Better Off Bigger

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[gainingfiction]

Story Index

Thought I would make a master list of all my stories, for convenience. I’ll be updating this as I publish more. Enjoy! 🐷

Beached: Nick gains a new appreciation for the beach after seeing a very large (yet strangely familiar) figure.

Big Moments: When Connor puts on a few pounds, he has no idea that it’s just the beginning—his weight gain is just getting started. This story follows his transformation from slim young man to hefty chub.

Lifeguard Off Duty: In this multi-part collaboration with gainerstories, former lifeguard Bradley faces big temptations at his new office job, and soon finds himself in a losing battle with the bulge.

Room Service: Serving at a hotel restaurant isn’t Enrique’s dream job, but he does enjoy the free meals and handsome customers. But those perks come with some unintended consequences.

10-Year Reunion: Matthew is surprised to discover a former classmate has grown in more ways than one since graduation—and he’s even more surprised by the chemistry between them.

Amenities: As he tries to recreate an unforgettable night from his past, married businessman Nate discovers that the universe has much larger (but equally steamy) plans in store for him.

Treats: Who doesn’t love a man outgrowing his Halloween costume? This is the story of Noah and Troy, and the different ways they spend Halloween over the years.

Marathon: Follow Jason, an overfed ex-jock, on a one-day whirlwind of gluttony as he eats his way through his small town’s most fattening offerings.

Kept Boy: Daniel, a twunky former model, is enjoying his easy life as the kept boy of a mysterious international businessman, pampered by live-in chef Leon. Of course, this life of ease—and indulgence—has some major consequences for Daniel’s figure.

Hot Weather: Ian is a cameraman at a sleepy local news station. When a handsome young hunk lands a job as the station’s new weather broadcaster, Ian’s work gets a lot more interesting… especially when the object of his desire starts thickening up.

A Day’s Work: This story follows two employees of a popular food delivery app as they go about their workdays. One is a beleaguered bike courier, the other is the company’s co-founder and head of development, a big boy with an appetite for living large—I’ll let you decide who has the harder job.

Thrifting: Evan keeps outgrowing his clothes. As he donates them to a local thrift store, he builds a rapport with Ali, the store’s handsome clerk. Will their flirty back-and-forth blossom into something… bigger?

Go Big, Go Home: Finn isn’t exactly known for his work ethic. When he realizes that he can work from home if he gains enough weight, he decides to go for it. But after unleashing his gluttony to hit his target, will he be able to contain his inner hog?

Big Bro: Marco is a cocky jock who takes his good looks for granted. When he starts to mock his hefty stepbrother’s weight loss regime by adopting a diet change of his own, he winds up facing far heavier consequences than he anticipated.

Office Hours: Dave doesn’t expect to enjoy the English course he’s been forced to take. That is, until he meets Cole, the course’s gorgeous TA. As the school year progresses, a growing Cole introduces Dave to some new interests.

Lifetime Supply: This multi-part collaboration stars Ryan, a svelte computer science major, who thinks he’s hit the jackpot when he wins a no-strings-attached lifetime supply of junk food from his favourite snack company. But as he begins to balloon, Ryan discovers there’s no such thing as a free lunch... or free snacks, for that matter.

Suitable: Patrick doesn’t believe that the suit he purchases as a gag Halloween costume is bound by a fattening spell. But the scale doesn’t lie...

Gain for Pay: Jamie and Kyle are looking to corner a new market for their online content. But mixing business and pleasure can have some weighty consequences... written in collaboration with thegainingdesk.

Heavily Used: A story written from an unusual perspective, about an oblivious ex-twunk and the effects of his growing weight.

King Size: This fairytale-inspired story follows Leo’s fattening journey from prince to king, featuring beautiful animations by bee-wg.

Unconventional: Adrian’s business trip takes an unexpectedly sexy turn. Corporate merch never looked so good...

The Bigger Man: Personal trainer Tom helps a college classmate—Bryce—lose weight. But after graduation, Tom struggles to practice what he once preached, and the effects start to show around his waistline.

[gainingfiction]

Hiii just wondering if we will be getting anoyher part in a perfect couple?? If so when will it be released???

Ah, I know, it’s been a long time! But yes, I do still intend to finish ATPC, even if it’s taken longer than expected for me to get back to it. I don’t have a release date for the next part (let’s call it “Season 2”) yet, but rest assured that I do still want to finish Milo and Owen’s story!

Thanks for bearing with me, friends, and I hope to have more to share with you soon!

[gainingfiction]

When are we getting a new chapter? Take as much time as you need ofc, im just curious^^

Thanks for this thoughtful message!

No release date yet for Part 10 of “Almost the Perfect Couple”. I’m still working on it. Sorry friends! I promise I haven’t forgotten you, just been quite busy with life stuff lately.

[gainingfiction]

Sorry, friends—no ATPC update today. Apologies for the disappointment, things have just gotten unexpectedly busy for me. Still working on it, and hoping to share more soon!

[gainingfiction]

what famous man do you want to see get fat the most

Jacob Elordi (I’m basic like that).

I kind of wish he’d committed whole hog (so to speak) to the whole “fat Elvis” thing, for Priscilla (2023).

According to Variety:

“I averaged, like, a pound of bacon a day,” Elordi said. “It’s not that noticeable because I’m quite long, but I was the biggest I’ve ever been.”

We really could have had it all, huh?

[gainingfiction]

Almost the Perfect Couple - Part 9

(read Chapters 7 and 8 here)

Author's Note: No Milo chapter this week! It's not quite ready yet, but I'm hoping to have it out soon. I hope you enjoy this (short) update in the meantime!

Part 9 - Owen

When we left the lakehouse on Tuesday morning, it felt less like a departure and more like an escape. Milo and his father had been on the brink of renewed hostilities since Thanksgiving dinner, while Belinda resorted to new heights of detached Stepford-ness.

“That was quite a show you put on yesterday,” I said, when Milo was driving us back home.

“I dunno what you mean,” he said, the picture of innocence. Was I imagining things, or did he look even bigger now than when we drove up three days before? His stomach looked so soft and full, and the cotton of his t-shirt pulled tight over a definite pair of moobs. A juicy pair of love handles also overhung his waistband, barely covered by his shirt.

I raised an eyebrow. “Come on. The turkey leg. And the burping?”

“For your information, I always ate turkey legs like that, with my hands, and nobody ever had a problem with it before. And burping is a natural bodily function.” He was clearly enjoying himself as we sailed down the highway—for the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, traffic was miraculously light, although the forest was steadily giving way to suburban sprawl.

“So it had nothing to do with your parents?” I asked.

Milo shrugged. “My dad can be such a prick. I hate how shitty he was to you,” he said, after a while. He was looking at the road, but I could see in his eyes that he was genuinely upset on my behalf.

“It was nothing compared to how he treated you,” I said. It was true. I had met Milo’s father before, and I always found him condescending, but he was in rare form yesterday. I hadn’t expected him to clash with Milo so openly—on the rare occasions he agreed to be profiled in a magazine, he came off as genteel, polished, unflappable. Milo really got a rise out of him.

Milo shrugged, but I could see even more hurt in his expression. There was a pause. “I’m over it,” he said, finally. “I got even.”

I wanted him to open up, to tell me that he very clearly was not over it, but I had no idea how to pierce his very heavy emotional fortifications. So we rode in silence for a few beats, before he turned to me, with a grin on his face. “But anyway… you think I put on a show?”

I swallowed, wondering why I had brought it up in the first place. And so bluntly! I gave a small nod.

“What’d you think?” he asked, still grinning, lively eyes flicking between me and the road ahead.

I didn’t know what to say, because I obviously really fucking liked it. But how the hell could I even begin to explain that? What did he want me to say? The whole thing happened in front of his parents, which makes my reaction even more upsetting! I’m amazed I kept my shit together as well as I did, especially when Milo insisted on making us sit through dessert—which, miraculously, he managed to have two plates of. 

“You must have been… hungry?” That was my weak-ass response.

Milo gave an amused huff, before signalling right and exiting the highway. We were about an hour outside the city, taking the off-ramp into some bedroom community full of strip malls and subdivisions. There was, however, a combination gas station-KFC just off the highway, and that’s where Milo headed.

I was amazed he could even think about food after his all-out feast yesterday. Even a fraction of that would have left me full until the next afternoon, at least. Milo was just built different—you could tell by the way his soft, round belly now sat atop his lap, or the stubbly double chin that graced his gorgeous face.

After we finished at the drive thru—leaving Milo with what seemed like half the menu in a pair of heavy paper bags—I made a very irresponsible suggestion: “If you wanna pull over and eat, I can run into the store and get snacks?”

Milo’s face lit up. “Dude. You’re a genius.”

I headed into the gas station and started grabbing things. I knew Milo’s tastes pretty well by now—ketchup chips and Nacho Cheese Doritos were a must—but I still liked to improvise a little bit, whenever I shopped for him. I chose some candies I thought he might like, and then added a bottle of chocolate milk for good measure, since his soda wouldn’t last forever.

The cashier gave me a look as he scanned everything, but didn't make conversation.

Milo was still eating when I carried everything back to the car. He was stuffing his face with a huge handful of fries when I got in the passenger seat, and I smiled at the way his cheeks bulged around the huge bite. “So good, dude,” he said, barely intelligible through his full mouth.

“I’m glad,” I said, stealing a fry.

“Man, chocolate milk? Are you, like, a mind-reader or something?” Milo said. It’s genuinely embarrassing how much his big, goofy grin made my heart leap.

~

Less than two hours after I dropped off the costumes at Kurt’s apartment, he ended things. By text.

This was the day after Milo and I got back from Thanksgiving, and the day before Pharaoh was scheduled to leave for Halifax.

I stared down the double-barrel of Kurt’s back-to-back messages:

One: thx for the costumes! They’re great

Two: I hate to do this over text but I don’t think we should see each other any more. It was v fun but the next 2 months are crazy for me and i won’t rly be around to talk much. I’ll look you up when i get back tho!

At least he had the courtesy to be clear about it, since I guess he could have just ghosted me. We’d been seeing each other non-exclusively for a few months, so there wasn’t really much of a relationship to “break up”.

I chalked it up to him being more used to dating girls, and moved on to cleaning up the mess I’d made in the course of costuming his whole band. I don’t know why he dangled the tour in front of me: maybe he was trying to manipulate me into accepting sweatshop wages, but I doubt he was planning to dump me when he suggested I come along. It was probably just poor impulse control. I really have a type…

I could go on about how I cleaned the apartment, or talk more about Kurt, but let’s be honest—no one cares. Kurt is a handsome guy and a skilled musician, and in another life, we could have been a great match. But on some level, I’m sure he could tell he was playing second fiddle to some other man in my life… a man whose gluttony and girth were gradually becoming my total obsession.

~

The waning days of October brought colder weather, which meant even more time spent indoors with Milo. 

Armando must have been absolutely pumping him with calories, since his weight continued its sharp climb. Milo could be… obtuse, but even he must have realized what Armando was doing. I wanted so badly to ask about what was going on between the two of them, but Milo completely clammed up when I mentioned anything to do with his work. Naturally, that only made me more suspicious.

I knew Armando was up to no good—he basically admitted as much when I met him on my birthday. I regretted not telling Milo about that meeting, when Armando revealed his true intentions. But the time to bring it up had passed, and, as I said, Milo could see for himself how much weight he was gaining.

I’ve mentioned before how much I could not. Stop. Looking at him. But now that his clothes were tightening up again, showing off the full extent of his soft, inviting bulk, I really could not stop. I enabled every gluttonous impulse he had, and he seemed to like putting on a show for me whenever he ate—which was a lot. I was driven to a distraction that was becoming all-consuming.

And by now, you’re probably thinking: enough with this chaste, Victorian shit! No more stolen glances, Emily Brontë! Just whip your dick out already!

Trust me, I was getting fed up with it, too. There was something going on between us, and the tension was getting hard to ignore. We were two attractive, 20-something guys. Since things ended with Kurt, my horniness had been off the charts, but I hadn’t done anything about it—I was too preoccupied with thoughts of Milo to look for a hookup. Every hour we spent together, I could feel some invisible coil winding tighter and tighter, until even the most mundane moments were stupidly meaningful.

So, yeah, things were bound to boil over eventually. And on October 30th, boy did they boil over.

[gainingfiction]

The Bigger Man

Summary: Personal trainer Tom helps a college classmate—Bryce—lose weight. But after graduation, Tom struggles to practice what he once preached, and the effects start to show around his waistline.

Author’s Note: this is a role reversal story, so there will be weight loss. This story also discusses body image—so much so that it’s kind of a theme. Reader discretion is, accordingly, advised.

This is also another slow burn... sorry! It just happened!

~

October 13, 2021

Tom was having a hard time staying focused on his client. Poor Bryce was definitely trying, but his form was terrible, and he was taking too long between each set—and between each rep, for that matter.

“That’s, uh, eight,” Tom guessed. In truth, he’d lost count. “Two more.”

Bryce grunted as he struggled with the leg press. After he eked out the last two reps, Tom helped him push the foot platform back into place.

They were done for the day. In an ideal world, Tom would have taken him through at least another set of lower body exercises, but at 350 pounds (give or take), Bryce moved pretty slowly. The full hour had already been used up.

“Great work today, bud,” Tom said, giving Bryce an enthusiastic clap on the shoulder. And he really meant it: even if Bryce’s form sucked, and he couldn’t do that much, he was clearly pushing himself to his limits, and he kept coming back. He had a great attitude. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I just got the shit kicked out of me,” Bryce said, between gasps. “But in a good way.”

Tom smiled. Bryce was new to the gym world, but Tom had been an athlete since high school, and he knew the rush of post-workout endorphins better than anyone. It was easy to get hooked.

Bryce heaved himself out of the machine, his body wobbling as he came to a stand. He was fat everywhere: sure, he had thick man boobs, an enormous spare tire, and a huge ass; but even his calves and forearms were plump, and his fingers especially so. His face, red with exertion, was round and nondescript; a light-brown beard, short and scruffy, obscured what Tom assumed was a sizable double chin. His face was so chubby that Tom had no sense of his bone structure, but judging by his eyes, lips, and nose, Tom figured he was kind of handsome.

Bryce pushed back his hair, which fell wetly around his face, and pulled on a sweat-soaked reusable face mask, before retrieving a Lysol wipe to clean off the machine.

“Same time on Saturday?” Tom asked, tightening his own mask over the bridge of his nose as Bryce wiped down the hand grips.

“Actually, could we do Sunday?” Bryce said. “I was thinking I might come in on Friday, by myself, and I wanted a rest day before my next workout.”

Tom couldn’t have been prouder. Bryce was really committing to his program. “Sunday’s great,” he said.

Bryce finished his wipe-down, and they walked together towards the front of the gym, where the reception desk was positioned across from the entrance to the locker rooms.

“Thanks again for all your help,” Bryce said, as they sidestepped a particularly large powerlifter. “I’ve really learned a lot.”

“All part of the job,” Tom said. It wasn’t like he was helping Bryce out of the goodness of his heart—Bryce had been assigned to him by the campus gym, where he picked up shifts as a part-time trainer. It was really about the money. But Bryce’s earnestness made him feel a little guilty, and he resolved to pay closer attention during his next workout. Or at least to help him count his reps.

“I just can’t believe I gained so much weight during lockdown,” Bryce said. He gave an embarrassed smile. “And after.”

“That happened to everyone,” Tom said, trying to sound sympathetic. Of course, it hadn’t happened to him. The only weight he’d gained during lockdown had been muscle mass. But he definitely knew a few guys who had let themselves go over the past year and a half.

“It’s not like I was thin before, or anything. I mean, I weighed 250 last March. But I don’t know how I let myself pack on a hundred pounds in 14 months,” Bryce said, as they reached the front desk.

Tom resisted the urge to whistle. That was an enormous amount of weight. “Well, you’re here now, and you’re putting in the work to make a change.” He gestured to his own torso: “And if you keep at it, maybe someday you can look like this.”

