resist presenting my idea to him, so I asked him if it wouldn't be better to let Dylan drink the contents of the bottle. Dylan turned back to me in surprise. It seemed like a logical solution to me. If Dylan drank the stuff, no one would ever have to know, while if he went straight back to work with smelly, soaked clothes, everyone would see that something had happened. They would ask for an explanation. He was already fat. No one would notice a few extra pounds. A wicked smile appeared on Mitch's face. He thought it was a good plan too. But how did they get that stuff into him? Dylan would spit it out with every sip. My intelligent brain had thought of that too. I pointed out the garden hose on the rack by the back door. They could probably do something with that. Mitch patted me on the shoulder and invited me to help him. A sign of appreciation. I had done it again. However, I thought it would be unwise to show my face, so we agreed that I would watch from behind the wall. If this plan worked they would do it every time from now on. So they indeed came to this courtyard more often to bully Dylan. From behind the wall I saw Mitch walk straight to the designated rack to grab the garden hose. They had to hurry. The break only lasted a few minutes. Mitch discussed something with his friends and then pushed Dylan firmly against the wall. Peter tried to attach one end of the garden hose to the bottle. With some clumsy pushing he succeeded. Something I didn't expect. While the other boy took over and held Dylan against the wall, Mitch put the other end of the tube in Dylan's mouth. The garden hose was shorter than I thought, but that worked out well. I just hoped there wasn't too much junk in there. And that Mitch would stick that tube deep in Dylan's mouth. Not only would the stuff taste bad, it wouldn't be good if it dripped from his mouth onto his work clothes. Poor Dylan, what would be going through his mind? Fear? Fury? I wouldn't feel very comfortable if a group of guys shoved a tube through my mouth while holding me against a wall. I should have just run to the door while I still could. Or if he had called for help once, someone would have come to look. He probably hadn't thought of all this when he got up this morning. Peter once patted the fleshy gut with the flat of his hand and chuckled.

“You fat, dirty pig!!”

I had to say that Mitch was pretty good at shoving hoses into someone's mouth. Dylan struggled a lot, but nevertheless Mitch pushed the hose deep inside. Much further than the mouth, into the esophagus. Hopefully also beyond the trachea, otherwise Dylan could choke on the frying fat. They laughed as Mitch finally let go of the hose and Peter lifted the bottle into the air. Well, there went two liters of liquid frying fat. Disgusting! Dylan watched anxiously as the viscous liquid moved through the garden hose, towards his mouth. Mitch motioned for Peter to hold the bottle a little higher to speed up the process. The break was almost over. Large beads of sweat slid down Dylan's face as the contents of the bottle emptied into his stomach. He no longer struggled. It was no use, the boys were too strong. Why had I never done this to Jackson at night when he was sleeping? It would be a nice addition to the diet I was already feeding him. Actually, more the diet he asked for. I looked at the bags on the floor. The food would be cold by now. I still wanted to get rid of Jackson, after everything he had done to me. The coke bottle was half empty and Peter stood on his toes to get the rest out with some haste. They did it nicely. None of the cooking oil dripped onto the floor or onto Dylan's work clothes. Very good. No one needed to know what was happening here. I laughed at myself. I am so smart. Tonight I will definitely go to the supermarket and pick up a bottle of cooking oil. Or sunflower oil. I probably had a garden hose somewhere in my shed. Jackson was going to sleep really well tonight. Dylan struggled again for a moment. Two liters was quite something. He could probably feel his stomach filling up now. But hey... he doesn't look like he couldn’t fit a lot of contents into his stomach. He struggled again, but the boys held him firmly against the wall. What would they do? It looked like they were just carrying on. The bottle was almost empty. Yep, that leftover too. Don't be so lame. That's what I always said to Jackson when he couldn't eat that last bit of my cooking. Sometimes he needed a little help. Well, come on guys. The break was about to be over by now. They would come outside to see where Dylan was. At least they did that at my job. Five minutes late and there was already a team leader to take you back inside. Why were breaks always so short?

Mitch squeezed Dylan's stomach again, as if to feel if it was getting any bigger. Of course it didn't happen that quickly. You didn't have to be a medical scientist to understand that. Peter seemed relieved when he was able to stand on level feet again and lowered the empty bottle. He turned his shoulder slightly. Definitely stretched too far. Mitch shook the garden hose to release the last bit of frying fat into Dylan's stomach, after which he expertly removed it. Dylan belched loudly and when the boys let him go, he clutched his stomach. It was full of that nasty liquid. He was nauseous and gagging, but he didn't throw up.

“I um… I have to get back to work.”

He pointed to the door and walked with his head down. The boys let him go. They laughed. What a softy. With every step Dylan took, his body sloshed in all directions, as if he himself was made of liquid frying fat. His shirt was sticking out of his pants at his butt, but he didn't seem to notice. The boys had done well. They hadn't spilled anything on his clothes, Dylan wasn't hurt, and everything looked as if nothing had happened. Peter put the empty bottle in his plastic bag and Mitch ordered the other boy to put the hose back on the rack where I had pointed it out. There was an elated mood among the boys. They seemed to really enjoy this way of bullying. I couldn't blame them. Dylan looked back sadly and gagged again. He wouldn't throw up, not over the hamburger machine he worked behind. Would he be ashamed now? I could kick myself if I was treated like this and didn't do anything in return. The boys slowly walked happily towards me to leave the courtyard.

“Another mission accomplished,” I heard the boy say, whose name I didn't know.

The other two laughed and Mitch patted their shoulders approvingly. What would be going through their minds? Would they be proud of themselves? Would they really think they had accomplished anything? Why had they started bullying in the first place? Maybe I should just ask them sometime. I thought that bullies were actually very dissatisfied with their own lives and that they took out that frustration on someone else. Maybe I was completely wrong, but it seemed that bullying was actually a form of jealousy towards the person being bullied.

“That was…” Mitch started when he appeared behind the wall with his friends, but I was already gone.

Nice that he started talking to me. It meant that he had not forgotten me and that he at least saw me as a full-fledged conversation partner, but I had other things to do. I had quickly grabbed the Burger King bags, ran out of the alley and jumped on my bike. It was too early to build any kind of bond with those guys. In addition, I now had cold food to deliver to Jackson. As I expected, he didn't mind. The fries went into the microwave for a while, where they became not only warm but also disgustingly soggy. But Jackson ate everything. The burgers… it seemed like he didn't notice they were cold at all. Without taking his eyes off the television, he took bite after bite. I don't think he even realized that I was leaving again. To the supermarket. When I came back he asked why I suddenly had to look for something in the shed. I brushed him off with a simple excuse. He was so glued to the couch again that he really didn't come after me to see what I was doing there. He had already eaten everything I brought from Burger King. Excitedly, I looked for a garden hose. I was curious what 2 liters of sunflower oil would do to him. To be on the safe side, I also brought a pack of sleeping tablets with me, so that he would sleep a little deeper tonight.