Bryce chuckled. “Hah, yeah right. That’s a fun thought.”

It didn’t seem likely to Tom, either, but he wanted Bryce to stay positive. They were both the same height—about 5’11”, give or take—but their bodies stood in stark contrast, and it was difficult to imagine Bryce shedding enough blubber to match Tom’s godlike physique. No use reminding him of that, though. They said their goodbyes, and Bryce headed to the locker room.

Tom glanced at the time: half an hour before his next client. A nice chance to squeeze in a little extra cardio.

April 17, 2022

“Look at you, great form!” Tom said, as he watched Bryce deadlifting a fairly decent amount of weight. This time, he really meant it.

Bryce hadn’t needed a personal trainer since last semester, but Tom still made a point of offering a few encouraging words whenever their paths crossed at the gym. Which was fairly often, since Bryce had become a regular.

He finished his set, and turned to chat with Tom, who had just finished up on the rowing machine. “Thanks, Tom. I’m down almost 50 pounds now. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Tom smiled. It had been nice to get to know Bryce over the past year. They were both in the same faculty—engineering—and Tom vaguely remembered meeting him during orientation week. But Bryce had been much smaller, back then, and had since gotten his braces taken off. Add on the weight gain, and a little extra height, and Tom had completely forgotten their first meeting. But it eventually came back to him, as they bonded over stories of professors they’d both had.

Bryce was wearing his grey Starforce: Horizons t-shirt, which now fit him loosely. Tom had never expected to get into video games, but Bryce mentioned it so often, Tom eventually caved. After his first battle, he’d been hooked. He hadn’t worked up the courage to play online yet, but he’d played the campaign at least twice.

“My last exam is tomorrow,” Bryce said, as he wiped his face with a paper towel. “For Software Reliability and Testing.”

“Mine is Tuesday,” Tom said. “Advanced Structural Analysis. I’m not feeling great about it.” At least he already had a job lined up.

They chatted a bit about finals, and plans for after graduation. Both intended to stick around, and Tom’s office was close enough to his current apartment that he didn’t even have to move. Bryce had started to send out job applications, but without luck.

After finishing their respective workouts, Tom and Bryce said a fond goodbye, promising to stay in touch. Tom actually hoped they would, since Bryce had definitely grown on him over the past year. And, if they stayed in touch, Tom could keep Bryce committed to his goals. He’d enjoyed being a positive influence, and he wouldn’t mind keeping it up.

November 22, 2022

“Pass the orange chicken,” Tom said, gesturing with his chopsticks as he typed one-handed on his keyboard.

“You finished it,” Fadi said. He sounded a little disgruntled; not out of judgment, but because the large man most likely wanted it for himself.

“Wanna kill the Mongolian beef?” Brenna suggested, extending her arm to offer it to Tom without turning from her computer.

“Deal.” Tom accepted the carton, and paused his work to take a few bites. He’d been resistant to these working dinners at first, but he’d come around over the past few months. The team often had to work late for time-sensitive projects, so it was a good way to keep spirits high. He’d actually started looking forward to their takeout orders.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His office clothes were so constricting these days. Mongolian beef finished, he looked for a place on his desktop to put the empty container. There was a spot at the edge of his desk that seemed suitable, so he leaned forward to set it down.

And as he dropped back into his chair, he ripped the seat of his pants. He could feel the seam blow out as his ass spread out beneath him.

The colour drained from his face. Even if nobody had seen (or heard) it happen, Tom was humiliated. This was not a familiar experience. He was used to having a nice, solid ass, but it had gotten a little too thick and juicy over the past few months.

On graduation day, Tom had been a lean 187 pounds. As of that morning, he was up to 216. But it’s not like there weren’t good reasons.

First, there was Derek. They’d met on a hookup app a few weeks after Tom’s graduation, gotten serious over the summer, and split up at the beginning of October. But between the “getting serious” and the “splitting up”, Tom spent a lot of time eating out at restaurants, skipping the gym to meet up, and generally ignoring the steady increase in his weight.

On top of the relationship weight, there was his new job. The hours were less predictable than he’d realized, and there were often urgent assignments that required the whole team to stay late. It didn’t seem like a good sign that so much work was getting done at the last minute, but the even bigger problem was the effect on Tom’s daily routines. In college, he never struggled to find time to work out. But now, with 60-hour weeks not uncommon, fitting the gym into his schedule became a challenge.

Which led to the third culprit: Starforce: Horizons. Tom had gotten a little bit hooked since graduation. When he found himself with free time on the weekends, he skipped the gym with increasing regularity, opting instead to fight digital enemies. And since he’d bought the new DLC during the Steam Autumn Sale, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the willpower to change that any time soon.

In short, he didn’t feel too guilty about a few extra pounds. He could afford it: he was much thicker, sure, but he could still pass it off as bulking, with his healthy base of muscle underneath. He could credibly blame the day’s wardrobe malfunction on an intense leg day, even if the true culprit was an excess of orange chicken, and his leg days were getting less and less intense. 

After finishing work, Tom tied his jacket around his waist and made his way out of the building, satisfied that he’d at least covered his exposed boxer shorts. He was approaching the bus stop when he saw a familiar figure waving at him. It was Bryce.

Tom cursed inwardly. Of course he’d run into his old fitness protege when he was at his fattest. “Bryce! How’s it going!”

Bryce beamed at him. He looked… great, actually. His hair was still long, but it had a little more shine and volume, and he’d trimmed his short beard, which seemed fuller and more deliberate. And his weight loss was dramatic—he was still a big guy, of course, but he made a very desirable bear: his shoulders were broad and muscular, and the softness of his chest didn’t take away from its obvious power.

He was also dressed well, in a well-fitting dress shirt and khaki pants, with a tidy jacket completing the look. “So good to see you, Tom,” Bryce said. “I feel bad for not keeping in touch!”

“No, it takes two,” Tom said, shaking his head. He really had meant to stay in closer contact with Bryce after graduation. “How’ve you been? You look awesome.”

“Thanks, you too,” Bryce said. He sounded genuine, although Tom didn’t believe him. “I’ve been good. Still working on the weight loss, thanks to you. And my new job is alright. I’m way overqualified, but it’s a foot in the door, at least.”

Bryce had really launched into it; Tom was surprised by his confidence. “Gotta start somewhere,” he said. “I feel like it’s tough to be new, in any job.” He was certainly experiencing some growing pains, himself.

“But you’ve been doing alright? I really do want to hang out sometime,” Bryce said. “I’d say over the long weekend, if I wasn’t going out of town.”

“Definitely. We could even do Starforce Online sometime, if that’s easier,” Tom countered. 

“Oh, man, I haven’t even gotten the Revenge of the Imperium DLC yet,” Bryce said. “No spoilers. Maybe I’ll get it for Christmas. But yeah, we should definitely do something soon.”

Tom smiled, and agreed. His bus was pulling up, so they said their goodbyes. He couldn’t believe that Bryce would be waiting a whole month for Revenge of the Imperium; six months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to shut up about it!

As he stepped onto the bus, he reflected on the need to get his shit together. No more skipping the gym.

Right after Thanksgiving weekend… that’s when he’d start.

July 7, 2023

Tom bit into his cheeseburger, savouring the taste of the applewood smoked bacon and how it complimented the house burger sauce. His friends always complained about the food at O’Brien’s, but Tom thought they were too picky.

“Don’t install that patch, it’s unplayable,” he said, through a full mouth. He didn’t like to talk with his mouth full, but this was urgent: Brenna had mentioned a Starforce mod she’d heard about on Discord, but Tom had tried it out, and it crashed his game over and over again.

“Guys, no more Starforce,” Nils said, with his faint Norwegian accent. “I’m the only one who doesn’t play.”

“There’s an easy fix for that,” Fadi said. He turned and reached for one of Tom’s fries, but Tom smacked his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, how are you even still hungry?”

Tom felt heat in his cheeks. He’d actually already eaten an order of wings, but he’d seen a server pass by with a burger, and it had driven him to distraction.

“Leave him alone,” Brenna said, resting a tattooed hand on Tom’s shoulder protectively. Brenna was 29, and she once remarked that Tom reminded her of her little brother. They were roughly the same age, and upon seeing a picture, Tom was not shocked to discover that he was also fat.

“He’s the one who told us to hold him to his diet,” Fadi said, raising his own hands defensively. “Like, two days ago.”

“It’s true, I remember this,” Nils said, with a knowing nod.

“I didn’t say that,” Tom lied. “What I said was, ‘don’t let me pig out today.’ That was on Wednesday.”

“You definitely didn’t mention ‘today’,” Nils said. “You said, ‘you all need to stop me from making such a pig of myself.’ I assumed you meant in general.”

“Well, I meant on Wednesday,” Tom mumbled, embarrassed by the implication that he was currently making a pig of himself.

In truth, he had been making a pig of himself. His attempts to get back into his old diet and workout regimen had been disastrous. He made sporadic trips to the gym, but found himself increasingly frustrated by his loss of fitness. Exercises he used to do with ease had been getting harder, and he’d been lifting less and less weight as the months crept by. Rather than motivating him to work harder and recover his strength, Tom was growing more resentful as his weight increased. In school, he worked out every day. A year ago, it was three or four times a week. Now, he was lucky to get in an hour a week. And lately, a week sometimes passed without him going to the gym at all.

Eating better hadn’t panned out, either. Tom never used to be gluttonous; he always ate to live, balancing his macros to optimize his physique. But with the stress of his job, he slipped into a new habit: comfort eating.

It sort of crept up on him. It started with grazing on the leftovers after takeout dinners at work, to help him relax and focus. Then, he found himself picking up a complimentary donut or danish from the break room, when they were on offer (which was almost every day). Then, he was tossing the occasional bag of chips into his cart at the supermarket, and snacking on them at home. Then, the bag of chips made friends, and instead of an “occasional” thing, he started loading up on snack food every time he got groceries.

In just 15 months, his diet had gone totally off the rails, and his workouts had fallen off a cliff. Of course he was gaining weight: he’d never been hungrier or more sedentary in his life. And now, here he was, 265 pounds and eating his second dinner of the day.

“Did you mean every Wednesday, or just this Wednesday?” Nils asked, pulling Tom from his thoughts.

“Okay, no more talking about how fat I’ve gotten,” Tom said, crossing his arms. He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but it definitely came across that way, and he instantly regretted snapping.

“Uh, hey Tom,” Bryce said.

Tom hadn’t even realized he was standing there, but there he was, right next to their table. He wore an awkward smile. He’d definitely heard Tom’s last comment.

Tom took him in. He looked amazing. His hair was slightly longer than it had been, but it was glossy and full-bodied. He wasn’t just “kind of handsome”, as Tom expected he might be, he was downright hot: he’d shaved his beard down to a light coat of stubble, revealing a nice jaw and definite cheekbones. His tanned, dewy skin complemented his features. He was dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, revealing strong arms and an average build.

Which meant that Tom was now far fatter than him.

“Hey, Bryce!” Tom said. He could feel himself blushing—of course Byrce appeared, at exactly this moment, looking like that. “How’s it going? Good to see you.”

Bryce’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m doing really good, thanks. It’s great to see you, too. I don’t mean to interrupt your night out, I just wanted to say hi.”

“No interruption at all. Hey, guys, Bryce and I went to school together, maybe he can join us?”

Tom’s friends nodded. “Please, tell us some embarrassing Tom stories,” Fadi said, gesturing to the space in the booth next to Tom.

“Unless you have plans,” Tom said.

“I’m actually early to meet somebody, so that sounds great,” Bryce said, sliding into the booth. “Please kick me out if I’m imposing.”

His voice was softer, lighter than Tom remembered. It was gayer. Tom found it endearing.

After introductions, the conversation turned to the origins of their relationship. Tom kept it vague, not wanting to embarrass Bryce. Or, himself, for that matter, since his history as a trainer might invite some unfortunate comparisons. Bryce kept it vague, too, and they landed on “old gym buddies”.

“You two must have made quite the pair,” Brenna said, with a smile. She took a sip of her IPA, which made Tom think about ordering one for himself.

“Yeah, this guy introduced me to Starforce,” Tom said. “So you can thank him for our little department-wide addiction.”

“Really? Tom got you guys into it, too?” Bryce asked, giving Tom an amused, sidelong glance.

Nils quickly commandeered the conversation before it could veer back into interstellar combat, asking about Bryce’s work. Apparently, he was not enjoying it—it was basically glorified tech-support, for which he was vastly overqualified. But he spoke excitedly about a video game idea he had, an RPG set in a cyberpunk dystopia, and Tom agreed with his friends that it sounded like a great concept.

After a little more chatting, Bryce checked his phone. “Oh, my date’s almost here, gotta run. But it was great to meet you all!”

Everyone said their goodbyes, and Tom got up to give Bryce a parting hug. Standing beside him, Tom couldn’t ignore the difference between their bodies. Tom had gone soft all over: his pecs had thickened and softened into a pair of plump moobs, his round, prominent belly spilled over his waistband, and a huge amount of weight had attached itself to his hips and thighs, widening them considerably and making his big, round ass bigger and rounder than ever. He’d grown his first stretch marks last fall, and the blubber on his thighs and ass started to dimple, slightly, not long after that. The loss of muscle mass made his fattening even more obvious. Bryce, on the other hand, looked downright lean, although it was hard to really tell through his loose-fitting clothes.

After Bryce left, Tom sat and stared at the empty basket in front of him, red plastic lined with grease- and sauce-stained paper.

“Aside from Tom, who else would join in if I ordered nachos?” Fadi asked, pointing around the table.

Tom suppressed a sigh. So, it was now a given that he would eat whatever was put in front of him. Fadi was definitely still bigger than him, but Tom was increasingly sharing in his status as a fat guy.

And, irritatingly, Fadi was right; Tom would definitely eat some nachos. He figured they might soothe him after his embarrassing encounter with Bryce.

November 10, 2023

“Mm, you look like you’re enjoying that,” Nolan said, in that sexy Irish accent of his, resting his chin in his hands. The look on his handsome face was hungry, but not for food. He tucked a lock of long, russet hair behind his ear.

Tom felt heat in his face as he chewed his cheeseburger. This was by far the strangest first date he’d ever been on. A few months ago, he’d updated the pictures on his dating profile. The ab pics in his Grindr gallery had become indefensible as his bulging belly ploughed further into his lap, his thickening boobs and juicy ass getting ever-more squeezable.

But his more honest approach to dating had an unexpected side effect: he was finding himself in the company of guys like Nolan. Guys who didn’t just tolerate Tom’s appetite, but actively appreciated it.

There had only been one other, in September—his first and only hookup since Derek. The guy, decently attractive, had taken him to a buffet, of all places, and it was awkward. He was clearly trying to get Tom to eat more, and Tom was having none of it. They did have sex, but they never saw each other again.

Tom still didn’t know how to feel about any of it. It was strange to think of himself as an object of desire for chubby chasers, but it was nice to be desired—he’d spent so much of the last year feeling un-desirable.

Nolan was certainly making him feel desired. He’d eaten about half of his own dinner, and he pushed his plate in Tom’s direction. Tom glanced down at it, knowing he would end up eating it all.

After finishing his dinner and Nolan’s, the two went back to Nolan’s apartment. It was tidy and spacious, a corporate short-term rental, and Tom looked around as Nolan poured them drinks.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in some… dessert?” Nolan asked, as he handed Tom a glass.

Tom grinned, leaning close. “Yes, please.”

Nolan pulled away. “Great! I’ll go get it.”

Tom’s grin turned to a frown as he realized that Nolan was talking about a literal dessert. I walked right into that one, he thought.

Nolan emerged a few moments later with a (relatively) small cheesecake. It had already been cut into eighths, and melted chocolate had solidified into a tantalizing drizzle around its perimeter. Tom was full from so much dinner, but the sight of it made his mouth water.

“Sit down,” Nolan said, balancing the tray in one hand as he led Tom to the couch.

Tom complied. He expected Nolan to put the cake on the coffee table and go back for plates and forks, but instead, he seated himself next to Tom and removed the plastic lid.

“You should take your shirt off,” he said. “This might get a bit messy.”

Tom blinked at him. He looked from Nolan’s face to the cake and back, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Moving the tray to the coffee table, Nolan started undoing Tom’s shirt buttons for him. The action made Tom realize how much those buttons were straining; now that he was seated, he could see that it was worse than he realized. The shirtfront practically sprung apart when Nolan released the buttons. It was a bit embarrassing, given that he’d specifically chosen his loosest shirt.

His cock twitched, his erection now poking against his pants. Nolan kissed Tom’s neck as he finished unbuttoning the shirt, and Tom shrugged out of it to ease Nolan’s access. After a few kisses on Tom’s neck, Tom whispered: “Your turn.”

Nolan pulled back, removing his t-shirt and exposing his trim figure. Looking at the two naked torsos, Tom felt enormous… but not in a way that he hated.

Nolan leaned over and lifted the tray of cheesecake, and Tom sighed quietly as Nolan picked up a slice with his fingers. Am I seriously doing this? he thought. He looked down at his exposed torso. Soft, pale, hairy flesh, covered with stretchmarks… a round belly that pooled out in front of him, love handles that spilled over his waistband, puffy nipples poking out from budding breasts. And his cock twitched again, aching with desire.

He opened his mouth. Nolan fed him a big bite. Tom barely had time to chew before Nolan was going back again, and again. The whole piece disappeared, and he picked up a second before Tom could object.

It went on. Tom kept eating. Nolan kept feeding him, by hand, until half the cake had vanished.

Tom was breathing heavily, and he could feel beads of perspiration on his face from so much rich food. Nolan was massaging Tom’s belly, carefully pressing in just the right ways, at just the right places. Tom was rock hard, and he could feel pre-cum leaking into his underwear. “I’m so full,” he whined.

Nolan reached under Tom’s belly and located the groaning button of his pants. He felt so much better when Nolan released it.

He didn’t stop with the button—he undid Tom’s fly, and then reached under his belly once more to pull down the waistband of Tom’s underwear. “This good?” he asked, as Tom tried to catch his breath.

It was so good. Tom nodded, biting his lip, and Nolan wrapped his fingers around Tom’s cock. “Fuck yeah,” Tom murmured, as Nolan started to squeeze.

He thought the “feeding” portion of the evening was over, but Nolan reached over and picked up another piece of cake. “Just a little more,” he said. He wasn’t jerking Tom off, just holding Tom’s dick in his hand, while the other held the cake next to Tom’s mouth.

Nolan was so hot, and Tom just wanted to come, so he took a big bite. That earned him a few strokes, but it was just teasing—he was so close to coming, but Nolan wasn’t quite bringing him over the finish line. Just edging him mercilessly. With cake.

Nolan balanced himself on Tom’s thigh, close enough that his lean torso pressed against Tom’s swollen belly. Every bite of cake was rewarded with a few jerks.

“You’re so good at this,” Nolan whispered, before nibbling at Tom’s ear lobe. “A natural.”

In spite of himself, Tom whined with pleasure. He was beyond reason; the sheer, intense pleasure of the moment had replaced any inhibition he might have felt. He wanted Nolan. He wanted the cake. And holy fuck did he want to come.

So he kept eating. But Nolan had taken his hand off Tom’s dick and directed it back to Tom’s belly. Honestly, though, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference—the pleasure he was getting from Nolan’s skillful rubbing seemed directly connected to his arousal. He wondered if he might come just from this.

Nolan reached for another, but Tom put his hand on Nolan’s wrist. “I’m good, for now,” he said, softly.

Nolan nodded and turned his attention back to Tom. His left hand was covered in cheesecake, which he rubbed into Tom’s belly, while his right hand worked Tom’s shaft. He backed off from his perch on Tom’s leg, positioning himself on the ground between Tom’s knees. “Now, are you ready for real dessert?”

Tom nodded. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned, as Nolan’s lips glided down his length.

He really didn’t. Between the feeling of Nolan’s fingers on his abdomen, and Nolan’s lips on his dick, and the incredible, pleasurable fullness in his gut, he shot his load in seconds, coming like a torrent as electric jolts of pleasure pinballed through his nervous system.

After a lengthy, blissful orgasm from Tom, Nolan pulled back, licking his lips. Tom looked down at him over the curve of his cake-streaked paunch; he was fucking gorgeous. But I’m definitely not doing that again, Tom thought.

February 5, 2024

ERR.

Tom exhaled, and stepped back onto the bathroom scale. Come on, come the fuck on… he thought, hoped, prayed. He waited.

ERR.

He’d maxed it out. He had exceeded the weight limit of his goddamn scale. The digital scale that went up to 300 pounds.

His large stomach flipped. Fucking fuck! He yelled, internally. How did he let this happen?

Automatically, he blamed Nolan. That little bastard seemed to love feeding Tom bigger and fatter, piling blubber onto his body until he became even more unrecognizable from the jock he had once been.

But even without Nolan’s help, Tom knew his eating habits had only spiralled further out of control. His solution to even the slightest emotional disturbance, no matter how trifling, was to find something to stuff in his face. I’m already fat, so what does it even matter, he’d think, as he shovelled chips and cookies and pizza into his mouth.

Which is how he spent a lot of his time. In fact, he so excelled at eating that he no longer knew his own weight, because he’d eaten himself beyond the limits of his scale’s capacity for accurate measurement.

He planted his hands on the bathroom counter, looking in the mirror. He was stark naked, and the way he leaned forward forced the accumulated fat around his torso to pool out below him, gravity tugging his gut and tits downwards. God, they’ve gotten so big and soft. He couldn’t even see his dick behind the slope of his belly—although it was hard, now, in spite of himself. Stretchmarks had appeared all over his body: at his sides, under his arms, on his ass and legs, and especially around his belly. Even with his increasing hairiness, they were obvious.

Looking up, he studied his face: his neck was thick, and quickly giving way to his large double chin. His jaw had lost all definition, and his stubble did little to hide that fact. He looked like a completely different person.

He stood up straight, grabbing one of his moobs in his hand and hefting it. He searched for his pectorals underneath all the flab, but found no trace of what had once been one of his best features. It was like he had no pecs at all, anymore; just a pair of big, fat boobs that gave way beneath his probing fingers. Even his nipples had stretched and grown.

As he squeezed, he felt his annoyance start to subside. Gently, he cupped his other breast, so that both of them were squeezed in his hands. He pressed them into cleavage, pushing them forward, stunned at how round and full they looked. Without context, they looked like actual breasts.

Tom released his tits and let his hands slip down his sides, trailing over the thick curve of his meaty love handles. He gripped them with his fingers and bounced them, watching, entranced, at the way his whole body quivered and wobbled. It reminded him of wave theory, fluid dynamics—the motion spreading across his bulky frame in ripples.

Slowly, Tom spun around, craning over his shoulder as much as his fat neck would allow to look at the size of his ass. The thing was fucking colossal. His gut was big, sure, but it was eclipsed by his dump truck. Each stretch-marked cheek seemed to slope outwards forever, turning his buttocks into a shelf behind him.

He lifted himself up onto his tiptoes, and then dropped his weight back down, alarmed at the way the whole room seemed to shake. His ass bounced and wobbled, free and unrestrained by any sort of covering.

He plodded into his bedroom to start dressing for work. His boxer-briefs were fairly new, but his backside had grown so fat, so fast, that they now pulled across his butt tautly enough to resemble pantyhose, the fabric stretched to near transparency.

“Mm, aren’t you looking particularly fuckable this morning?” Nolan said, rolling over and rubbing the space next to him in bed.

“I’m not in the mood,” Tom grumbled. He rifled through his closet, pushing aside a mass of undersized clothes.

“Aw, what’s wrong, butterbean?” Nolan asked, giving Tom his best pout.

Even in the adorable accent, the nickname made Tom frown. “I’m getting too fat,” he said. “You’re making me too fat.” He pulled on a collared shirt, tugging the front together so he could start to button it. The cotton strained across his chest, and strained even more as he started on the buttons over his belly. 

“I’m not ‘making’ you anything,” Nolan said. His expression was calm. “You’re a big lad who likes to eat, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Tom sucked in as hard as he could, and he managed to get to buttons through their holes, but the fabric pinched and wrinkled around each one, and the fabric pulled apart wherever there was no button to force it together. He glared at Nolan as he went. 

It was way too tight, but he’d gone to work wearing tighter, and he didn’t think any of his other shirts would fit him any better. That one was usually the loosest. He’d bought it loose, to disguise his extra pudge while he lost weight. He could still remember what a relief it had been when he first bought it, how much spare material billowed around him the first time he put it on. Not anymore.

“You want me fat, though,” Tom said, accusingly, as he started to tug on a pair of pants. The resistance increased as he forced his thick thighs into each pant leg. 

“Of course I do,” Nolan said, he flipped onto his stomach so his pert ass was in the air, and he kicked his legs back and forth in the air, chin resting in his hands. “You make the most fuckable fat boy.”

Tom blushed bright red. Whenever he started getting embarrassed or feeling too big, Nolan went and said something like that, and he got all horny about it. He kept pulling on his pants, dragging them up his legs uneasily; they squeezed his flabby thighs and stretched precariously across the curve of his butt. Inhaling so sharply his face contorted, Tom managed to close the top button. It was a tight fit, but he figured they’d hold.

“So are you going to stop fattening me up?” Tom asked, crossing his arms. He looked in the mirror. He looked like he could burst out of his clothes at any moment. He looked completely, irremediably obese, every stitch of fabric on his body clinging on for dear life. He felt unprofessional, but he could hide his gaping buttons with a sweater, and by now, his coworkers were used to him growing out of his wardrobe.

“I mean, honestly, probably not,” Nolan said, with a shit-eating grin. “But would you actually want me to stop? Or to help you diet?”

Tom sighed, fixing up his short, dark hair before turning to his facial hair. He locked eyes with Nolan through the mirror, and sighed. He didn’t want to diet. Getting fed by Nolan made him horny as fuck. “Fine. But you better buy me new clothes when I outgrow these.”

“You outgrew them last week, porkchop,” Nolan said, with a wry smile. 

Once he finished getting ready, Tom made his way to his building’s parking garage. Since he got a car, he’d all but given up on taking the bus. He used to walk miles with ease, but now he preferred to drive even short distances. His office was only a 5-minute drive, but he left a little early to get some breakfast sandwiches on the way.

“We’re having cake today for Nils’s birthday,” Brenna announced, after Tom had settled in at the office.

“Even though I do not eat cake,” Nils said, crossing his wiry arms.

“Well some of us do,” Fadi said. He turned to Tom for backup, and Tom nodded in agreement.

After the mid-morning break for Nils’ birthday cake, Tom helped himself to another slice. Well, ‘slice’ was understating it; it was more of a wedge, really, or a chunk. Much of it he devoured before he returned to his desk, and he grazed on the rest until lunchtime, when he decided to drive a few blocks over to get some proper food.

Tom parked in front of a gym that was located, somewhat maliciously, next door to the Taco Bell where he planned on eating. It wasn’t his gym, anyway, and he’d gotten quite good at ignoring the hard-bodied hunks as he walked from his car. His eyes were locked straight ahead as he passed Fitness Empire, and they would have stayed that way if he hadn’t felt a tap on his shoulder.

The guy’s body was the first thing Tom saw. He was dressed scantily for the biting February cold, wearing nothing but a small, meshy tank top and a pair of short-shorts that showed off strong, powerful thighs. A gym bag was slung cross-body over his brawny shoulders.

Then, he saw the guy’s face. It was Bryce. His skin was luminous, and his clean shave showed off his angular jaw. His chestnut hair was even longer now, falling around his shoulders, but it was bouncier and shinier than ever. He also sported an eyebrow piercing, and appeared to be wearing a little lip gloss.

“Ohmigod, Tom!” Bryce said, with a grin. “Good to see you!” He pulled Tom into a hug, and Tom felt a weird mix of emotions at the way Bryce’s taut body sunk into his much fleshier one. After the initial surprise, Tom wondered what that hug would feel like if he wasn’t wearing such a thick parka. Of course, then there would be no hiding the true extent of his awesome weight gain….

“Oh, uh, you too,” he said.

“I’d been meaning to message you, I just assumed you’d be busy,” Bryce said. His breath was steaming in the air, and Tom wanted to get him out of the cold.

“Definitely not too busy to catch up,” Tom said. “Listen, you must be freezing, did you want to get lunch with me?” He gestured to Taco Bell.

“Um, I actually have a shift,” Bryce said, pointing to the gym. “New job. No more tech support.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “So you’re…”

“A trainer now!” Bryce grinned. “You really inspired me. I thought, ‘I want to help people like Tom.’” Bryce froze, seeming to realize the irony a moment too late.

It wasn’t lost on Tom, either: he couldn’t even help himself, these days, other than to help himself to another snack. His cheeks were hot despite the weather.

Bryce went on, changing the subject. “Have you ever been in here, by the way? I think you’d really like it, the equipment—”

Tom cut in: “I actually haven’t worked out in a while. As you can probably tell.”

Bryce considered this, looking Tom over with an appraising nod. “Well, I could probably get you a friends and family rate if you wanted to join up,” he said. “You were such a great athlete, I bet it would come right back to you.”

Tom doubted it, as he reflected on how desperately out-of-shape he now was. But then, it could be an opportunity to spend some more time with Bryce. “Maybe… maybe you could train me.”

Bryce grinned from ear to ear. “Of course!”

Bryce committed to booking Tom a 10 AM session for that Saturday, and they said their goodbyes. Satisfied that he’d taken control of his life, and with physical fitness once more within his reach, Tom made his way into Taco Bell, where he decided to add an extra Crunch Wrap Supreme to his regular order.

May 19, 2024

“It’s just so unfair,” Tom said, between sobs and mouthfuls of Rocky Road ice cream.

“Don’t cry,” Bryce said, as he traced soothing circles across Tom’s broad, fleshy back.

“I gained so much fucking relationship weight, and now he’s just gone?” Tom said. He shoveled another heaping spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“Shh, don’t say that,” Bryce cooed. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

Tom’s spoon hit the bottom of the carton, so he tipped it into his mouth and drank the melted remnants. He tossed it on his living room floor, where it joined four empty friends, and forced out a painful, guttural belch as his stomach roiled against 5,000 calories of ice cream.

But he wasn’t done. There was one pint left, beading with condensation on the coffee table, and he snatched it up without hesitation. He peeled black the plastic covering under the lid to find it semi-melted, but that just made it easier to eat.

This was his second day of post-breakup binging. The first day had seen him plough through approximately 11,000 calories’ worth of burgers, chicken fingers, pizza, french fries, cheesecake, soda, milkshake, chips, snack cakes, pastries, and cookies… and a half-litre of coffee cream that had been unlucky enough to find itself in Tom’s way. His stomach had been agonizingly full by the time he drifted into restless sleep, but at least the physical discomfort distracted him from Nolan’s unexpected departure.

After three months as boyfriends, Tom would have expected Nolan to tell him that his contract had a fixed end-date. But he didn’t, until a week before his flight back to Dublin. Tom had offered to try long-distance, but neither of them really wanted that.

Which meant that all 330-something pounds of Tom was now single. Nolan had at least lived up to his word, and kept Tom in fitting clothes for the duration of their relationship. As nice as it was to be wearing jeans and a t-shirt that actually fit him, rather than bulging out of undersized clothes, he was still wracked with apprehension about his return to single life.

Bryce had suggested that a workout might make Tom feel better, but Tom couldn’t have agreed less. All he wanted to do was gorge and play Starforce and vent to Bryce about how horrible men were.

Bryce had been kind enough to oblige, and, instead of their planned training session, he arrived at Tom’s front door, offering a (very muscular) shoulder to cry on. He hadn’t tried to dissuade Tom from devouring pint after pint of Häagen-Dasz, although he did seem a bit surprised by how much ice cream he was steadily putting away.