The weather was nice today. Not overly warm and there was a fresh breeze. They had predicted rain for tonight, but I would have been home by then. It was Saturday afternoon. Nevertheless, the park seemed quiet. I was there quite often. With Vince, a good friend. We loved walking and the park was one of the nicer areas of the city. Especially in my financially bad period, we often came there to talk. Vince had also expressed his dissatisfaction and incomprehension about how my family treated me. I had known him for a long time and he had experienced my situation from the beginning. Now I wasn't in the park with him. I was alone. Curious, but also nervous, I walked along the long, shady path between the trees, which connected the parking lot and bicycle shed with the deeper part of the park. Not without reason. Last week I discovered, not entirely by chance, that Dylan also regularly went to this park. Every day I had waited for him after work at the college, hidden by the bus stop. I had quietly chased him. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he worked at Burger King. On Mondays and Wednesdays he went to the park. On Friday he went straight home. At least, I assumed he lived in the house he had entered. A beautiful house by the way. I didn't know whether Dylan also went to the park on Saturdays. I hoped to meet him here, but if that wasn't the case, I could walk around myself. If necessary I called Vince. He always wanted to come along. I lit a cigarette and began my search. It was a large park with winding paths and of course many trees that obstructed the view. I couldn't find him on the benches in the quiet corner of the park, where few people came and where I had sat a lot. He was not at the thick, crooked tree either. I had already gone for a long walk when I finally saw his figure on a bench by the pond. Lighting another cigarette, I approached him from behind.

“Can I come and sit?” I asked.

Startled, Dylan looked up and moved to the side to make room for me. He looked away uneasily. I felt the heat radiating from his body. It must have been brewing between all the fat lobes under that baggy shirt now that he was sitting down. I had prepared a conversation, but in real life things always turned out differently.

I told him that I had seen him at Burger King and how coincidental it was to meet him here. Out of pretend interest, I asked him if the burgers there consisted of pure beef. At first the conversation was difficult, as I expected. Dylan spoke under his breath, probably wondering who I was. He wasn't used to talking to strangers. After a while he started to get up and walk over. He seemed sad. Maybe the magical Mars I brought especially for him could change that. If you wanted to win someone's trust, you had to give a little something, I had read. Something that showed you weren't a threat. A Mars worked for me when I was a little kid.

“Here, take it,” I said, smiling kindly when Dylan looked surprised at the Mars I handed him. 'You do not have to be scared. I just want to talk to you for a moment. Besides, I don't want such a broad guy like you against me.'

Ah, I had used a good choice of words again, because Dylan accepted the Mars with a smile. 

'I'm Eder. Ederlot. Don't ask me where that strange name comes from. My parents gave it to me.”

Dylan also introduced himself. I felt lucky. A sense of trust began to emerge. He seemed to enjoy being called a 'broad guy'. Almost on his own he started talking about himself. That he was not used to being treated kindly and how he was bullied a lot because of his appearance. I listened attentively to his story. I used to have a female 'friend' who also had no friends. When I was with her, she started telling me all kinds of things, especially about the misery in her life. That was probably due to a lack of social contacts, because Dylan did this too and he didn’t stop talking. He had gained a lot of weight since his father's death. He did not have a good relationship with his stepfather. He called him a sloth and a punching bag. Sometimes he was even beaten by him. Probably out of guilt, his mother gave him money to buy some treats, even though she was concerned about his weight. His older brother had fled the house. He also did not get along with the stepfather. Dylan had little contact with him. In turn, I cheered Dylan up by saying that he didn't look bad at all and that I thought he was quite strong. Perhaps a martial art such as Judo was something for him, but he immediately rejected that. He didn't want to hurt others. He was interested in strength sports, but he didn’t have the to walk into a gym alone. I didn't know how long we sat there talking. At some point we had gone home when we both got hungry. Before we went, I asked him a favor. In return I would go to the gym with him. I could use a little more exercise myself. Dylan had happily agreed to this deal.

On Monday morning I cycled to work earlier than usual. I needed time to get my stance at the college. I placed my bicycle behind the bushes, where I had parked it last week, and took my position as an unsuspecting passenger at the bus stop. Let's see if Dylan kept his word. The schoolyard slowly filled up with students. There was no trace of Dylan yet. I waited there for ten minutes. I had smoked two cigarettes in a row out of tension. Ha, finally! There he was. I immediately recognized that unhealthy, blubbery body. Dylan seemed to be walking a little straighter than the last time I saw him. He was probably proud that he could do something for a friend. He walked in a straight line across the schoolyard to the tree that I had pointed out to him. I had convinced him that a piece of fabric had blown in by the wind that I wanted. The piece of cloth was indeed there, but it was deliberately hung there and not blown in. I also explained to him how to get there. Poor Dylan. Some students watched him as he grabbed the iron fence that surrounded the school grounds with both hands. If he could reach the top, the piece of cloth would be within reach. The fence was not much higher than Dylan was tall and the branch from which the fabric hung was right above it. I had convinced him that the cloth was very important to me. That I had received it from my grandmother and that I was therefore very careful with it. He believed it. If I was so careful with it, how did it end up in a tree, I wondered. My story wasn't completely watertight, but he fell for it. Dylan pushed himself roughly against the ground. The fencing shook under his weight. He was strong indeed, for he seemed to have almost no difficulty in climbing up. Oh, he fell back. That's too bad. Students stared at him, probably wondering what he was doing. His body shook violently back and forth with every jump he made. Finally he found something to hold on to and slowly climbed up.

'Holy shit! Look at that ass crack,' suddenly a loud voice sounded.

It was Peter, who had appeared among the watching students with his friends and Mitch. Exactly on time. Dylan's pants had indeed fallen down and a deep crack had become visible between his large, pink buttocks. Dylan didn't seem to care. Even when some students started laughing, he continued to climb. Mitch said something to Peter and gestured for him to walk over to Dylan. With that evil smile on his face, Peter ran to the fence and pulled Dylan down by his sagging pants, completely exposing his buttocks and a pair of white underwear. Dylan had climbed far enough to hold on to the top of the fence. Just a little more, then he could grab the piece of cloth, but Peter held on tightly to the trousers. Many students stood up laughing at this spectacle.

“For my friend!” Dylan suddenly shouted and with a final effort he reached up and grabbed the piece of cloth.

Ah, how cute. He saw me as a friend. Even I could hear his shouting, at the bus shelter. I had to admit that I didn't expect him to be able to grab the piece of cloth at all. He was stronger than I thought, but also less clumsy. In the end, it wasn't about that piece of clothing at all for me, but about the contact with Dylan. He was able to teach me how people who were bullied think. But this is a nice bonus. Suddenly there was a lot of screaming from the schoolyard. I saw Dylan lying on the floor. He must have fallen off the fence, but that wasn't the problem. Peter lay beneath him. Of course he had still be trying to be funny. Oh my… That much weight on him, that couldn't be healthy. Dylan scrambled to his feet and pulled up his pants. Peter stayed down. As his friends ran to him, Mitch disappeared into the crowd of students. Time for me to go, otherwise I'll be late for work. Dylan will give me the piece of fabric at our next appointment. While I was cycling to work, an ambulance came towards me with its siren blaring. It drove towards the college.