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna do, now,” Tom said. He grabbed another spoonful of ice cream. “Ugh, I’m gonna have to update my dating profiles again.”

“That could be fun,” Bryce said. “Maybe a little photo shoot would cheer you up?”

Tom shook his head; his face was puffier than usual from crying, and he was enormously bloated after so much dairy. “It’s probably time for me to try one of those feeder sites,” he said, resignedly. “Grommr, or whatever.”

Bryce blinked at him. “You know about Grommr?”

Tom nodded. “Of course. Wait, you do too?”

Bryce gave a nervous chuckle, and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Um, guys used to tell me to sign up there when I was fat, but I never did. I wasn’t really into that side of things.”

Tom didn’t know what Bryce meant by that side of things, but he was too preoccupied to ask. “I’d probably do okay there,” he said, as much to himself as to Bryce. “I could post pictures of what I used to look like. Tell everyone I used to be a personal trainer.”

Bryce squirmed. “You’d really do that?”

Tom shrugged. That sort of public acknowledgment of his enormous weight gain would have been unthinkable a year ago, but being with Nolan had made him realize the pointlessness of denying his new size. Weight loss slipped from a priority to a distant goal over the course of his relationship, as he realized that fat was a turn on for some people—including, increasingly, for him. He was a really big guy, now, and he had to work with that. “Yeah, maybe.” He downed some more ice cream.

“So are you, like, a gainer?” Bryce asked. His eyes were wide and bright.

Tom shrugged again. He wasn’t ready to admit to Bryce just how sexy he’d started to find his feedings with Nolan. “I don’t even know what I am. I’m a big boy, and I’m probably gonna stay that way.”

Bryce nodded, considering this. “I think that’s a really good attitude. Healthy.”

Tom smiled at him, but felt a pang of guilt. Bryce was so accepting of him. It made him wish he had been more empathetic when he was Bryce’s trainer. Instead of following along as Bryce changed himself, why didn’t Tom try to help him find self-acceptance? “I—I wish I had been a better friend to you. When we were in school,” he said.

Bryce blinked back at him. “You were a really good friend to me.”

Tom shook his head. “No. The whole time I was training you, I never once asked why you wanted to lose weight. I didn’t make sure you were in it for the right reasons.”

Bryce put his hand on Tom’s forearm. “You’re really sweet. It wasn’t that I didn’t accept myself, I just… I don’t know. Once I started working out, I really liked it. And the weight loss went so well, I just kept it up.”

“But you had surgery,” Tom pointed out. “For your skin.”

Bryce sighed, slightly. “Okay, I admit it, that was vanity. But the rest of it… I don’t know. I didn’t hate being fat. I just like being fit, and I like how I look now.”

Tom slurped up some more ice cream as he pondered Bryce’s words. “So would you be upset if you gained weight again?”

Bryce hesitated, rubbing his strong chin. “I don’t think so. I’d probably miss being a lil’ twink that guys can throw around. But there’s nothing wrong with having a bigger body.”

Tom’s stomach chose that moment to register a loud protest, and he tried to soothe it with a rub. But Nolan’s hands were so much better at that….

He thought about Bryce as a little twink who could be thrown around by a larger, burlier man. A man like, say, Tom.

His stomach gurgled again. “You’ve gotta rub it right,” Bryce said, smirking at him. He held out a hand. “Can I?”

Tom froze, struggling to keep his jaw from dropping. Bryce, his gym buddy-turned-personal trainer, wanted to rub his big, round paunch? He could only nod, unable to form words.

Bryce’s fingers got to work immediately, and the relief was instant. He really knew what he was doing—plunging into the flab in just the right way to massage Tom’s aching stomach. After months of conditioning, he felt himself starting to get hard from the action.

“I used to do this on myself, during Covid,” Bryce said. He kept the motion going, and Tom squirmed pleasurably in his seat. “After a few too many bags of chips during Starforce marathons.”

“At least you had the pandemic as an excuse,” Tom mumbled.

“You don’t need an excuse to eat,” Bryce said, shaking his head.

“I certainly—” Bryce hadn’t let up with the rubbing, and he goaded a long belch out of Tom. He reddened a little, but they both chuckled. “Certainly don’t,” Tom continued, undeterred.

Bryce chuckled again. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Tom tilted the ice cream carton back and swallowed the last few melted mouthfuls. When he was finished, he turned back to Bryce. “By the way, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea from what I said about joining Grommr. I still want to lose weight.”

“Of course,” Bryce said, pulling his hand away from Tom’s gut. “So, are you coming to our session at the gym tomorrow?”

Tom groaned inwardly. As much as he didn’t feel like working out, he knew it was probably good for him. And anyway, another day with Bryce sounded like fun.

August 25, 2024

“Um, so that’s… eight,” Bryce said. He didn’t sound particularly confident, but Tom had to trust him; he was so exhausted he’d lost count. “Two more and you’re done.”

Tom used to love the leg press. He liked feeling the burn as he pushed away hundreds of pounds with ease. He loved the way his steely thighs popped and rippled so perfectly after a great leg day. Now, he couldn’t wait to get off that damn machine.

“Watch your form, big guy,” Bryce said. Tom nearly cringed: watch your form; he’d used that very same line, countless times, when Bryce was getting sloppy. Now he was the sloppy one, with Bryce using what he’d learned to correct him.

His legs were trembling as he pushed the weight back for the final time. Bryce helped him push the platform back all the way, his biceps bulging, and then locked it in place. 

“I can’t do any more today,” Tom said. He folded his arms. It had been all of 40 minutes. He was a little mortified, and also a little turned on. He blamed his most recent ex-boyfriend for those crossed wires in his brain—even though, months later, he still hadn’t managed to uncross them.

Bryce must have sensed his embarrassment, although Tom was fairly sure that his huge gut hid his arousal. “Hey, that’s alright,” he said. “Nice work today.” His tone was unconvincing, but his smile was as genuine as ever.

His authentic kindness made it even worse. Even now, Bryce was still grateful to him. He was patronizing Tom, but it was out of affection, maybe even admiration, not pity or condescension. Even now, after seven months of workouts that had only gotten worse, Bryce was still nothing but patient with him.

It made Tom feel a little guilty. He knew he’d been slacking—his sessions had dwindled to once every two weeks, at the very most, and he wasn’t exactly “active” on his own time. Add in his out-of-control diet, which piled ever more weight on his increasingly cumbersome body, and his athletic performance had never been worse. Five years ago, he quite successfully ran a marathon. Today, a few minutes of walking on the treadmill left him winded and sweating.

And fuck, the mortification of being so unfit only excited him! Posts about his disastrous workouts always got him so much thirsty attention from ‘nom’-ing admirers, and there was something very erotic about hot guys of all sizes getting themselves off to tales of his misadventures in the gym.

But he was supposed to be trying to lose weight—he used to be a typical hottie! He had to get back to that... that was the goal… right? Right.

After a moment spent catching his breath and mulling the exact wording of his post—was it too melodramatic to call this workout “the fight of his life”?—he eventually built the momentum to haul his bulk out of the seat. “Wanna just check the scales before I get out of here?” he asked.

Bryce opened his mouth to respond, but said nothing. He seemed uneasy, following along as Tom led the way. Tom was acutely aware of how much he waddled, now, as the fat around his hips and thighs struggled against itself.

He stared at the scale, the upright, analog sort that could be found in doctors’ offices. Moment of truth: time to see how well his weight loss was going.

He slid the marker to 300 pounds and stepped on. The needle hit the top of its window with a clang. Sighing, Tom started sliding the marker further. 310, 320, 330. The needle didn’t move when he got to 340, and he started to squirm. At 350, the needle started to move, but not all the way. So, he weighed more than 350 pounds: he hadn’t lost any weight; he’d actually gained even more.

Tom started sliding the one-pound marker, and the needle continued to drop. It came to rest at 357 pounds.

Tom turned to Bryce, whose expression was blank. Tom had gained another 8 pounds since their last workout, only a month prior. They were silent.

Bryce started to say something: “That’s—”

“I know,” Tom said.

He probably could have predicted this. Losing weight was hard. Really, really hard. During those weeks when he actually tried, he was hungry all the time, constantly, voraciously. It was the sort of gnawing hunger that changed him, made him distracted and irritable. He slept poorly.

June had been his “best” stretch: he’d locked in for the entire month. He’d eaten carefully, exercised at least semi-regularly, and lost six whole pounds. For a single month, it was an impressive result; a significant but sustainable number that he could build on over months and years. But after what felt like agonizing privation, all that was cold comfort. It just didn’t seem worth it.

So, in July, he let himself have a cheat day. And then another. And then a few weeks of binging ensued, and by the end of July, he’d gained back the six pounds he lost in June, and added on four more for good measure.

It seemed like the very act of trying to lose weight was only making him fatter, like he had locked himself onto some unalterable biological trajectory that rewarded his attempts at weight loss with even more weight gain. He would lose a pound one week, and gain two the next. He would deny his appetites, suffer, shed weight, celebrate, overindulge, and end up bigger than ever.

How had Bryce made it look so easy? How had he avoided this downward—or upward—spiral?

“Setbacks happen,” Bryce said. For the first time, Tom could sense some doubt. It was understandable: Tom had weighed 311 pounds when he started training with Bryce. Which meant that he’d gained close to 50 pounds in the past six months. If the goal was weight loss, this was far from the sort of result that either man could take pride in. “But—”

“I know,” Tom repeated. He knew Bryce would offer him some well-meaning advice that he already knew and didn’t want to hear.

Undeterred, Bryce changed tack: “Same time next week?” he asked. He didn’t sound hopeful; he must have known there was no way Tom would be back next week.

“Uh, maybe the week after,” Tom said, reaching across his fleshy torso to rub his arm.

“Okay,” Bryce said. “I guess I’ll see you then.” He started to turn towards the front desk. Tom wondered if, after six and a half months of diminishing returns, Bryce’s patience was running out. Then, he lingered for a moment. “You know, weight loss is really hard. It doesn’t work out for everyone.”

“Do you think I can do it?” Tom asked. He swallowed. For some reason, he didn’t quite know how he wanted Bryce to respond. He patted his vast gut: “Am I going to lose all this?”

“If it’s what you actually want, then I have no doubt,” Bryce said. And then he flitted away.

Afterwards, Tom made his way to the locker room. Bryce’s words rattled around his head: if it’s what you actually want. 

As Tom set about lathering up his fat in the cramped shower stall, he felt his horizons starting to broaden. And as he rinsed off the soap, as he ran his fingers across the underside of his belly, gathering it up in his arms and feeling its heft, he formed a thought that had been percolating in his brain for a long time: he didn’t actually want to lose weight.

December 31, 2024

Fadi’s ex, Ramona, with whom he remained on good terms, was throwing a New Year’s Eve party. Fadi was invited, and he needed backup. But most of Fadi’s non-work friends were now also Ramona’s friends, which meant that Fadi’s work friends needed to provide said backup.

That was more or less the lay of the land as Fadi described it in the groupchat. Nils was persuaded on the condition that he could leave before midnight if the vibes were bad. After being told there would be weed and hot girls, Brenna was also on board. For Tom, the winning promises were food and beer.

In any case, he needed to find something decent to wear to a party. But that was a problem for later in the day. For now, Tom had an absolute mountain of Chinese takeout waiting on his doorstep, and his stomach grumbled with vengeful insistence.

So, Tom set about hefting his considerable weight out of his large, new gaming chair. He was nearly naked, wearing only a pair of stretched-out boxer briefs, but his stomach overhung his waistband to such an extent that they were barely visible. He didn’t want his food to get cold, though, so he waddled to the front door as he was, relieved that none of his neighbours had chosen that moment to step into the hallway. If they had, they would have met with their nearly-naked 380-pound neighbour, bending over to retrieve his next meal.

Tom carried the two overloaded paper bags to his desk, ignoring the kitchen table as he passed. He’d stopped using his kitchen chairs last spring; he didn’t know their weight limit, but they’d been making more and more worrisome noises as the months passed, and he was fairly certain they could no longer tolerate his significant mass.

His office chair, too, had been phased out of rotation. It had started screaming in protest under Tom’s bulk, and, more annoyingly, the arms dug deep into his broad love handles, making it difficult to escape.

The new chair, which he bought online, boasted a 500-pound weight limit, and plenty of room for Tom’s ample figure to spread out. It had seemed comically enormous when he first put it together, but it was actually a comfortable fit, and its size made him feel a bit like a king on his throne.

Tom tossed aside three of the four sets of chopsticks, and tucked into his feast. Four egg rolls, orange chicken, Mongolian beef, sweet and sour pork, shrimp fried rice and vegetable lo mein (for a healthier option) disappeared down his gullet, washed down with a few litres of Mountain Dew, until every container had been laid bare and Tom’s exposed gut plowed out even further in front of him, round and full and almost painfully packed beneath a heavy layer of soft fat.

You will meet new challenges with confidence, his fortune cookie informed him, as he put the capstone on his meal. He liked the sound of that. He briefly debated eating the other four fortune cookies the restaurant had included, but decided against it in a moment of superstition.

After discarding his empties, Tom spent most of the day playing Starforce Online, having just bought the much-vaunted Nebula’s Promise DLC during the Steam Winter Sale. Tom’s starfleet had grown almost as much as Tom himself, and his iron-fisted control over the Epsilon Quadrant made him a desirable ally and a regular fixture on the leaderboard. He spent a few hours asserting his dominion over the galaxy, until he realized it was time to get ready for the party.

The clothes he’d bought for the office Christmas party still fit him well enough, although even they had gotten a little snug around his giant legs and mammoth ass. At least his shirt buttons weren’t gaping apart over his gut.

He met his friends at Fadi’s apartment, uptown, and they had a quick drink before making their way to Ramona’s. The walk was only five minutes, but Tom would have taken an Uber, if his friends hadn’t outvoted him.

Ramona’s house—which also used to be Fadi’s house, apparently—was a small, eclectic bungalow with an overgrown front lawn. Tom could hear music from the front step.

As for the party itself, Fadi had not overpromised: platters brimming with food burdened Ramona’s kitchen table, so encumbering it that it seemed at risk of collapse; bottles of beer stuck out from an ice-filled cooler on the floor; the coffee table was strewn with weed and rolling papers; and beautiful girls lounged or stood all over the house. Tom couldn’t help but notice a few beautiful boys in attendance, too.

One, in particular, grabbed Tom’s attention and refused to let go. He was standing by the door to the patio, wearing a tight t-shirt and a tight pair of distressed, light-wash jeans. Tom studied him from behind, drinking in the guy’s taut body, his v-shaped torso, his shapely ass and his long, tousled, light-brown hair. Even as Tom made peace with the changes that had so transformed his body, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia as he remembered a time when he looked like that.

Then, the guy turned—it was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Bryce. He sported a few more piercings, with rings or studs now adorning his right ear (in two places), eyebrow, and nostril. His glossy lips caught the low light, looking plump and pink and kissable, while his eyes sparkled as he conversed.

Tom had quit the gym in September, and hadn’t seen Bryce since. He’d been too embarrassed—to see Bryce would force Tom to admit his indiscipline, to own up to the reality that not only had he really let himself go, but that he planned and wanted to continue. Any time Tom imagined a conversation with Bryce, it ended with an acknowledgment that Tom had failed. Even if Tom was learning to enjoy his new build, it wasn’t a conversation he relished having.

But Bryce had noticed him, his face lighting up as he traipsed over. “Tom!” he exclaimed, “I’ve missed you, big guy!” He threw his arms around Tom (as far as he could reach, at least) and drew him into a hug, his narrow frame sinking into Tom’s flab.

Tom was touched by the fond reception as he hugged Bryce back. Tom had forgotten that Bryce had become quite a hugger—three years earlier, the guy Tom trained had been shy and withdrawn, but the new Bryce exuded physicality.