What an experience. So one morning I unsuspectingly drove to work, the next moment I witnessed… no, was a part of bullying. And eventually someone ended up in the hospital. Sometimes I thought my life was boring. But then… I once said to a friend who was suicidal; If you end your life now, you never know what tomorrow will bring. And tomorrow can suddenly be completely different, full of things you didn't expect or that you no longer hoped for. I heard that Peter will be released from the hospital tomorrow and can rehabilitate. Not only all his ribs, but also his back were broken. That would be a wheelchair for the rest of his life. His bad, if only he weren't so mean and ugly. But of course I hoped that he would find happiness somewhere. I hoped that for everyone. Life was too short to be unhappy, right? Jackson wondered why he suddenly woke up regularly feeling full and lethargic. He woke up much earlier than before and ran to the toilet as quickly as he could. I enjoyed the symphony of loud, simmering sounds that came out. Sunflower and olive oil accelerated bowel movements, so I stopped using them. Nowadays I also do it with frying fat. The nice thing is that I get it for free from snack bars. Old fat then. They were happy to get rid of it. You could add all kinds of ingredients to it. Gravy from the night before, melted ice cream, unwhipped whipped cream. Weight gain powder, I had yet to try that. I had already ordered a bag. Stupid Jackson didn't realize anything, because he still ate just as much during the day. His clothes were already tighter. Oh.. and Doeth, you know, that Chinese guy with his big Mercedes, is getting fired, I heard at work. He had failed to show up one too many times with his showy behavior. He did that often, just not being there. This time he had called in sick, but was seen by the team leader on a terrace in the city center. What an idiot. I guess it will bring more peace to the department. I didn't think anyone really cared. He would go next month. His contract was then not extended. Dylan was doing well. I often had conversations with him in the park. He was still a fat pig, but because I kept trying to spice him up, he wasn't such a wimp anymore. He became more and more open and sometimes I even heard what it was like to be bullied so badly. I was also bullied at school, but it was only mean words, rude pushing and sometimes a punch. No one had ever shoved a garden hose in my mouth. But hey… I have to go now. Have another appointment with Mitch. I'm still very curious about the thoughts of a bully. Why he does what he does. And I have a new idea that I need him to implement.

[ederlot]

Dinner with Jackson

I was quite the loser once. I had never been very popular. I knew a lot of people, but only had two friends. Very good friends they had become over the years. The kind of friends who you could wake up at night. Not that I had ever used that knowledge, but if necessary it was possible. I knew that for sure. I didn't need more friends either, or so I thought at the time. I was not very active on social media. I did have a Facebook and an Instagram, but that was more because everyone else had them. I never felt the need to have a lot of followers, so that I could say I had a lot of friends. I think I'm way too down-to-earth to call people I've never met in real life 'friends'. Or too old. I remember the time when we used to go to a café to meet each other, relax and do crazy things. But that was quite some time ago. I have done many studies. From psychology and cultural sciences to electrical engineering and nutrition, but I had not completed any. They were all boring and not really what I was looking for. What was I looking for? I still wouldn't know. My search led to various jobs and eventually I ended up in the office of a large transport company. Also boring, the work, but the people were quite nice. Very multicultural. The conversations often went nowhere (if I understood them at all) and I didn't really have a strong bond with anyone, but there was a lot of laughter.

With a pounding head full of thoughts, I stared at the small print on the screen. Basically I was staring through the screen (the work was really boring). Slowly I started filling the input fields with requested information. Today's hundredth order. I almost met my quota. Luckily it was almost time to go home. The sun shone brightly outside. I almost melted while smoking during the breaks. Not just me. The Arab colleagues, who were used to more heat, also found it unpleasant when it was so hot outside. That's the disadvantage of here, either it's cold and wet, or it's suddenly way too hot. The wind didn't bring any relief either, if there was any. On days like this the wind was like a hairdryer. Every breeze was warm and dry. Sigh! That last order was finished. Of course I could have done more before it was 5 o'clock, but I didn't. They immediately expected me to do more orders every day. That's how it worked at the company. There were those show-offs who always did more than necessary. But they were called to the lead if they suddenly did less, but were still above 100. I got a cup of hot chocolate from the vending machine just to kill another minute. As always, I spent the rest of my time looking interestingly through my notebook, as if I were working on a very difficult order. Some thought the work really interested me. In the beginning I did, but after two years of continuously doing the same thing and running into walls when I had an improvement proposal, the fun was really hard to find. It paid quite well, especially if I had to work in the evenings with all the shift allowances. And there was regular overtime. I didn't have much to do at home, so I was always allowed to come back if there was a lot of work. That made me a bit popular. At least with the shift lead.

I always thought I came from a warm family. Until a while ago I was doing a bit less financially. Then I discovered I had to figure it all out for myself and learned that you only really got to know people when you were in a difficult situation. There are some life lessons you don't actually want to learn, but they are thrown into your lap for free. Fortunately, I was able to start at the transport company after a period of unemployment. However, the bond with my family is no longer as strong as before. I think for them it is, because they treat me like they used to. However, I find it difficult to forgive them for their absence when I needed them most. I had a nice car. I had to sell it to pay my mortgage. That's why I was now on a bicycle in the killing heat. Air conditioning would be nice. I even took a boy from the streets into my house so that we could share the costs. His name was Jackson, a black guy who wanted to take all his friends into my home as well. Or so it seemed. He came from a special project of the municipality. Well… I had trouble with it at first. Car gone, privacy gone. But I really needed the money. He was under supervision, so it seemed safe to me and the municipality paid, so I was sure I would never have to chase the money. But now that things were going better financially, I could no longer get him out of the house. And hey… sometimes it was quite nice to be with someone. Alone was just alone, right? It was still quite far to my house actually. A half hour cycle in the blazing sun. A sip of cold Coke would be welcome.

I clumsily pushed my bike into the shed, where, after a moment of riding itself, it fell against a pile of boxes that had been there since the move. Every weekend I decided to clean out the boxes. And every day I decided to be more careful with my bike. It was the only means of transportation I had. But on the weekends I had other, more fun things to do than tidying up the shed and after work I was too tired to park the bike properly. Actually, I just never felt like it. Home was my safe haven. At least it was before Jackson came along. Luckily I still had my own room, which Jackson was not allowed to enter.

“Did you bring any pizza rolls?” came a deep voice from the living room. “And the milk is gone.”

God damn it, I hadn't even closed the front door before he started whining. It often happened that Jackson would have liked me to bring him anything and everything after work. He hardly ever went shopping himself.

“No,” I replied, throwing my bag under the coat rack. “I just got home from work and I can't smell all the food you've been eating!” “I texted you,” Jackson immediately protested.

The pounding in my head, which I suffered from at work and which had disappeared due to cycling, returned. After work I wanted to be left alone for a while. Even if it was just for a few minutes. In my mind I walked to the kitchen and took a large glass from the cupboard, after which my eye fell on the calendar that was taped to the refrigerator door. Gosh! It was Friday. Nice weekend! Every day seemed the same at that boring job. It often happened that I had forgotten the days of the week and had to accidentally find out that the weekend had started. I once even managed to go to work on a Saturday and did not understand why the gate was closed. Oh yes… Dinner with Jackson tonight, it was noted on the calendar. He was actually going to go with friends, but they canceled. And he treats, so why not. At an all-you-can-eat in the city. I used to eat there with my friends. The choice was large, the food tasty and not too expensive. Jackson also had his good habits. What the…! Why did the refrigerator look so empty inside? Where's my coke?