“I missed you, too,” Tom said. It was true—without the gym to keep them in touch, and with Tom still a bit embarrassed about his turn to all-out gaining, they had nearly fallen out of contact. 

They talked, catching up and discussing the holidays. Bryce had taken to streaming video games in his spare time, and his Twitch channel seemed to be taking off. He was still coding his new game, but had decided to pass the torch to a friend, so he could focus more on his channel without losing time at the gym. For his part, Tom had spent Christmas with his family, and he avoided mentioning the looks of exasperation and warning comments they had given him regarding his exploding weight—or how frustratingly exciting he found those comments. He just said it had been a nice Christmas.

Eventually, there was a pause in the conversation, and Tom had to address the (other) elephant in the room. “Sorry I never replied to your texts,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He searched for an excuse, but came up dry.

“It’s alright,” Bryce answered. He gave a small smile: “I’m sure you can only put up with a guy throwing himself at you for so long.”

Throwing himself at me? Tom was confused. Was that what Bryce was doing? He sort of assumed that Bryce had had a crush on him in college, when he was in his physical prime. But as the tables turned and Bryce started lighting up rooms, Tom had given up on thinking that the handsome twunk could still have feelings for him. He assumed that Bryce’s affections were platonic, or just an expression of his gratitude.

Oh, God, how did I not see this, Tom thought, as he mentally catalogued the many signs of Bryce’s true intentions. How excited he always was to see Tom. How he guided Tom during their workouts, with firm but gentle hands. The stolen glances, the relentless praise, that fucking belly rub: how had Tom not realized that this guy was flirting with him, had been flirting with him for months?

It occurred to Tom that a lot of time had passed without him saying anything. “I didn’t, um… I didn’t know that's what you were doing.”

Bryce laughed. “I don’t know how I could have been any more obvious. Short of, I don’t know, an unsolicited dick pic, or something. Did you really have no idea how into you I was?”

“‘Was’?” Tom asked, feeling a twinge of fear that his chance may have passed. He had to step forward, to allow a petite, pink-haired girl to slip around his gigantic ass, but he underestimated the size of his belly and it bumped against Bryce’s flat stomach. He inched back after she moved on, but the room was so crowded, and Tom so large, that only a fraction of an inch separated his body from Bryce’s.

“Am,” Bryce corrected. He looked down, like he wanted to gaze at his shoes, but Tom’s overhanging gut obscured Bryce’s view of the floor. “How into you I am.”

Tom’s cheeks burned. He could have kicked himself for being so oblivious, for wasting so much time. “But you never made a move,” Tom said, in his own defence. “Never, like, actually asked me out.”

Bryce shifted from foot to foot. He furrowed his brow and sighed. “I don’t know. I was always afraid you’d reject me. In school, you could pull any guy you wanted. I guess I just never thought I had a shot.”

Tom wanted to shake him: of course he had a shot! But it dawned on Tom that Bryce had probably been insecure his whole life. Being big could really mess with your confidence, as Tom had learned. Given how completely their roles had reversed, Tom hadn’t even considered that Bryce might still see him as a popular, unattainable jock; that version of Tom felt like a completely different person, now. But maybe he still lived on, in a part of Bryce’s brain where self-doubt still lingered.

Tom wanted to banish him for good. “I would never reject you,” he said, definitively. “I would be so happy to go out with you.”

Bryce exhaled, a sigh of clear relief, and his face broke into a massive grin. “How about Thursday, after work? We could do some sprints at the indoor track, and then hit the gym?”

Tom stared blankly at him, until Bryce burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you. What about… dinner and a movie?”

Tom nodded. “Sounds perfect. Maybe Imperial Wok, for dinner? Or Eastern Flavours?”

“Let’s do Imperial Wok. The manager at Eastern Flavours definitely has a thing for big boys, and I don’t want him competing for your attention,” Bryce said, his grin turning lopsided.

Tom was fairly sure that the manager of Eastern Flavours had an enormous husband of his own, but he liked the sound of Imperial Wok, anyway: their midtown location was all-you-can-eat, and Tom could eat quite a lot. The date was set, and Tom couldn’t have been happier.

Hours passed in a blur as Tom and Bryce chatted, reminisced, flirted. Tom pounded beer and Bryce sipped gin & tonic until both men were a little buzzed; the looks that passed between them became more loaded, and each touch lingered just a little longer than the last. 

Tom continued to put away beers—he’d brought his own, since it took quite a few to get a man of his size properly tipsy. He also didn’t feel guilty about going to town on the snack table, even though none of that was his, technically speaking. But Tom increasingly embraced the mantra that, in relation to food, “for everyone” meant “for Tom”. Eventually, a spot on the couch opened up, and Tom deposited his substantial backside there, next to Bryce, who made regular trips to the kitchen to replenish Tom’s stockpile of food.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, too. Nils was speaking in animated Norwegian to a stony-faced beefcake, who responded occasionally in terse Danish. Brenna had found a girl almost as tattooed as herself, and they seemed to be getting together far quicker than Tom and Bryce had been able to. Fadi was laughing with Ramona as she poured a glass of wine, his chubby cheeks dimpling and her black curls bouncing, and Tom was happy for them.

Shortly before midnight, Ramona’s neighbours started setting off fireworks. Plenty of people rushed out to the deck to watch, but Tom’s knowledge of civil engineering led him to question whether he should really add his weight to the mix. So he stayed behind on the sofa with Bryce, the music seeming considerably louder without the boisterous conversation to drown it out.

“So, you’re really sure you wanna go out with me on Thursday?” Tom asked. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to reassure himself that their date was real, and not some beautiful hallucination.

Bryce nodded, unhesitating.

But Tom needed something more. “So you’re…” he gestured vaguely to his massive torso, “Fine with all this?”

Bryce nodded again, more vehemently this time. “Tom, I love it,” he said, with almost alarming clarity. “I’ve never been more attracted to you.”

Tom snorted. Bryce was laying it on a little thick, in his opinion. “Seriously, never? Not even in college?”

“Not even in college,” Bryce agreed. “Man, you have no idea how many times I checked out your Grommr profile since you started it.”

Tom’s eyes widened. So, he’d been completely ass-backwards, then; Bryce’s crush was not just vestigial. “You mean…”

Gingerly, as if to test the water, Bryce spread his hand over the widest part of Tom’s gut, just above his navel. His fingers pressed against it, and Tom couldn’t remember a time when being touched felt so good. “Yeah. I really, really like this,” Bryce said, with a shy smile.

More fireworks went off outside, and pop music blared through the speakers. But the whole room seemed to be fading into the background, like the universe itself was shifting focus to Bryce and Tom.

Heavily, and a bit clumsily, Bryce inched a little closer to Tom. Now, there was nothing separating them. They looked deeply at each other, neither saying anything.

A roar went up outside, as the partygoers swapped cries of “Happy New Year!” 

Tom blinked, realizing that midnight had passed without him even realizing it.

“Aw, did we miss the boat on a midnight kiss?” Bryce asked, looking at Tom through lidded eyes. Their faces were so close together.

“Better late than never,” Tom replied. He trailed the backs of his chubby fingers across Bryce’s cheek, each staring deeply into the other’s eyes.

And they kissed.

February 14, 2025

“Happy Valentine’s Day, big boy,” Bryce said, entering the bedroom with a massive tray of breakfast. He was naked except for a pair of tighty-whities.

Yawning, Tom stirred in bed. He looked at the clock: it was only 7:30. At one time, he would have already been up for an hour, but his sleep schedule had shifted to accommodate late-night Starforce sessions, among other sorts of binges. “You’re up early,” he mumbled, as he considered the best way to maneuver himself onto his back. He slept on his side, to mitigate the worst of his snoring—although the necessity of mechanical assistance was really becoming undeniable—and even wiggling around in bed had become cumbersome, these days. A side effect, he reasoned, of his very rapid increase in weight.

“You know I like to pamper you,” Bryce said, balancing the tray in his hands as he climbed onto the bed.

With some undignified wobbling, Tom rolled onto his back. He struggled for a little bit to sit up, before remembering that he needed to use his hands for that now—to lay his palms against the bed and push against his own weight to overcome his incredible absence of physical fitness. Finally, he inched himself upright, relieving the pressure imposed on his lungs by his weighty middle.

“I like to watch you, too,” Bryce said, carefully placing the tray on the top of Tom’s belly after the big man had positioned himself. Then, he reclined at Tom’s side.

“Watch me struggle, you mean,” Tom said, smirking as he picked up a crispy piece of bacon. He bit into it; it was perfect. “Mm, you nailed it again.”

Bryce was a decent cook, but only in relation to two specific kinds of meals. The first consisted of bland health food, like grilled chicken breasts and steamed vegetables. The second, perfected during the most fattening days of 2020, consisted of the greasiest, sweetest, and most unhealthy foods that could be combined on a plate.

Tom learned early on that Bryce very much enjoyed feeding him the latter type of meal, with such frequency and in such quantities that Tom was almost always stuffing himself, these days. Which meant that, in the six weeks they’d been dating, his weight had climbed past 380 pounds and now loomed precipitously close to 400.

“You sure you can’t take the day off, today?” Bryce asked, as he rubbed the lower reach of Tom’s soft belly.

“Sadly, Valentine’s Day is not a holiday at my office,” he said. “But maybe I can make up for it tonight?”

Bryce agreed. Tom ate his breakfast with his usual haste, taking care not to nip Bryce’s fingers as he pushed hashbrowns and bacon strips into Tom’s mouth.

Finally, it was time to get up. Tom moved the tray from his belly-shelf to the bed, and Bryce sprung to his feet, moving gracefully to Tom’s side of the bed and offering a helping hand.

Tom didn’t need help getting out of bed—he wasn’t that far gone—but he did appreciate the gesture, and Bryce’s eagerness to please. And, if he was being completely honest, a hand did make it easier to get on his feet.

“Are you working today?” Tom asked, lumbering towards the dresser. His plodding footfalls seemed to shake every piece of furniture in the room; he could see ripples in Bryce’s coffee cup as the end table vibrated in response to Tom’s heavy gait.

“Nope, although I might stream Horizons this morning, and I probably will go in for a workout. Did you want me to time it so I can bring you home some Taco Bell, for after work?” Bryce leaned back on the bed, hands folded behind his head.

Tom couldn’t imagine any man luckier than himself, with an adoring boyfriend to greet him with fast food upon his return from the office. But he paused: “Taco Bell isn’t much of a Valentine’s Day dinner,” he said, as he retrieved an enormous pair of underwear from the top drawer.

“Oh, that wouldn’t be your main dinner,” Bryce said, as if it went without saying that Tom would eat two dinners if given the chance.

Which he really would, to be fair.

As Tom squeezed his enormous thighs and gigantic butt into his boxer-briefs, he and Bryce debated their options. By the time he’d pulled on some clothes—new enough to actually fit him, which was rare—they’d settled on a little Italian bistro for their “main” dinner.

Bryce leapt from the bed to kiss Tom goodbye, and Tom made his way down the corridor of his building. The elevator was empty when he stepped inside, which meant that Tom was alone with a large mirror.

He blinked, and the whale of a man staring back at him blinked, too. He was so much fatter now than Bryce had ever been—every part of him was large, doughy, protruding. He looked at his round, jowly face, its thickness evident even beneath his well-kept beard. He had no neck to speak of, anymore, and the fat around his face seemed to flow into his expansive torso. He looked past his broad, sloping shoulders, to his arms. They were huge, but his taut biceps had long since been replaced by pure lard. 

He slipped a hand under his belly. It was so heavy; it boggled Tom’s mind to think that it was actually a part of him. His colossal gut was a perfect blend of roundness and softness, thick but buoyant, pushing outwards and dangling downwards simultaneously. His tits rested heavily atop his stomach, so bulging with fat that they cleaved plushly against his shirtfront, aiming outwards in opposite directions. His buttons weren’t straining per se, but he knew they would be before long. Already, his new shirt seemed to have very little fabric left to spare.

He felt his suspenders through his shirt; they were the only way he could keep his pants up, anymore. The problem wasn’t that his waist was small; it was that his ass was so big. He needed pants with a waistband large enough to overcome his butt. But the frenetic bouncing and wobbling of his paunch and behind exerted downward pressure on that waistband, threatening to expose his massive buttocks to the viewing public. A belt buckle dug painfully into his underbelly, so he resorted to suspenders. He thought they looked goofy, at first, but like so many other things, they’d grown on him. He was very curious about a certain type of fat-boy belt that had been making the rounds online, though.

He turned and looked at himself in profile. He looked even bigger side-on, with his sweeping curves laid bare. He just took up so much space, now. He trailed his hand along the curve of his buttocks, which seemed to go on forever, bounding out behind him. They rested atop thighs as thick as columns, and his light-coloured pants only emphasized the enormity of his lower half.

Gaining weight used to scare him. Then, it became an uncomfortable inevitability, until he learned to view it with indifference. After that, there was the first, tepid step into actively enjoying his larger body—those exhilarating moments that increased in frequency and intensity until Tom began to relish his size and heft and power. The thought of how much he’d grown excited him, now; he thought about it often, and he basked in it in that moment, as he studied the slopes and sweeps of his body, feeling his arousal budding. He wanted more.

The elevator dinged as it reached the garage, and Tom pulled himself away from the mirror. He could always check himself out later—it was more fun with Bryce, anyway.

June 28, 2025

“Our love is forbidden, Toran. It would jeopardize peace in the galaxy.”

“You are wrong, Byrneth.” Toran looked away, toward the horizon and the setting of the Two Suns of Vath’Nagoth. When he turned back, tears clouded his dark eyes: “You are a prince of the Empire, but you have lived among my people. The best of the Sarani dwells within you. I am Sarani, but I have pledged my life in service to the Empire. This love of ours—

“Did you hear me?” Bryce asked, his hand gliding smoothly across Tom’s enormous gut. Bryce’s hands had been so soothing, and Tom had been so unexpectedly entertained by this cheesy, gay Starforce novelization, that he barely heard what Bryce asked him. “Do you want some more ice cream, big guy?”

Tom burped into his fist. “Is that even a question?” he asked, with a smile, before tipping the last drops of melted Rocky Road into his mouth. It was a perfect Saturday evening: sunny and sweltering, although generous air conditioning kept Tom from completely overheating. But even with air conditioning, heat like this demanded ice cream.

That was the only prompting Bryce needed. He sprung to his feet, taking the empty pint from Tom’s hands and returning from the kitchen a moment later with a fresh one. “Can I feed it to you?” He asked, holding up a spoon.

“Yes, please,” Tom said, as Bryce slipped in next to him on the loveseat. There wasn’t much room left, but it was perfect for getting cozy.

He read on as Bryce spoon-fed him chocolate and peanut butter ice cream. Toran explained that their love was rooted in mutual understanding: each man had walked in the other’s shoes; they had changed each other. In spite of himself, Tom was almost getting a little teary-eyed as Byrneth left for battle. He opened his mouth for another spoonful of ice cream, but none came, and he saw that Bryce had set the now-empty carton on the coffee table.

“I can’t believe you’re reading that,” Bryce said, when he noticed Tom looking up. He looked amused as he uncapped his lipgloss, ready to reapply. “My big, chubby nerd.” He spoke with unadulterated affection, without a hint of irony or mean-spiritedness.

“You gave it to me,” Tom said, marking his page and setting the book aside. “I seem to remember a whole row of your bookshelf dedicated to these.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bryce said. “When I first read that book, you were probably sniffing poppers and doing CrossFit.”

“I didn’t typically do those things at the same time.” Tom chuckled. “But, if I’m a nerd, what does that make you?”

“A himbo, probably.”

Tom laughed. “You’re not a himbo. You just look like one.” It was true: anyone who judged a book by its cover might have assumed that Bryce was shallow or unthinking, but Tom appreciated his kindness and intelligence far more than his appearance, and he made sure Bryce knew that. As for poppers, Bryce wouldn't have had much use for those: it had been months since Tom had successfully topped him, and he wasn’t optimistic he’d be able to manage it again. No, Tom had made his peace with life as a power bottom, and Bryce was proving to be very adept at handling all that ass. In that regard, he had two important assets: strength, and length.