“Where's my Coke?” I shouted irritatedly from the kitchen.

“It's gone,” came the voice from the living room.

Sigh. So I could still go to the supermarket with my headache. The idea of; Jackson also has his good sides, disappeared immediately and with a wildly beating heart I walked to the living room. There he was, slumped on the couch. 400 pounds of body in just a pair of white boxer shorts, barely visible through his belly, which hung well over it.

“Couldn't you have gone to the store yourself?” I asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Jackson didn't respond. As usual, he paid more attention to the program on television than to me.

“I was watching this,” he finally said, probably starting to feel uneasy about my icy frame and piercing gaze.

Sometimes we had conversations that were easier than this. About life, the mistakes we had made and our dreams. It took a while, but I finally got Jackson to tell me something about himself every now and then. Sometimes we even laughed about ourselves and each other. More often than not, there were situations like this where I was irritated and Jackson didn't seem to care much. It seemed impossible to make appointments with him. Jackson had proven to be very good at saying yes and doing no.

“I'll go to the supermarket in a moment,” he said after a few minutes, without taking his eyes off the television. 'Let's check this out first. It's almost over."

He'd had all damn day to go to the grocery store and get everything himself. Angry, I walked back to the kitchen and filled the tall glass with tap water to quench my thirst. Jesus man! I had never seen such a lazy nigger. We had to be at the restaurant in less than two hours. He never achieved that. The supermarket was not very far away and you could get there quickly by bike. But not Jackson. The last time he cycled it took him 20 minutes. He had come back completely out of breath. And then he wasn't even as heavy as he is now. And then… my poor bike. Would it hold that weight? How am I going to get to work on Monday if that thing was completely collapsed?

“Never mind, I'll go, again!” I shouted as I placed my half-full glass in the sink and walked into the hallway. “Just freshen up a bit for tonight. And wear decent clothes.”

There was silence from the living room. No response when I closed the front door behind me and took my bike out of the shed again.

“Oh, that guy can whine!” Jackson thought. With a groan he stood up with difficulty and pulled his sagging boxer shorts over his plump, protruding ass. Why on earth had he planned dinner with him? Contact with the friends he used to have had deteriorated since he lived here. They used to be together often, on the street. His father had died when he was a toddler. He did not have good contact with his mother. Neither with his two sisters. They were too busy with themselves. With make-up and men. Maybe as an older brother he should have paid more attention to them, but Jackson had chosen a different path. A path of crime, of stealing and drugs. Until he was at the police station again and was assigned a house for some project. At first he didn't like it, but after a while he started to see the usefulness of a home. It was actually quite nice. A bed, a shower. A place to feel safe. And Eder… oh well, he wasn't too bad apart from his whining. He did the shopping, cleaning, payments. And he was a good cook. His friends still lived on the streets. Or in prison. Jackson had never been to prison. He had been spared that fate.

Jackson glanced in the mirror on the wall in the hallway next to the stairs before beginning his climb. There was a piece of dust in his deep navel that he clumsily picked out with the help of the mirror. He could no longer look over his stomach. It was therefore no longer possible to pick something out of his navel without a mirror. Despite his weight, Jackson's body was not flabby. Not liquid, like the bodies of many fat people are. His belly was large, but firm. And so were his legs, which had to bear all the weight. His legs had always been strong. Handy for running from the police if he stole something again. A deep sigh. Then he slowly climbed the stairs. With each step his boxer shorts slid down a little, revealing a high butt crack, but Jackson didn't seem to mind. Breathing deeply, he reached the last step. Holding on to the banister, he took a good minute to recover from the climb. Thoughts of all the food at the buffet made his mouth water. He had been looking forward to it all day. Actually, it didn't matter to him who went with him, as long as he was there himself. With a bar of soap he washed his armpits and the underside of his fat breasts, which swayed violently despite their firmness. Groaning from bending over, he took off his boxer shorts and also washed the underside of his stomach. These were the places where there were the most sweat spots in this hot weather. They eventually started to itch, he knew from experience. And he felt cleaner and fresher when they were washed. He didn't take time to take a shower. He wanted to be ready when Eder got back. He didn't mean to piss him off. He wanted to go to the supermarket himself, but sometimes he just couldn't find the energy to do it. Then he couldn't pull himself away from the television and the couch and he stayed seated. All day. Like today.

Naked, Jackson walked to his bedroom and took a pair of clean boxer shorts from a drawer. A purple one. He never wore briefs. They were no longer comfortable now that a large fat pad was growing under his belly. He flopped clumsily onto his bed and struggled to get the boxer shorts over his feet. His legs had grown a bit bigger again, he felt as he pulled at the fabric. He lifted his stomach and pulled the boxers up a little further. Again he breathed deeply, as if he had exerted himself heavily. Groaning, he got up and walked to his wardrobe. Decent clothes. What were those actually? Jeans will be better than sweatpants. It was a great opportunity to also wear the new blouse that he bought last month. Jackson didn't like to wear jeans and blouses. He preferred looser clothing around his body, such as sweatpants and shirts. They gave him more freedom of movement and were easier to take off if he got hot. The first pair of jeans he found in his messy wardrobe went straight into the trash. It dates back to the time when he first moved into the house and he could barely pull it over his thick calves. The second pair of jeans had frayed holes at the knees. The pants slid more easily over his calves, but got stuck at his thighs. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jackson tugged at the dust in frustration. Well, surely he still has one pair of jeans that fit? With a loud crack, the holes at the knees tore out and with a thud, Jackson fell back onto the bed. He had pulled too hard and so these pants also had to go in the trash. Panting, he got up and looked through the shirts in his closet for another pair of jeans. He heard the front door slam shut. Eder had returned, so time was running out. The taxi that would pick them up would be at the door in about an hour.

It was good to see that Jackson was no longer on the couch, a sign that he was changing clothes. Do not get me wrong. I wasn't the type who only wanted to be seen with people in expensive clothes. But I also didn't want to be seen in a restaurant with someone who looked like a beggar. I hurriedly emptied the shopping bag. Finally, Coke! I poured the remainder of the water from the glass into the sink, filling it halfway with coke. I also brought a box of frozen pizza rolls that Jackson had requested. They seemed gross to me, but Jackson ate more of what seemed gross to me. For example, sandwiches with cheese spread, real cheese, jam and chocolate sprinkles. He could eat a whole loaf of it. I greedily drank the coke and ran upstairs to my room to change clothes. I didn't see Jackson. He had closed his bedroom door. I didn't really feel like saying anything to him. There was a nice tense atmosphere again. That promised something for tonight. I personally had no problems finding nice clothes. A lot of it came from the time when I was in a better financial position. Then I had too much money, or so it seemed. Buying designer clothes was one of my hobbies. Crazy actually. It was never about the brand for me, but the clothes were just beautiful. And the quality was good, which is why I can still wear them now. It is not yet pale or full of holes. Then I had a good job at a large bank. Sometimes I still regret leaving. Well… I had indeed resigned there myself. I had my reasons, so I didn't really have to regret it. Money wasn't everything. There was also such a thing as personal happiness. Not that I found that afterwards. I was still searching for what I wanted to do with my life. I started to feel more and more in a hurry. I wasn’t 18 anymore and I wouldn’t live forever. A loud groan sounded, followed by a 'damn it'. Well, Jackson is having a hard time with his clothes. For a moment I thought I was going to check on him, but something stopped me. A white Calvin Klein t-shirt with print. I was going to wear that this evening. With black jeans. Time to get dressed.

When Jackson came to live with me, he was a slim, even athletically muscular boy. Afterwards I heard about his street life, how he had always had to run from the police and that he trained almost every day with climbing frames in playgrounds and loose paving stones that he pulled off as weights. So I understood how he got that body. If I must believe his stories, he never had a home before. No one took care of him. I think he likes it here. Not that I care for him, and I only clean his mess because he doesn't do that himself and I like living in a reasonably clean house. But I still have to cook. For myself, so I cook a little extra and he can eat too. At first he ate almost nothing. Everything I made was dirty. We always ate separately and often he wasn't even home. I then saved a portion for him to heat up in the microwave. When the plate was empty the next morning I knew that he had come home, that he had probably slept in bed and that he did like the food. One day he told me that his best friend had been arrested and taken to prison. He hoped for a while that things would not be too bad and that friend would receive a less harsh punishment, but that turned out not to be the case. Yes, from that moment on Jackson stayed home more often and we ate together more and more. From that moment on I was also able to cook increasingly larger portions. The food tasted good to him. Too good perhaps. There were days when he would lie down in bed after dinner with a stomach ache because he had eaten too much. About six months ago I started noticing that I was losing food. Then suddenly the milk had disappeared from the refrigerator or I couldn't find a pack of cookies that I was sure I had stashed in the pantry. Of course Jackson didn't know anything about anything, but I still assume he drank it or ate it. At first I thought he was suffering from a tapeworm, but when his weight started to increase seriously I knew better. In just under a year and a half, Jackson went from a fit, muscular guy to the over-the-top pudding he is today. He didn't seem to care that much. Sometimes I wondered if he even realized that he had become so fat.

I nervously looked at the clock in the living room. The taxi would arrive in fifteen minutes to take us to the restaurant. I didn't even know Jackson had ordered a taxi. While changing clothes I realized that I didn't know how we were going to get to the city center. Somehow I always think that the bicycle is the only means of transport these days. Sometimes I'm not quite right in my head, I know that. I did like to walk to the city myself. If I have an appointment with one of my friends. I'm not afraid of a brisk walk. But I don't see Jackson walking far anymore. He would probably faint halfway due to his weight. By the way, he could hurry up changing clothes. Otherwise he would be late for his own dinner. I always liked to be on time. Better much too early than a little too late. I didn't know why that was. I did know that I could be annoyed if I had made an appointment and the other person showed up much too late. Of course something could come up, but please let it know. Or those people who were way too early. That I was sitting relaxed on the toilet and the doorbell suddenly rang. You can also call or app then, right? In the kitchen I filled my glass halfway again with cola. That was one of my weird things too; Fill glasses halfway. Just imagine if that taxi came and I hadn't finished the Coke yet. Then it would sit on the counter all evening and it would be lukewarm and without sparkles when I came back. Then I could wash it down the sink. I wasn't a big drinker. Not a big eater either, but I just didn’t get a smaller glass. And where was that fat guy? How much time did it take you to change clothes?

I looked at myself in the mirror by the stairs. The Calvin Klein shirt still fits well. The black jeans had become a little too big, but that's why they invented the belt. In the past three years I had not gained any weight, rather lost it. Due to the stress of not having money I had lost about 50 pounds. I had never been really fat. Quite sturdy. In any case, I was more solid than I am now. People complimented me on losing weight, but a compliment is worth nothing if losing weight was not the intention. Unfortunately, I knew what it was like not to have money to buy food. And if the money was there, I wouldn't be hungry because of all the worries. Fortunately, that period was now behind me. There was a heavy stomp on the stairs and Jackson appeared, huffing and puffing like an old steam locomotive. He descended slowly and laboriously, step by step, holding tightly to the railing. My god… what did he look like! The jeans he was wearing were so tight around his legs that he could barely bend them. His new yellow blouse that looked like it came straight from Hawaii (I thought it was ugly) was no less tight around the rest of his body and certainly didn't hide his love handles, which were too big to hold with one hand, bulging out of his pants. They even hung over it a bit. The yellow fabric wasn't strong enough to support his belly, so it hung low over his crotch. The buttons were tense, as if they were about to pop off at any moment, and openings showed the black color of his flesh. One button above his navel wasn't even closed. His fat arms literally bulged out of the short sleeves. Why hadn't he just put on baggy sweatpants with a t-shirt and left his ugly blouse open? Shit man! If I sent him back to wear something else, he would definitely be late for the taxi.

“You look good,” Jackson said, a little surprised when he caught his breath.

It had indeed been a long time since I had put on my old, expensive clothes. I didn't have to hit on anyone at work anyway and there was no point in wearing expensive clothes on the bike. They would only get dirty with sweat.

“Thank you,” I stammered, not really knowing what to say about him.

The doorbell rang, meaning the taxi had arrived. I quickly said that his new blouse looked good on him as I walked to the front door. Jackson waddled after me. I think the driver was also shocked by that big, black figure behind me, because he quickly took a step back when he saw Jackson. At the taxi I buttoned the open button of his blouse with some difficulty, after I had asked him to hold his stomach for a moment. Why hadn't he bought a size larger? Jackson struggled to get into the backseat of the taxi. While sitting, there was even more pressure on the buttons. The one I had just closed had sprung open again. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Was he holding his stomach in? In my mind I hoped that nothing crazy would happen in the restaurant. Even if nothing crazy happened, it would still be a special evening. I realized that I had never had dinner with a black guy before. Perhaps it was normal in his culture to walk around with broken buttons on a yellow Hawaiian blouse. Well, at least that's not the case here. Jackson moaned softly. His pants were very tight.

We got to the restaurant in no time by taxi. I looked at Jackson as he paid the driver. The button on his blouse wasn’t just opened, it was gone! It was probably still in the taxi. I didn't feel like looking for it. And Jackson wasn't even aware that he was missing a button. He didn't notice at all that his belly fat was now bulging out of the gap between the buttons in his blouse. If only he had worn a black blouse, it wouldn't have been so noticeable. He walked towards me with a cheerful look. He must have felt blissful from all the smells of freshly baked food that greeted us. Modest as I was, I let him into the restaurant first. After all, he had made a reservation and would pay afterwards. He waddled impatiently after the waiter who pointed to our table. He probably saw the opening in the blouse, because he gave Jackson a dirty look. Funny how truly modest people don't point out flaws to others. Just like that snot in someone's nose that you don't point out to him or her, so that they look like an idiot all day long. I kept a small distance from Jackson and the waiter, as if I didn't want anyone to think I belonged with them, while soon afterwards I was sitting at the same table. Some of the other guests had also seen Jackson and many quickly turned their eyes away. Their children giggled softly, but luckily no one spoke to us.