“And what does a chubby chaser look like?” Bryce asked, running his hand along Tom’s leg. “Do I look like one of those, too?”

Tom licked his lips, melting into Bryce’s touch. “I imagine a chaser looks like whatever guy I’m dating.”

“And what about a feeder?” Bryce asked, his hand gripping and squeezing the bottom of Tom’s belly so perfectly that Tom almost moaned. He could feel Bryce’s warm breath against his neck. “How do they look?”

“Like you, I hope,” Tom said. He couldn’t resist Bryce a moment longer; he had to kiss him. Tom tipped forward, causing his belly to push even further into Bryce’s hand, and their lips met. The kiss intensified; Bryce removed Tom’s t-shirt, and then his own. Bryce’s fingers sunk deep into Tom's belly flab, squeezing, caressing.

After a bit of making out, Bryce leaned back a little, his eyes wandering across Tom’s mountainous body. “I’m so turned on right now,” he said.

“Fuck, me too,” Tom said. He ran his hand along the small of Bryce’s back. “Maybe we need to do something about that.”

Bryce leaned forward and kissed Tom’s cheek, then his double chin, then his shoulder, his breast, the top of his belly… Bryce slipped off the couch and dropped to his knees, kissing along Tom’s gut. Tom helped him lift it up to let Bryce undo the top button of his shorts, and lifted his ass enough to pull them down.

Tom’s once-formidable cock was fully surrounded by blubber, now, with only the head poking out from his thick fat pad. Both he and Bryce strained to keep his belly aloft and out of the way, as Bryce slipped his mouth over Tom’s eager erection.

Tom tried to keep from shuddering with pleasure—and sending various parts of his massive bulk slapping against his poor boyfriend—as Bryce bobbed and licked and sucked. The pleasure was incredible, and Bryce seemed to be enjoying it, too, since he slipped his right hand into his pants and tugged his manhood over the elastic waistband. At least, that’s what Tom thought was happening, since he couldn’t actually see much behind the curve of his gigantic belly.

His fingers plunged into his yielding flesh as he held his gut out of Bryce’s way, his heart pounding ecstatically. He moaned, and leaned ever-so-slightly from side to side, to feel the weight of his gut shift against each hand. Bryce was feeling him up, too, rubbing his thumb along Tom’s tender underbelly, and it all felt so good.

Bryce kept going, and Tom felt his breath coming faster—it was getting hard to hold up so much weight! But it wouldn’t be a problem for long, since he was on the edge of coming, and as Bryce deployed some dazzling maneuver on the tip of Tom’s dick, Tom couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he finished, and oh, God…

Bryce swallowed it down easily, and pulled himself out of the way just in time for Tom to release his hundreds of pounds of belly fat. Bryce kept working his own erection, and he squeezed and fondled Tom relentlessly as the big man tried to catch his breath, until Bryce came, too.

After cleaning himself up with some tissues from the table, Bryce climbed back onto the couch and folded himself into Tom’s side. The skin of Bryce’s bare arms stuck to Tom’s sticky flesh: the mere act of getting head was enough exertion to leave Tom out of breath and, in this heat, sweating. He could imagine the sweatstain his bare ass would definitely be leaving on the sofa.

Bryce grabbed the remote and bumped up the air conditioning, before resting a gentle hand on the upper curve of Tom’s belly. “How much do you even weigh, now?” He asked. His face was alight with a mix of curiosity and hopefulness as he looked Tom up and down.

“Honestly? No idea. Our scale doesn’t go up high enough. More than 400, but probably less than 450.” He threw in a “probably” just to be on the safe side; it seemed unlikely, but he couldn’t rule anything out, with the way Bryce had been (over)feeding him.

Bryce whistled, patting Tom’s gut a few times as if to feel all that weight for himself.

Tom continued: “You know, I’ve gained way more than 200 pounds since we graduated. Like, an average of 55 pounds a year, at least.”

“If current trends continue, you’ll be half a ton before you’re 40,” Bryce said, smirking.

“Fuck off,” Tom said, although he couldn’t help but smile. He’d never let things go that far… right? He bumped his fleshy shoulder against Bryce. “Hey, that was some quick math for you, pretty boy.” He occasionally teased Bryce about quitting engineering, but it was purely playful: Bryce seemed much happier training and streaming than he ever had in an office job. Tom would never want to take that away from him. Even if Tom was the better Starforce player, according to the leaderboards.

Bryce kissed him on the cheek, and whispered: “But there’s another equation I might need your help with.”

Tom looked at him lustily. Only Bryce could make math sound sexy. “Go on,” he said.

“A large pizza, plus a twink, plus his 400-and-something pound lover,” Bryce said, still rubbing his hand along Tom’s colossal stomach and its acreage of hairy, stretch mark-lined flesh. “Can you solve for X?”

Tom didn’t need to be an engineer to figure that one out. With a belly full of ice cream and a heart full of love, Tom pulled Bryce into another passionate kiss… before pausing to order pizza.

[gainingfiction]

Reminder: asks and DMs are always welcome!

I love hearing from readers, so please don’t be shy!

[gainingfiction]

No worries if not but are we getting a story update today?

Sorry, the next "Almost the Perfect Couple" update is not quite ready yet :(

I did, however, finish another story! It's a long one, posted all in one go: read "The Bigger Man" here!

[gainingfiction]

The Bigger Man

Summary: Personal trainer Tom helps a college classmate—Bryce—lose weight. But after graduation, Tom struggles to practice what he once preached, and the effects start to show around his waistline.

Author’s Note: this is a role reversal story, so there will be weight loss. This story also discusses body image—so much so that it’s kind of a theme. Reader discretion is, accordingly, advised.

This is also another slow burn... sorry! It just happened!

~

October 13, 2021

Tom was having a hard time staying focused on his client. Poor Bryce was definitely trying, but his form was terrible, and he was taking too long between each set—and between each rep, for that matter.

“That’s, uh, eight,” Tom guessed. In truth, he’d lost count. “Two more.”

Bryce grunted as he struggled with the leg press. After he eked out the last two reps, Tom helped him push the foot platform back into place.

They were done for the day. In an ideal world, Tom would have taken him through at least another set of lower body exercises, but at 350 pounds (give or take), Bryce moved pretty slowly. The full hour had already been used up.

“Great work today, bud,” Tom said, giving Bryce an enthusiastic clap on the shoulder. And he really meant it: even if Bryce’s form sucked, and he couldn’t do that much, he was clearly pushing himself to his limits, and he kept coming back. He had a great attitude. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I just got the shit kicked out of me,” Bryce said, between gasps. “But in a good way.”

Tom smiled. Bryce was new to the gym world, but Tom had been an athlete since high school, and he knew the rush of post-workout endorphins better than anyone. It was easy to get hooked.

Bryce heaved himself out of the machine, his body wobbling as he came to a stand. He was fat everywhere: sure, he had thick man boobs, an enormous spare tire, and a huge ass; but even his calves and forearms were plump, and his fingers especially so. His face, red with exertion, was round and nondescript; a light-brown beard, short and scruffy, obscured what Tom assumed was a sizable double chin. His face was so chubby that Tom had no sense of his bone structure, but judging by his eyes, lips, and nose, Tom figured he was kind of handsome.

Bryce pushed back his hair, which fell wetly around his face, and pulled on a sweat-soaked reusable face mask, before retrieving a Lysol wipe to clean off the machine.

“Same time on Saturday?” Tom asked, tightening his own mask over the bridge of his nose as Bryce wiped down the hand grips.

“Actually, could we do Sunday?” Bryce said. “I was thinking I might come in on Friday, by myself, and I wanted a rest day before my next workout.”

Tom couldn’t have been prouder. Bryce was really committing to his program. “Sunday’s great,” he said.

Bryce finished his wipe-down, and they walked together towards the front of the gym, where the reception desk was positioned across from the entrance to the locker rooms.

“Thanks again for all your help,” Bryce said, as they sidestepped a particularly large powerlifter. “I’ve really learned a lot.”

“All part of the job,” Tom said. It wasn’t like he was helping Bryce out of the goodness of his heart—Bryce had been assigned to him by the campus gym, where he picked up shifts as a part-time trainer. It was really about the money. But Bryce’s earnestness made him feel a little guilty, and he resolved to pay closer attention during his next workout. Or at least to help him count his reps.

“I just can’t believe I gained so much weight during lockdown,” Bryce said. He gave an embarrassed smile. “And after.”

“That happened to everyone,” Tom said, trying to sound sympathetic. Of course, it hadn’t happened to him. The only weight he’d gained during lockdown had been muscle mass. But he definitely knew a few guys who had let themselves go over the past year and a half.

“It’s not like I was thin before, or anything. I mean, I weighed 250 last March. But I don’t know how I let myself pack on a hundred pounds in 14 months,” Bryce said, as they reached the front desk.

Tom resisted the urge to whistle. That was an enormous amount of weight. “Well, you’re here now, and you’re putting in the work to make a change.” He gestured to his own torso: “And if you keep at it, maybe someday you can look like this.”

Bryce chuckled. “Hah, yeah right. That’s a fun thought.”

It didn’t seem likely to Tom, either, but he wanted Bryce to stay positive. They were both the same height—about 5’11”, give or take—but their bodies stood in stark contrast, and it was difficult to imagine Bryce shedding enough blubber to match Tom’s godlike physique. No use reminding him of that, though. They said their goodbyes, and Bryce headed to the locker room.

Tom glanced at the time: half an hour before his next client. A nice chance to squeeze in a little extra cardio.

April 17, 2022

“Look at you, great form!” Tom said, as he watched Bryce deadlifting a fairly decent amount of weight. This time, he really meant it.

Bryce hadn’t needed a personal trainer since last semester, but Tom still made a point of offering a few encouraging words whenever their paths crossed at the gym. Which was fairly often, since Bryce had become a regular.

He finished his set, and turned to chat with Tom, who had just finished up on the rowing machine. “Thanks, Tom. I’m down almost 50 pounds now. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Tom smiled. It had been nice to get to know Bryce over the past year. They were both in the same faculty—engineering—and Tom vaguely remembered meeting him during orientation week. But Bryce had been much smaller, back then, and had since gotten his braces taken off. Add on the weight gain, and a little extra height, and Tom had completely forgotten their first meeting. But it eventually came back to him, as they bonded over stories of professors they’d both had.

Bryce was wearing his grey Starforce: Horizons t-shirt, which now fit him loosely. Tom had never expected to get into video games, but Bryce mentioned it so often, Tom eventually caved. After his first battle, he’d been hooked. He hadn’t worked up the courage to play online yet, but he’d played the campaign at least twice.

“My last exam is tomorrow,” Bryce said, as he wiped his face with a paper towel. “For Software Reliability and Testing.”

“Mine is Tuesday,” Tom said. “Advanced Structural Analysis. I’m not feeling great about it.” At least he already had a job lined up.

They chatted a bit about finals, and plans for after graduation. Both intended to stick around, and Tom’s office was close enough to his current apartment that he didn’t even have to move. Bryce had started to send out job applications, but without luck.

After finishing their respective workouts, Tom and Bryce said a fond goodbye, promising to stay in touch. Tom actually hoped they would, since Bryce had definitely grown on him over the past year. And, if they stayed in touch, Tom could keep Bryce committed to his goals. He’d enjoyed being a positive influence, and he wouldn’t mind keeping it up.

November 22, 2022

“Pass the orange chicken,” Tom said, gesturing with his chopsticks as he typed one-handed on his keyboard.

“You finished it,” Fadi said. He sounded a little disgruntled; not out of judgment, but because the large man most likely wanted it for himself.

“Wanna kill the Mongolian beef?” Brenna suggested, extending her arm to offer it to Tom without turning from her computer.

“Deal.” Tom accepted the carton, and paused his work to take a few bites. He’d been resistant to these working dinners at first, but he’d come around over the past few months. The team often had to work late for time-sensitive projects, so it was a good way to keep spirits high. He’d actually started looking forward to their takeout orders.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His office clothes were so constricting these days. Mongolian beef finished, he looked for a place on his desktop to put the empty container. There was a spot at the edge of his desk that seemed suitable, so he leaned forward to set it down.

And as he dropped back into his chair, he ripped the seat of his pants. He could feel the seam blow out as his ass spread out beneath him.

The colour drained from his face. Even if nobody had seen (or heard) it happen, Tom was humiliated. This was not a familiar experience. He was used to having a nice, solid ass, but it had gotten a little too thick and juicy over the past few months.

On graduation day, Tom had been a lean 187 pounds. As of that morning, he was up to 216. But it’s not like there weren’t good reasons.

First, there was Derek. They’d met on a hookup app a few weeks after Tom’s graduation, gotten serious over the summer, and split up at the beginning of October. But between the “getting serious” and the “splitting up”, Tom spent a lot of time eating out at restaurants, skipping the gym to meet up, and generally ignoring the steady increase in his weight.

On top of the relationship weight, there was his new job. The hours were less predictable than he’d realized, and there were often urgent assignments that required the whole team to stay late. It didn’t seem like a good sign that so much work was getting done at the last minute, but the even bigger problem was the effect on Tom’s daily routines. In college, he never struggled to find time to work out. But now, with 60-hour weeks not uncommon, fitting the gym into his schedule became a challenge.

Which led to the third culprit: Starforce: Horizons. Tom had gotten a little bit hooked since graduation. When he found himself with free time on the weekends, he skipped the gym with increasing regularity, opting instead to fight digital enemies. And since he’d bought the new DLC during the Steam Autumn Sale, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the willpower to change that any time soon.

In short, he didn’t feel too guilty about a few extra pounds. He could afford it: he was much thicker, sure, but he could still pass it off as bulking, with his healthy base of muscle underneath. He could credibly blame the day’s wardrobe malfunction on an intense leg day, even if the true culprit was an excess of orange chicken, and his leg days were getting less and less intense. 

After finishing work, Tom tied his jacket around his waist and made his way out of the building, satisfied that he’d at least covered his exposed boxer shorts. He was approaching the bus stop when he saw a familiar figure waving at him. It was Bryce.

Tom cursed inwardly. Of course he’d run into his old fitness protege when he was at his fattest. “Bryce! How’s it going!”

Bryce beamed at him. He looked… great, actually. His hair was still long, but it had a little more shine and volume, and he’d trimmed his short beard, which seemed fuller and more deliberate. And his weight loss was dramatic—he was still a big guy, of course, but he made a very desirable bear: his shoulders were broad and muscular, and the softness of his chest didn’t take away from its obvious power.

He was also dressed well, in a well-fitting dress shirt and khaki pants, with a tidy jacket completing the look. “So good to see you, Tom,” Bryce said. “I feel bad for not keeping in touch!”

“No, it takes two,” Tom said, shaking his head. He really had meant to stay in closer contact with Bryce after graduation. “How’ve you been? You look awesome.”

“Thanks, you too,” Bryce said. He sounded genuine, although Tom didn’t believe him. “I’ve been good. Still working on the weight loss, thanks to you. And my new job is alright. I’m way overqualified, but it’s a foot in the door, at least.”

Bryce had really launched into it; Tom was surprised by his confidence. “Gotta start somewhere,” he said. “I feel like it’s tough to be new, in any job.” He was certainly experiencing some growing pains, himself.

“But you’ve been doing alright? I really do want to hang out sometime,” Bryce said. “I’d say over the long weekend, if I wasn’t going out of town.”

“Definitely. We could even do Starforce Online sometime, if that’s easier,” Tom countered. 

“Oh, man, I haven’t even gotten the Revenge of the Imperium DLC yet,” Bryce said. “No spoilers. Maybe I’ll get it for Christmas. But yeah, we should definitely do something soon.”

Tom smiled, and agreed. His bus was pulling up, so they said their goodbyes. He couldn’t believe that Bryce would be waiting a whole month for Revenge of the Imperium; six months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to shut up about it!

As he stepped onto the bus, he reflected on the need to get his shit together. No more skipping the gym.

Right after Thanksgiving weekend… that’s when he’d start.

July 7, 2023

Tom bit into his cheeseburger, savouring the taste of the applewood smoked bacon and how it complimented the house burger sauce. His friends always complained about the food at O’Brien’s, but Tom thought they were too picky.

“Don’t install that patch, it’s unplayable,” he said, through a full mouth. He didn’t like to talk with his mouth full, but this was urgent: Brenna had mentioned a Starforce mod she’d heard about on Discord, but Tom had tried it out, and it crashed his game over and over again.

“Guys, no more Starforce,” Nils said, with his faint Norwegian accent. “I’m the only one who doesn’t play.”

“There’s an easy fix for that,” Fadi said. He turned and reached for one of Tom’s fries, but Tom smacked his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, how are you even still hungry?”

Tom felt heat in his cheeks. He’d actually already eaten an order of wings, but he’d seen a server pass by with a burger, and it had driven him to distraction.

“Leave him alone,” Brenna said, resting a tattooed hand on Tom’s shoulder protectively. Brenna was 29, and she once remarked that Tom reminded her of her little brother. They were roughly the same age, and upon seeing a picture, Tom was not shocked to discover that he was also fat.

“He’s the one who told us to hold him to his diet,” Fadi said, raising his own hands defensively. “Like, two days ago.”

“It’s true, I remember this,” Nils said, with a knowing nod.

“I didn’t say that,” Tom lied. “What I said was, ‘don’t let me pig out today.’ That was on Wednesday.”

“You definitely didn’t mention ‘today’,” Nils said. “You said, ‘you all need to stop me from making such a pig of myself.’ I assumed you meant in general.”

“Well, I meant on Wednesday,” Tom mumbled, embarrassed by the implication that he was currently making a pig of himself.

In truth, he had been making a pig of himself. His attempts to get back into his old diet and workout regimen had been disastrous. He made sporadic trips to the gym, but found himself increasingly frustrated by his loss of fitness. Exercises he used to do with ease had been getting harder, and he’d been lifting less and less weight as the months crept by. Rather than motivating him to work harder and recover his strength, Tom was growing more resentful as his weight increased. In school, he worked out every day. A year ago, it was three or four times a week. Now, he was lucky to get in an hour a week. And lately, a week sometimes passed without him going to the gym at all.

Eating better hadn’t panned out, either. Tom never used to be gluttonous; he always ate to live, balancing his macros to optimize his physique. But with the stress of his job, he slipped into a new habit: comfort eating.

It sort of crept up on him. It started with grazing on the leftovers after takeout dinners at work, to help him relax and focus. Then, he found himself picking up a complimentary donut or danish from the break room, when they were on offer (which was almost every day). Then, he was tossing the occasional bag of chips into his cart at the supermarket, and snacking on them at home. Then, the bag of chips made friends, and instead of an “occasional” thing, he started loading up on snack food every time he got groceries.

In just 15 months, his diet had gone totally off the rails, and his workouts had fallen off a cliff. Of course he was gaining weight: he’d never been hungrier or more sedentary in his life. And now, here he was, 265 pounds and eating his second dinner of the day.

“Did you mean every Wednesday, or just this Wednesday?” Nils asked, pulling Tom from his thoughts.

“Okay, no more talking about how fat I’ve gotten,” Tom said, crossing his arms. He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but it definitely came across that way, and he instantly regretted snapping.

“Uh, hey Tom,” Bryce said.

Tom hadn’t even realized he was standing there, but there he was, right next to their table. He wore an awkward smile. He’d definitely heard Tom’s last comment.

Tom took him in. He looked amazing. His hair was slightly longer than it had been, but it was glossy and full-bodied. He wasn’t just “kind of handsome”, as Tom expected he might be, he was downright hot: he’d shaved his beard down to a light coat of stubble, revealing a nice jaw and definite cheekbones. His tanned, dewy skin complemented his features. He was dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, revealing strong arms and an average build.

Which meant that Tom was now far fatter than him.

“Hey, Bryce!” Tom said. He could feel himself blushing—of course Byrce appeared, at exactly this moment, looking like that. “How’s it going? Good to see you.”

Bryce’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m doing really good, thanks. It’s great to see you, too. I don’t mean to interrupt your night out, I just wanted to say hi.”

“No interruption at all. Hey, guys, Bryce and I went to school together, maybe he can join us?”

Tom’s friends nodded. “Please, tell us some embarrassing Tom stories,” Fadi said, gesturing to the space in the booth next to Tom.

“Unless you have plans,” Tom said.

“I’m actually early to meet somebody, so that sounds great,” Bryce said, sliding into the booth. “Please kick me out if I’m imposing.”

His voice was softer, lighter than Tom remembered. It was gayer. Tom found it endearing.

After introductions, the conversation turned to the origins of their relationship. Tom kept it vague, not wanting to embarrass Bryce. Or, himself, for that matter, since his history as a trainer might invite some unfortunate comparisons. Bryce kept it vague, too, and they landed on “old gym buddies”.

“You two must have made quite the pair,” Brenna said, with a smile. She took a sip of her IPA, which made Tom think about ordering one for himself.

“Yeah, this guy introduced me to Starforce,” Tom said. “So you can thank him for our little department-wide addiction.”

“Really? Tom got you guys into it, too?” Bryce asked, giving Tom an amused, sidelong glance.

Nils quickly commandeered the conversation before it could veer back into interstellar combat, asking about Bryce’s work. Apparently, he was not enjoying it—it was basically glorified tech-support, for which he was vastly overqualified. But he spoke excitedly about a video game idea he had, an RPG set in a cyberpunk dystopia, and Tom agreed with his friends that it sounded like a great concept.

After a little more chatting, Bryce checked his phone. “Oh, my date’s almost here, gotta run. But it was great to meet you all!”

Everyone said their goodbyes, and Tom got up to give Bryce a parting hug. Standing beside him, Tom couldn’t ignore the difference between their bodies. Tom had gone soft all over: his pecs had thickened and softened into a pair of plump moobs, his round, prominent belly spilled over his waistband, and a huge amount of weight had attached itself to his hips and thighs, widening them considerably and making his big, round ass bigger and rounder than ever. He’d grown his first stretch marks last fall, and the blubber on his thighs and ass started to dimple, slightly, not long after that. The loss of muscle mass made his fattening even more obvious. Bryce, on the other hand, looked downright lean, although it was hard to really tell through his loose-fitting clothes.

After Bryce left, Tom sat and stared at the empty basket in front of him, red plastic lined with grease- and sauce-stained paper.

“Aside from Tom, who else would join in if I ordered nachos?” Fadi asked, pointing around the table.

Tom suppressed a sigh. So, it was now a given that he would eat whatever was put in front of him. Fadi was definitely still bigger than him, but Tom was increasingly sharing in his status as a fat guy.

And, irritatingly, Fadi was right; Tom would definitely eat some nachos. He figured they might soothe him after his embarrassing encounter with Bryce.

November 10, 2023

“Mm, you look like you’re enjoying that,” Nolan said, in that sexy Irish accent of his, resting his chin in his hands. The look on his handsome face was hungry, but not for food. He tucked a lock of long, russet hair behind his ear.

Tom felt heat in his face as he chewed his cheeseburger. This was by far the strangest first date he’d ever been on. A few months ago, he’d updated the pictures on his dating profile. The ab pics in his Grindr gallery had become indefensible as his bulging belly ploughed further into his lap, his thickening boobs and juicy ass getting ever-more squeezable.

But his more honest approach to dating had an unexpected side effect: he was finding himself in the company of guys like Nolan. Guys who didn’t just tolerate Tom’s appetite, but actively appreciated it.

There had only been one other, in September—his first and only hookup since Derek. The guy, decently attractive, had taken him to a buffet, of all places, and it was awkward. He was clearly trying to get Tom to eat more, and Tom was having none of it. They did have sex, but they never saw each other again.

Tom still didn’t know how to feel about any of it. It was strange to think of himself as an object of desire for chubby chasers, but it was nice to be desired—he’d spent so much of the last year feeling un-desirable.

Nolan was certainly making him feel desired. He’d eaten about half of his own dinner, and he pushed his plate in Tom’s direction. Tom glanced down at it, knowing he would end up eating it all.

After finishing his dinner and Nolan’s, the two went back to Nolan’s apartment. It was tidy and spacious, a corporate short-term rental, and Tom looked around as Nolan poured them drinks.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in some… dessert?” Nolan asked, as he handed Tom a glass.

Tom grinned, leaning close. “Yes, please.”

Nolan pulled away. “Great! I’ll go get it.”

Tom’s grin turned to a frown as he realized that Nolan was talking about a literal dessert. I walked right into that one, he thought.

Nolan emerged a few moments later with a (relatively) small cheesecake. It had already been cut into eighths, and melted chocolate had solidified into a tantalizing drizzle around its perimeter. Tom was full from so much dinner, but the sight of it made his mouth water.

“Sit down,” Nolan said, balancing the tray in one hand as he led Tom to the couch.

Tom complied. He expected Nolan to put the cake on the coffee table and go back for plates and forks, but instead, he seated himself next to Tom and removed the plastic lid.

“You should take your shirt off,” he said. “This might get a bit messy.”

Tom blinked at him. He looked from Nolan’s face to the cake and back, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Moving the tray to the coffee table, Nolan started undoing Tom’s shirt buttons for him. The action made Tom realize how much those buttons were straining; now that he was seated, he could see that it was worse than he realized. The shirtfront practically sprung apart when Nolan released the buttons. It was a bit embarrassing, given that he’d specifically chosen his loosest shirt.

His cock twitched, his erection now poking against his pants. Nolan kissed Tom’s neck as he finished unbuttoning the shirt, and Tom shrugged out of it to ease Nolan’s access. After a few kisses on Tom’s neck, Tom whispered: “Your turn.”

Nolan pulled back, removing his t-shirt and exposing his trim figure. Looking at the two naked torsos, Tom felt enormous… but not in a way that he hated.

Nolan leaned over and lifted the tray of cheesecake, and Tom sighed quietly as Nolan picked up a slice with his fingers. Am I seriously doing this? he thought. He looked down at his exposed torso. Soft, pale, hairy flesh, covered with stretchmarks… a round belly that pooled out in front of him, love handles that spilled over his waistband, puffy nipples poking out from budding breasts. And his cock twitched again, aching with desire.

He opened his mouth. Nolan fed him a big bite. Tom barely had time to chew before Nolan was going back again, and again. The whole piece disappeared, and he picked up a second before Tom could object.

It went on. Tom kept eating. Nolan kept feeding him, by hand, until half the cake had vanished.

Tom was breathing heavily, and he could feel beads of perspiration on his face from so much rich food. Nolan was massaging Tom’s belly, carefully pressing in just the right ways, at just the right places. Tom was rock hard, and he could feel pre-cum leaking into his underwear. “I’m so full,” he whined.

Nolan reached under Tom’s belly and located the groaning button of his pants. He felt so much better when Nolan released it.

He didn’t stop with the button—he undid Tom’s fly, and then reached under his belly once more to pull down the waistband of Tom’s underwear. “This good?” he asked, as Tom tried to catch his breath.

It was so good. Tom nodded, biting his lip, and Nolan wrapped his fingers around Tom’s cock. “Fuck yeah,” Tom murmured, as Nolan started to squeeze.

He thought the “feeding” portion of the evening was over, but Nolan reached over and picked up another piece of cake. “Just a little more,” he said. He wasn’t jerking Tom off, just holding Tom’s dick in his hand, while the other held the cake next to Tom’s mouth.

Nolan was so hot, and Tom just wanted to come, so he took a big bite. That earned him a few strokes, but it was just teasing—he was so close to coming, but Nolan wasn’t quite bringing him over the finish line. Just edging him mercilessly. With cake.

Nolan balanced himself on Tom’s thigh, close enough that his lean torso pressed against Tom’s swollen belly. Every bite of cake was rewarded with a few jerks.

“You’re so good at this,” Nolan whispered, before nibbling at Tom’s ear lobe. “A natural.”

In spite of himself, Tom whined with pleasure. He was beyond reason; the sheer, intense pleasure of the moment had replaced any inhibition he might have felt. He wanted Nolan. He wanted the cake. And holy fuck did he want to come.

So he kept eating. But Nolan had taken his hand off Tom’s dick and directed it back to Tom’s belly. Honestly, though, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference—the pleasure he was getting from Nolan’s skillful rubbing seemed directly connected to his arousal. He wondered if he might come just from this.

Nolan reached for another, but Tom put his hand on Nolan’s wrist. “I’m good, for now,” he said, softly.

Nolan nodded and turned his attention back to Tom. His left hand was covered in cheesecake, which he rubbed into Tom’s belly, while his right hand worked Tom’s shaft. He backed off from his perch on Tom’s leg, positioning himself on the ground between Tom’s knees. “Now, are you ready for real dessert?”

Tom nodded. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned, as Nolan’s lips glided down his length.

He really didn’t. Between the feeling of Nolan’s fingers on his abdomen, and Nolan’s lips on his dick, and the incredible, pleasurable fullness in his gut, he shot his load in seconds, coming like a torrent as electric jolts of pleasure pinballed through his nervous system.

After a lengthy, blissful orgasm from Tom, Nolan pulled back, licking his lips. Tom looked down at him over the curve of his cake-streaked paunch; he was fucking gorgeous. But I’m definitely not doing that again, Tom thought.

February 5, 2024

ERR.

Tom exhaled, and stepped back onto the bathroom scale. Come on, come the fuck on… he thought, hoped, prayed. He waited.

ERR.

He’d maxed it out. He had exceeded the weight limit of his goddamn scale. The digital scale that went up to 300 pounds.

His large stomach flipped. Fucking fuck! He yelled, internally. How did he let this happen?

Automatically, he blamed Nolan. That little bastard seemed to love feeding Tom bigger and fatter, piling blubber onto his body until he became even more unrecognizable from the jock he had once been.

But even without Nolan’s help, Tom knew his eating habits had only spiralled further out of control. His solution to even the slightest emotional disturbance, no matter how trifling, was to find something to stuff in his face. I’m already fat, so what does it even matter, he’d think, as he shovelled chips and cookies and pizza into his mouth.

Which is how he spent a lot of his time. In fact, he so excelled at eating that he no longer knew his own weight, because he’d eaten himself beyond the limits of his scale’s capacity for accurate measurement.

He planted his hands on the bathroom counter, looking in the mirror. He was stark naked, and the way he leaned forward forced the accumulated fat around his torso to pool out below him, gravity tugging his gut and tits downwards. God, they’ve gotten so big and soft. He couldn’t even see his dick behind the slope of his belly—although it was hard, now, in spite of himself. Stretchmarks had appeared all over his body: at his sides, under his arms, on his ass and legs, and especially around his belly. Even with his increasing hairiness, they were obvious.

Looking up, he studied his face: his neck was thick, and quickly giving way to his large double chin. His jaw had lost all definition, and his stubble did little to hide that fact. He looked like a completely different person.

He stood up straight, grabbing one of his moobs in his hand and hefting it. He searched for his pectorals underneath all the flab, but found no trace of what had once been one of his best features. It was like he had no pecs at all, anymore; just a pair of big, fat boobs that gave way beneath his probing fingers. Even his nipples had stretched and grown.

As he squeezed, he felt his annoyance start to subside. Gently, he cupped his other breast, so that both of them were squeezed in his hands. He pressed them into cleavage, pushing them forward, stunned at how round and full they looked. Without context, they looked like actual breasts.

Tom released his tits and let his hands slip down his sides, trailing over the thick curve of his meaty love handles. He gripped them with his fingers and bounced them, watching, entranced, at the way his whole body quivered and wobbled. It reminded him of wave theory, fluid dynamics—the motion spreading across his bulky frame in ripples.