“I'll go to the buffet,” Jackson said. The drool just barely came out of his mouth. “Will you order me a Coke?”

What the…! Before I could respond, he had gotten up and walked over. I must admit that the extensive buffet, which was clearly visible from our table, looked very inviting. And maybe it was better that way, because I saw dozens of people looking up when he walked past.

The situation reminded me of the barbecue I hosted for my friends and family early last year to celebrate my permanent employment at work. It was more of a party out of common decency, because my bond with the family was already crumbling considerably. Jackson was there too, of course, and a few of his friends, and although he wasn't as heavy as he is now, he had already gained quite a bit of weight. His friends looked at him the same way the people here do now, with some disgust on their faces. Well… those friends were still mainly on the street. They did not want to participate in the project in which the municipality would also look for a house for them. I never saw those friends again afterwards. Actually pretty sad for Jackson. Sometimes I wonder if it doesn't hurt him. He also ate at the barbecue. Even when everyone was gone, he continued to eat. I think that was also the first time he went to bed with a stomach ache. I wanted to call an ambulance, but he really didn't want that. All the meat was gone. The next day it came out again in the toilet. The whole house smelled of it. It was one of the few times Jackson had apologized. Not only because of the smell, but also because of his poor behavior the night before in front of my family and friends. He was ashamed. I didn't think he should have apologized. I already wanted to get rid of my family and the meat had gone nicely. My friends… they didn't like him that much. They felt he was taking advantage of my kindness. They didn't come to my house that often anymore. Especially when Jackson was there and he was almost always there. That's why I went to visit them, or we went to a terrace in the city center.

“A coke and a sweet white wine,” I ordered when the waiter came by.

A nice sweet wine, I deserved it after a week of hard work. Jackson drank almost no alcohol. An occasional beer, in the evening in front of the television when I had bought toast or other tasty things. A table further away I heard children giggling. Not much later, Jackson appeared. There was a mountain of food on his plate. Shrimp, eggs, something that looked like a steak, a puff pastry case with ragout and all kinds of things were hidden under a pile of potato salad.

“Could there be more to it?” I asked sarcastically as Jackson sat down.

The coke and wine were brought, after which he eagerly looked for his cutlery, on which he had placed the plate. “I'll go back right away.” He smiled showing his big white teeth. “So, let's enjoy first.”

I pointed out to him that his cutlery was under the plate because he looked like he was trying to push the food in with his hands. I couldn't deny that Jackson always ate with relish. I could learn something from that. I always eat in a hurry and because I have to. In the past, I often didn't take the time to cook a decent meal. Sometimes I even skipped meals. If I didn't feel like driving to the grocery store to get something to eat, I didn't. Now that Jackson is here, I eat more regularly. At home then. If I forget to take bread to work again, I can still easily not eat for the whole day.

“You should have told me that a button on my blouse is missing,” Jackson said suddenly between two big bites.

Wow, awkward moment. Someone had apparently brought it to his attention. I didn't know what to say for a moment. It might have been polite if I had made a comment, but then? We couldn't quickly drive home to get another blouse or shirt.

“You're right, I could have let you know that a button is missing,” I finally said. “I hope you don't feel uncomfortable now,” I said afterward.

Jackson shrugged, stuffing his mouth with the last bite before this plate was empty. I stared at him, waiting for him to swallow the bite and answer.

“I'm here to eat, not to worry about what others think. There's nothing wrong with male black meat, right? Let them take a good look. And I'm also here to have a good time with you."

He added the latter quickly, as if he were afraid of offending me. He pushed the empty plate to the center of the table and stood up again.

“I'll go again.”

And he was gone.

A buffet was actually not suitable for two people at all. If you went there with a group, there was always someone at the table with you. If there were only two of you, you were often alone. The sweet wine here was tasty. That was not the case at every restaurant. After taking a big sip, I decided it was time to take a look at the food myself. Jackson stood by the hot plates, where chefs were preparing the meat and vegetables. I myself was more into the small snacks. They had plenty of those here too. A glass of shrimp cocktail. That was mine. And some deviled eggs. A few slices of smoked salmon (I was a fish lover) and meatballs. Oh…did I see fried squid rings there? I took that with me too. It seemed like a lot, but my plate was not even half full. I had barely sat down at the table when Jackson also returned. His plate was fuller. Two steaks and a sirloin steak. That was also one of those dirty things that Jackson couldn't get enough of. I once ate a sirloin steak at my ex's parents' house. Damn! That filthy fat edge. I still get nauseous when I think about it. It was the first time in my life that I didn't eat the food out of decency, which led to another awkward situation. I really couldn't get it in no matter how much I wanted to.

“Thanks for the invite,” I said, trying to make conversation as Jackson devoured the meat in front of him. “I know you would rather have been here with your friends…”

The latter came out before I knew it and I decided not to finish my sentence. I didn't know how much Jackson would be bothered to hear it.

Jackson shrugged again, but made no further response.

“Don't you ever miss them?”

I couldn't resist asking the question. Personally, I would miss my friends if they suddenly disappeared from my life. Jackson stopped eating for a moment and stared at the half-gnawed sirloin steak on his plate.

“They themselves chose to drop me,” he replied somewhat under his breath. I had to make an effort to understand him. “I don't miss people like that.”

He lifted the sirloin steak to his mouth with his hands and began to hastily bite off large pieces. I didn't have time to ask more questions, because Jackson got up again to get more.

Maybe it was his tactic to shut me up. Jackson didn't like to talk about his friends. In the beginning, yes. He was almost proud of them, how they managed to survive on the streets. I often had discussions with him about the ethics of stealing, but Jackson really thought differently than me, so those conversations were never satisfying. Let me also go to the buffet. The nice thing about buffets was that you didn't have to eat everything in a certain order. You just took what you felt like at that moment. People always looked at me in amazement when I could fill a plate with desserts in between, and then move on to savory, warm things. They just had white chocolate mousse here. And brownies. Ice cream, I wasn't crazy about that. This is enough for now, I can always go back. Jackson was already in place. Two full plates lay on the table in front of him. Was one plate no longer enough or something? It made me feel sick looking at the two mountains of food. What must those chefs have thought when that fat boy appeared in front of them with two plates? Would they have made a comment? Parts of the food slid from the plate onto the table as Jackson eagerly began to eat it. It looked quite unappetizing. The big bites he took, which were swallowed almost without chewing. Others saw it too. They had followed him with their eyes from the moment he passed their table with the two full plates. Have you ever seen someone looking at something in disgust? The restaurant was now full of looks like this. I think the children found it exciting and probably wondered whether he would get to finish the plates. Well, he seemed to be able to do it easily. With a soft 'pop' a second button popped off the blouse, revealing even more of his black belly. Shit man! He won't be walking half naked to the buffet again, will he? I pretended to be invisible and turned my gaze to the white chocolate mousse on my plate as several other guests walked past our table on their way to the exit.

“Disgusting,” one of them said quietly.

Jackson didn't notice. He was too busy scarfing down the food. “Delicious!” he suddenly shouted.

I was shocked and choked on the mouse. Others looked our way. What the hell…! I stared at my plate again. Maybe I should just walk away. Er… get chocolate mousse again or something. Satisfied, Jackson rubbed his stomach and felt the second button had disappeared. He smiled. “This is really great man!” he said, leaning back to give his stomach more room.

He sat there for a moment and stared into space. I wondered what was going through his mind at this moment. What would someone who had just consumed four full plates be thinking about? Jackson rubbed his stomach again, then struggled to get up.

“Are you really going back to the buffet with your blouse half torn open?” I said cattily. I was terribly ashamed. What must those people be thinking? More and more of them seemed to leave because of him. Jackson nodded his head. He probably didn't care what I thought about it. Suddenly there was a loud gurgling sound under the blouse. “Ooh, but first I'm going to the bathroom,” Jackson said. 'And quickly too. All that food is putting pressure on my intestines. Can you help me get up?'

I didn't dare look into the restaurant anymore for fear of all the eyes that were undoubtedly staring at us, while Jackson tried to get out of the chair, leaning on me. Wow, that boy was heavy! With a clearly audible groan and a final effort he straightened his legs. While he waddled towards the toilets, I quickly ran back to the dessert corner of the buffet. I don't belong with him… I don't belong with him, was all I could think. Some children started laughing and pointed after him. There was a huge tear in the jeans near his butt. The purple boxer shorts he was wearing were clearly visible. Oh my God! Back at the table, I hoped Jackson would never return. That this was all a bad dream. I never asked him to wear clothes that were too tight. Just decent clothes. I quietly ate the freshly made chocolate mousse. Would Jackson really want to eat more? How was he going to make it? With a torn blouse and pants? I would be ashamed of myself if I walked around like that. Should I forbid him from getting more? That wasn't possible, right? Maybe all this wasn't necessary and my first wish came true, because it took quite a while before Jackson showed himself again. Crazy things went through my head. Could he have fallen down the toilet? Could he have produced such a big turd with all his food that he couldn't get it out? Could he have gone into cardiac arrest due to his obesity? Only then do you realize that no matter how ashamed you are of someone, you don't want anything serious to happen to that person. It took at least half an hour before he appeared again. His torn pants hung in front of his crotch. He couldn't get it any higher. The bottom of his stomach was sticking out of his blouse, in front of the purple boxer shorts, which would certainly have been visible otherwise. The waiter looked after him. Fortunately, more guests had left in the meantime, which made me feel a bit safer.

With a sigh he sat down opposite me again. “I couldn't get my clothes on, man,” he said. “I got a little bigger than I thought.”

Finally, Jackson showed traces of self-knowledge. And I hoped that, like me, he thought it was time to go home. But unfortunately. Drooling, his head turned back towards the buffet and I could almost hear him thinking about what to get next.

“You know there's a huge tear in your jeans?” I said, stopping him from getting up.

I didn't feel like having to support him again. Jackson looked at me in shock. Apparently he didn't notice. I don't think it's strange if your belly is so big that you can't see your own pants while sitting on the toilet, even though they are hanging around your ankles.

'Your ass is bulging out, man. You really can't do that.'

Jackson stared at the empty table in front of him, clearly disappointed. I thought that was sad again. For him, a nice dinner should not end in disappointment. Especially since he was the one who paid. “Can't you go get me a plate?” Jackson asked softly. 'Just one, then we'll leave quietly.

Well, go ahead then. I wasn’t really willing to be treated like his personal servant, but there was no other option. As long as he just sat there with his big, black body and torn clothes, he couldn't attract much more attention than what he had already done. He didn't really care what I took with me. Everything was tasty, so I took the liberty of putting everything on the plate. Pizza slices, mashed potatoes with sausages and a variety of meats freshly baked by the chefs on the griddle. Previously I judged the food mountains that he had brought with him, but now I do exactly the same. Perhaps I should have taken two plates with me. The chefs smiled at me. Of course they knew that all that meat was not for me. Jackson was amazed when I came back. I had managed to put more food on a plate than him. Immediately he started eating it. In the meantime, I got a plate of small dough dishes that I hadn't seen before. At the table I grabbed one myself. I gave the rest to Jackson, who already had half of the full plate empty.

“Man, this is so good,” he said with his mouth full, after which he added a triangular-shaped dough snack.

Honestly, I don't cook that well. Not that extensive anyway. Somehow I felt at ease again. As long as Jackson stayed put. All he had to do was eat. And it helped that many people had already left the restaurant. It was already almost nine o'clock. Many people don't stay in a restaurant for very long.

What a slimeball! I've never seen someone so squirming and begging for a plate of food. One plate had become four. Finally time for dessert and so I walked between the buffet tables for the fifth time in search of sweet treats. Okay, what should I take with me? Profiteroles, brownies, cupcakes. Chocolate mousse; pure, milk and white. The plate was completely full again when I walked back to the table. Jackson breathed deeply. He barely got up to reach the plate. That's what you get when you eat that much. I walked back to the buffet, to the wide freezer that was there. Jackson liked ice cream, I knew. After all, he ate all those tubs of ice cream, which I wanted to save for those few times when I really felt like it. They had many flavors here. Hmmm… banana, chocolate, vanilla. And a few scoops of less common flavors. So, a generous dollop of whipped cream on top. If he still wants to eat, I will let him eat!

“You're good to me,” Jackson said as I returned to the table and placed the bowl of ice cream and the huge mound of whipped cream next to the plate of desserts. I sat down on my chair and decided that this would be the last round. The restaurant was about to close and Jackson looked like he was going to explode at any moment. There were only buttons left on his blouse near his breasts. The rest popped off two plates ago. He had also unbuttoned his pants to create more space for his stomach so he could push even more food into it.

“I can't take it anymore,” he finally said with a deep sigh that made his face look painful.

His overfull stomach pressed on his lungs, making breathing difficult and even painful. It also made a gurgling sound. Maybe it was too tight. I hadn't seen Jackson eat this much before.

“That's a shame,” I said.

'Come on, your plate is almost empty and you still have to finish that ice cream, right? That whipped cream isn't filling. You'll finish it in no time.'

Jackson nodded, as if he thought I was right, and continued eating the chocolate mousse. If you're so greedy, eat everything, I thought. Otherwise it's a shame. Of that ice cream and of my time getting it. Slowly, Jackson finally brought a spoonful of ice cream to his mouth. Apparently the ice cream was very tasty, or it was just a new flavor that made Jackson eat faster again. Spoonfuls of whipped cream eagerly disappeared into his mouth. Almost empty. He leaned back in his chair, trying to relieve the painful pressure in his stomach.

“Just a little more,” Jackson panted when the ice cream was gone too. “Just a little more pudding, I can still finish that.”

But I had other plans and called the taxi. Jackson didn't seem to be completely in this world anymore. His eyes looked dazed, as if he were going to faint at any moment. If I had gotten more, it would have been good, but I thought he actually wouldn’t mind to go now.

The waiter looked wide-eyed at the large, black belly, most of which rested visibly on his thighs, as Jackson paid her. Tipping was probably something he had never heard of, because he paid to the cent. My phone beeped. The taxi had arrived, I saw on an app.

“We have to go, the taxi is here.”

I hopped out of my seat with relief. As I expected, it had been a strange evening. On the one hand I was happy that it was over, but something in me also liked it. It was just a shame his clothes were too tight. That had attracted too much attention.

“I…I can't get up!” Jackson groaned. 'I ate too much.'

Of course I was allowed to support him again, but this time it was more difficult to get him up than when he had to go to the toilet. He kept falling back into the chair. His gut looked hard and swollen. A soft burp left his mouth. We had to hurry. This taxi wouldn't wait forever. Fortunately, one of the servers was kind enough to help us. Or he just wanted to get rid of us. They were probably happy that we were going. The waiter stood on the other side of Jackson and with some effort we got Jackson out of the chair. He held his stomach tightly with both hands as we guided him to the exit.

“What a big eater,” the waiter said to me.

He winked. I give him a phony laugh. The clerk and driver helped Jackson into the taxi. I took a seat next to him in the back seat and hoped to become invisible again through sheer willpower. It was not easy to get him into the taxi. He could no longer bend over, there was too much food in his stomach for that. Finally, he collapsed into the backseat, his legs spread wide to provide all the room his belly needed. Weird gurgling noises came out of it as Jackson gently rubbed it. He breathed deeply. As long as he doesn't fart here. The driver probably thought the same, because he raced us back home, taking a speed bump a little too fast.

“I'm exploding!” Jackson shouted, when the threshold was behind us and I had regained my place in the backseat. Jesus, that guy was really in a hurry. A loud belch escaped Jackson's mouth. The driver remained silent. Even when the taxi started to smell like grilled meat and fried potatoes. The gurgling sound from his stomach became louder and louder and for a moment I wondered if it was actually possible to explode from eating too much. Fortunately, we were back in my street. While Jackson was trying to get up in the restaurant, I had taken the liberty of grabbing his wallet, which he had placed on the table. Fortunately, there was still enough money in it to pay the driver. This one didn't get a tip from me either, grumpy guy. He hurriedly parked the taxi on the sidewalk in front of our house. It was clear he wanted to get rid of us.

No doubt the driver would have thought we were the biggest bastards he had ever transported. He sullenly took the money I gave him. Huffing heavily, as if he were about to give birth at any moment, Jackson lay slumped in the backseat. Judging by the smell that made its way out when I opened the door, he had just farted.

“Help me,” he said softly, trying to pull himself out of the doorway.

It was not easy to get that monster out of the car. He had done an extremely good job in the restaurant. Eight large plates of food, that's no small feat. After ten minutes he had not moved an inch. The driver looked impatiently at our fumbling. It didn't interest me. What a jerk! Once again, Jackson fell back into the backseat after I tried to pull him up. A loud fart escaped. Jackson groaned.

“Come on, one more time,” I said, grabbing his arm again.

Jackson remained seated. “I'm in so much pain.”

Don't whine so much. It was his own fault that he was now sitting there with a painfully full stomach. I counted down and pulled him out of the taxi with all my strength. It worked. Panting, he stood in front of me, holding his stomach tightly again. The driver stood there and looked at it. I didn't spare him a glance. As I supported Jackson to the front door, I heard the taxi drive away with screeching tires. Another loud fart sounded. Digesting all that food will produce the necessary gasses. His belly looked big and hard. Maybe it was a good idea to make him throw up over the toilet to take away most of the tension. Calling an ambulance was not an option, Jackson never wanted that when he had a stomach ache from eating. Maybe he was ashamed of himself if he had lost control again. In any case, it didn't look good. Jackson's face contorted in pain with every step he took and that black belly, it was really big and bloated. It stood out heavily in front of us as we walked down the hall. His head was wet with sweat and he was breathing deeply. I honestly thought he was going to drop dead at any moment. That his heart couldn't handle it anymore. He was already out of breath, and he still had to climb the stairs. I thought it would be better, and he wanted it too, to put him on the bed instead of on the couch. He had plenty of room in bed to recover from all the food. And I would rather have him release all the fumes in his room than in the living room.

Gawd…! And just as I was using force to push him up by his fat ass, he let another one out. Jesus, they were getting harder. The neighbor must have heard this. And the smell! Oh my God. A really diarrheal smell! Disgusting. We were almost at the top of the stairs. After each step, Jackson needed a few minutes to catch his breath. With one hand still holding his stomach, with the other he lifted himself up onto the banister. If only it didn't come loose from the wall it was attached to. If Jackson were to fall now, I would be beneath him. Neither of us would probably survive that. But that smell… terrible!

“I can't anymore,” Jackson whimpered.

His stomach rumbled unnaturally loudly. This is the moment it's going to burst, I thought and pushed his ass again. Groaning, Jackson stepped up another step. His blouse was below us, in the hallway. I had helped take it off so he could move a little more and to cool him down a bit as the sweat was pouring off his body. Hop, another step!

“We're almost there,” I said as Jackson collapsed.

He shouldn't be stuck here now. I didn't feel like having to support him all night. I couldn't see how many steps we had to go, because his body blocked my view, but there couldn't be many. Jackson laboriously took another step. Then another. We were upstairs. I sighed. What a late night job. Jackson waddled to his room without my help. A burp. His ripped jeans hung from his knees as he flopped back on the bed. It creaked under his weight. Curious, I checked to see if his heart had not stopped yet.

“Thanks,” he puffed softly.

I nodded and left his room.

There I was, in the middle of the night, sitting on a slightly sagging couch in the living room. What a night. I had poured myself a coke. I didn't have any wine, but I was most certainly in the mood for it now. He came to live with me, Jackson, a year and a half ago. Slim, athletic, from the street and he used my house as a kind of youth center. Those friends of his, they were not sweethearts. Neither was he. My stuff disappeared, my money disappeared and my privacy was completely gone. I was bullied and humiliated in my own home. I couldn't get rid of him anymore. He was too well protected by the municipality for that. I had actually signed up to keep him in my home for five years myself. So I couldn't get rid of his friends either. I had even called the police a few times to have them thrown out of the house. Idiots, they were. When they had ridiculed me so much that I fled my own house crying, I had decided to poison Jackson. But yes... then I would go to jail myself and I wasn’t  willing to do that. I discovered that Jackson started eating more when he was sad or disappointed. I made good use of that knowledge because, I thought, if he gained a lot of weight, he would no longer be able to survive on the street and his friends would no longer be of any use to him. Then they would stay away. That would be nice revenge for Jackson's retarded behavior towards me. Not only in terms of his friends, but also in terms of the household. He really did nothing all day but watch television and give me orders. So I became his maid. I did the housework, laundry and shopping. And most of all, I cooked. I regularly asked him about his friends, about his mother and sisters. And about  his dreams and wishes. And I always asked before or during dinner. He almost never answered with words, but from the intense eating that suddenly occurred, I could see that I had hit him somewhere. Sad really, but I still wanted to get rid of him. I wanted to move on with my life, without someone constantly watching what I was doing and depriving me of the energy to do the things I really wanted to do. It didn't look like he was going to leave voluntarily. I'm just glad those horrible friends got the hell out of here. And that the clothes that were too tight were torn now. Fortunately, he couldn't wear those anymore. Well boy, you shouldn’t eat so much and be so lazy. That was not a healthy combination. Jackson, 400 pounds in a year and a half. Could I double that in another year and a half?