Slowly, Tom spun around, craning over his shoulder as much as his fat neck would allow to look at the size of his ass. The thing was fucking colossal. His gut was big, sure, but it was eclipsed by his dump truck. Each stretch-marked cheek seemed to slope outwards forever, turning his buttocks into a shelf behind him.

He lifted himself up onto his tiptoes, and then dropped his weight back down, alarmed at the way the whole room seemed to shake. His ass bounced and wobbled, free and unrestrained by any sort of covering.

He plodded into his bedroom to start dressing for work. His boxer-briefs were fairly new, but his backside had grown so fat, so fast, that they now pulled across his butt tautly enough to resemble pantyhose, the fabric stretched to near transparency.

“Mm, aren’t you looking particularly fuckable this morning?” Nolan said, rolling over and rubbing the space next to him in bed.

“I’m not in the mood,” Tom grumbled. He rifled through his closet, pushing aside a mass of undersized clothes.

“Aw, what’s wrong, butterbean?” Nolan asked, giving Tom his best pout.

Even in the adorable accent, the nickname made Tom frown. “I’m getting too fat,” he said. “You’re making me too fat.” He pulled on a collared shirt, tugging the front together so he could start to button it. The cotton strained across his chest, and strained even more as he started on the buttons over his belly. 

“I’m not ‘making’ you anything,” Nolan said. His expression was calm. “You’re a big lad who likes to eat, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Tom sucked in as hard as he could, and he managed to get to buttons through their holes, but the fabric pinched and wrinkled around each one, and the fabric pulled apart wherever there was no button to force it together. He glared at Nolan as he went. 

It was way too tight, but he’d gone to work wearing tighter, and he didn’t think any of his other shirts would fit him any better. That one was usually the loosest. He’d bought it loose, to disguise his extra pudge while he lost weight. He could still remember what a relief it had been when he first bought it, how much spare material billowed around him the first time he put it on. Not anymore.

“You want me fat, though,” Tom said, accusingly, as he started to tug on a pair of pants. The resistance increased as he forced his thick thighs into each pant leg. 

“Of course I do,” Nolan said, he flipped onto his stomach so his pert ass was in the air, and he kicked his legs back and forth in the air, chin resting in his hands. “You make the most fuckable fat boy.”

Tom blushed bright red. Whenever he started getting embarrassed or feeling too big, Nolan went and said something like that, and he got all horny about it. He kept pulling on his pants, dragging them up his legs uneasily; they squeezed his flabby thighs and stretched precariously across the curve of his butt. Inhaling so sharply his face contorted, Tom managed to close the top button. It was a tight fit, but he figured they’d hold.

“So are you going to stop fattening me up?” Tom asked, crossing his arms. He looked in the mirror. He looked like he could burst out of his clothes at any moment. He looked completely, irremediably obese, every stitch of fabric on his body clinging on for dear life. He felt unprofessional, but he could hide his gaping buttons with a sweater, and by now, his coworkers were used to him growing out of his wardrobe.

“I mean, honestly, probably not,” Nolan said, with a shit-eating grin. “But would you actually want me to stop? Or to help you diet?”

Tom sighed, fixing up his short, dark hair before turning to his facial hair. He locked eyes with Nolan through the mirror, and sighed. He didn’t want to diet. Getting fed by Nolan made him horny as fuck. “Fine. But you better buy me new clothes when I outgrow these.”

“You outgrew them last week, porkchop,” Nolan said, with a wry smile. 

Once he finished getting ready, Tom made his way to his building’s parking garage. Since he got a car, he’d all but given up on taking the bus. He used to walk miles with ease, but now he preferred to drive even short distances. His office was only a 5-minute drive, but he left a little early to get some breakfast sandwiches on the way.

“We’re having cake today for Nils’s birthday,” Brenna announced, after Tom had settled in at the office.

“Even though I do not eat cake,” Nils said, crossing his wiry arms.

“Well some of us do,” Fadi said. He turned to Tom for backup, and Tom nodded in agreement.

After the mid-morning break for Nils’ birthday cake, Tom helped himself to another slice. Well, ‘slice’ was understating it; it was more of a wedge, really, or a chunk. Much of it he devoured before he returned to his desk, and he grazed on the rest until lunchtime, when he decided to drive a few blocks over to get some proper food.

Tom parked in front of a gym that was located, somewhat maliciously, next door to the Taco Bell where he planned on eating. It wasn’t his gym, anyway, and he’d gotten quite good at ignoring the hard-bodied hunks as he walked from his car. His eyes were locked straight ahead as he passed Fitness Empire, and they would have stayed that way if he hadn’t felt a tap on his shoulder.

The guy’s body was the first thing Tom saw. He was dressed scantily for the biting February cold, wearing nothing but a small, meshy tank top and a pair of short-shorts that showed off strong, powerful thighs. A gym bag was slung cross-body over his brawny shoulders.

Then, he saw the guy’s face. It was Bryce. His skin was luminous, and his clean shave showed off his angular jaw. His chestnut hair was even longer now, falling around his shoulders, but it was bouncier and shinier than ever. He also sported an eyebrow piercing, and appeared to be wearing a little lip gloss.

“Ohmigod, Tom!” Bryce said, with a grin. “Good to see you!” He pulled Tom into a hug, and Tom felt a weird mix of emotions at the way Bryce’s taut body sunk into his much fleshier one. After the initial surprise, Tom wondered what that hug would feel like if he wasn’t wearing such a thick parka. Of course, then there would be no hiding the true extent of his awesome weight gain….

“Oh, uh, you too,” he said.

“I’d been meaning to message you, I just assumed you’d be busy,” Bryce said. His breath was steaming in the air, and Tom wanted to get him out of the cold.

“Definitely not too busy to catch up,” Tom said. “Listen, you must be freezing, did you want to get lunch with me?” He gestured to Taco Bell.

“Um, I actually have a shift,” Bryce said, pointing to the gym. “New job. No more tech support.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “So you’re…”

“A trainer now!” Bryce grinned. “You really inspired me. I thought, ‘I want to help people like Tom.’” Bryce froze, seeming to realize the irony a moment too late.

It wasn’t lost on Tom, either: he couldn’t even help himself, these days, other than to help himself to another snack. His cheeks were hot despite the weather.

Bryce went on, changing the subject. “Have you ever been in here, by the way? I think you’d really like it, the equipment—”

Tom cut in: “I actually haven’t worked out in a while. As you can probably tell.”

Bryce considered this, looking Tom over with an appraising nod. “Well, I could probably get you a friends and family rate if you wanted to join up,” he said. “You were such a great athlete, I bet it would come right back to you.”

Tom doubted it, as he reflected on how desperately out-of-shape he now was. But then, it could be an opportunity to spend some more time with Bryce. “Maybe… maybe you could train me.”

Bryce grinned from ear to ear. “Of course!”

Bryce committed to booking Tom a 10 AM session for that Saturday, and they said their goodbyes. Satisfied that he’d taken control of his life, and with physical fitness once more within his reach, Tom made his way into Taco Bell, where he decided to add an extra Crunch Wrap Supreme to his regular order.

May 19, 2024

“It’s just so unfair,” Tom said, between sobs and mouthfuls of Rocky Road ice cream.

“Don’t cry,” Bryce said, as he traced soothing circles across Tom’s broad, fleshy back.

“I gained so much fucking relationship weight, and now he’s just gone?” Tom said. He shoveled another heaping spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“Shh, don’t say that,” Bryce cooed. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

Tom’s spoon hit the bottom of the carton, so he tipped it into his mouth and drank the melted remnants. He tossed it on his living room floor, where it joined four empty friends, and forced out a painful, guttural belch as his stomach roiled against 5,000 calories of ice cream.

But he wasn’t done. There was one pint left, beading with condensation on the coffee table, and he snatched it up without hesitation. He peeled black the plastic covering under the lid to find it semi-melted, but that just made it easier to eat.

This was his second day of post-breakup binging. The first day had seen him plough through approximately 11,000 calories’ worth of burgers, chicken fingers, pizza, french fries, cheesecake, soda, milkshake, chips, snack cakes, pastries, and cookies… and a half-litre of coffee cream that had been unlucky enough to find itself in Tom’s way. His stomach had been agonizingly full by the time he drifted into restless sleep, but at least the physical discomfort distracted him from Nolan’s unexpected departure.

After three months as boyfriends, Tom would have expected Nolan to tell him that his contract had a fixed end-date. But he didn’t, until a week before his flight back to Dublin. Tom had offered to try long-distance, but neither of them really wanted that.

Which meant that all 330-something pounds of Tom was now single. Nolan had at least lived up to his word, and kept Tom in fitting clothes for the duration of their relationship. As nice as it was to be wearing jeans and a t-shirt that actually fit him, rather than bulging out of undersized clothes, he was still wracked with apprehension about his return to single life.

Bryce had suggested that a workout might make Tom feel better, but Tom couldn’t have agreed less. All he wanted to do was gorge and play Starforce and vent to Bryce about how horrible men were.

Bryce had been kind enough to oblige, and, instead of their planned training session, he arrived at Tom’s front door, offering a (very muscular) shoulder to cry on. He hadn’t tried to dissuade Tom from devouring pint after pint of Häagen-Dasz, although he did seem a bit surprised by how much ice cream he was steadily putting away.

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna do, now,” Tom said. He grabbed another spoonful of ice cream. “Ugh, I’m gonna have to update my dating profiles again.”

“That could be fun,” Bryce said. “Maybe a little photo shoot would cheer you up?”

Tom shook his head; his face was puffier than usual from crying, and he was enormously bloated after so much dairy. “It’s probably time for me to try one of those feeder sites,” he said, resignedly. “Grommr, or whatever.”

Bryce blinked at him. “You know about Grommr?”

Tom nodded. “Of course. Wait, you do too?”

Bryce gave a nervous chuckle, and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Um, guys used to tell me to sign up there when I was fat, but I never did. I wasn’t really into that side of things.”

Tom didn’t know what Bryce meant by that side of things, but he was too preoccupied to ask. “I’d probably do okay there,” he said, as much to himself as to Bryce. “I could post pictures of what I used to look like. Tell everyone I used to be a personal trainer.”

Bryce squirmed. “You’d really do that?”

Tom shrugged. That sort of public acknowledgment of his enormous weight gain would have been unthinkable a year ago, but being with Nolan had made him realize the pointlessness of denying his new size. Weight loss slipped from a priority to a distant goal over the course of his relationship, as he realized that fat was a turn on for some people—including, increasingly, for him. He was a really big guy, now, and he had to work with that. “Yeah, maybe.” He downed some more ice cream.

“So are you, like, a gainer?” Bryce asked. His eyes were wide and bright.

Tom shrugged again. He wasn’t ready to admit to Bryce just how sexy he’d started to find his feedings with Nolan. “I don’t even know what I am. I’m a big boy, and I’m probably gonna stay that way.”

Bryce nodded, considering this. “I think that’s a really good attitude. Healthy.”

Tom smiled at him, but felt a pang of guilt. Bryce was so accepting of him. It made him wish he had been more empathetic when he was Bryce’s trainer. Instead of following along as Bryce changed himself, why didn’t Tom try to help him find self-acceptance? “I—I wish I had been a better friend to you. When we were in school,” he said.

Bryce blinked back at him. “You were a really good friend to me.”

Tom shook his head. “No. The whole time I was training you, I never once asked why you wanted to lose weight. I didn’t make sure you were in it for the right reasons.”

Bryce put his hand on Tom’s forearm. “You’re really sweet. It wasn’t that I didn’t accept myself, I just… I don’t know. Once I started working out, I really liked it. And the weight loss went so well, I just kept it up.”

“But you had surgery,” Tom pointed out. “For your skin.”

Bryce sighed, slightly. “Okay, I admit it, that was vanity. But the rest of it… I don’t know. I didn’t hate being fat. I just like being fit, and I like how I look now.”

Tom slurped up some more ice cream as he pondered Bryce’s words. “So would you be upset if you gained weight again?”

Bryce hesitated, rubbing his strong chin. “I don’t think so. I’d probably miss being a lil’ twink that guys can throw around. But there’s nothing wrong with having a bigger body.”

Tom’s stomach chose that moment to register a loud protest, and he tried to soothe it with a rub. But Nolan’s hands were so much better at that….

He thought about Bryce as a little twink who could be thrown around by a larger, burlier man. A man like, say, Tom.

His stomach gurgled again. “You’ve gotta rub it right,” Bryce said, smirking at him. He held out a hand. “Can I?”

Tom froze, struggling to keep his jaw from dropping. Bryce, his gym buddy-turned-personal trainer, wanted to rub his big, round paunch? He could only nod, unable to form words.

Bryce’s fingers got to work immediately, and the relief was instant. He really knew what he was doing—plunging into the flab in just the right way to massage Tom’s aching stomach. After months of conditioning, he felt himself starting to get hard from the action.

“I used to do this on myself, during Covid,” Bryce said. He kept the motion going, and Tom squirmed pleasurably in his seat. “After a few too many bags of chips during Starforce marathons.”

“At least you had the pandemic as an excuse,” Tom mumbled.

“You don’t need an excuse to eat,” Bryce said, shaking his head.

“I certainly—” Bryce hadn’t let up with the rubbing, and he goaded a long belch out of Tom. He reddened a little, but they both chuckled. “Certainly don’t,” Tom continued, undeterred.

Bryce chuckled again. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Tom tilted the ice cream carton back and swallowed the last few melted mouthfuls. When he was finished, he turned back to Bryce. “By the way, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea from what I said about joining Grommr. I still want to lose weight.”

“Of course,” Bryce said, pulling his hand away from Tom’s gut. “So, are you coming to our session at the gym tomorrow?”

Tom groaned inwardly. As much as he didn’t feel like working out, he knew it was probably good for him. And anyway, another day with Bryce sounded like fun.

August 25, 2024

“Um, so that’s… eight,” Bryce said. He didn’t sound particularly confident, but Tom had to trust him; he was so exhausted he’d lost count. “Two more and you’re done.”

Tom used to love the leg press. He liked feeling the burn as he pushed away hundreds of pounds with ease. He loved the way his steely thighs popped and rippled so perfectly after a great leg day. Now, he couldn’t wait to get off that damn machine.

“Watch your form, big guy,” Bryce said. Tom nearly cringed: watch your form; he’d used that very same line, countless times, when Bryce was getting sloppy. Now he was the sloppy one, with Bryce using what he’d learned to correct him.

His legs were trembling as he pushed the weight back for the final time. Bryce helped him push the platform back all the way, his biceps bulging, and then locked it in place. 

“I can’t do any more today,” Tom said. He folded his arms. It had been all of 40 minutes. He was a little mortified, and also a little turned on. He blamed his most recent ex-boyfriend for those crossed wires in his brain—even though, months later, he still hadn’t managed to uncross them.

Bryce must have sensed his embarrassment, although Tom was fairly sure that his huge gut hid his arousal. “Hey, that’s alright,” he said. “Nice work today.” His tone was unconvincing, but his smile was as genuine as ever.

His authentic kindness made it even worse. Even now, Bryce was still grateful to him. He was patronizing Tom, but it was out of affection, maybe even admiration, not pity or condescension. Even now, after seven months of workouts that had only gotten worse, Bryce was still nothing but patient with him.

It made Tom feel a little guilty. He knew he’d been slacking—his sessions had dwindled to once every two weeks, at the very most, and he wasn’t exactly “active” on his own time. Add in his out-of-control diet, which piled ever more weight on his increasingly cumbersome body, and his athletic performance had never been worse. Five years ago, he quite successfully ran a marathon. Today, a few minutes of walking on the treadmill left him winded and sweating.

And fuck, the mortification of being so unfit only excited him! Posts about his disastrous workouts always got him so much thirsty attention from ‘nom’-ing admirers, and there was something very erotic about hot guys of all sizes getting themselves off to tales of his misadventures in the gym.

But he was supposed to be trying to lose weight—he used to be a typical hottie! He had to get back to that... that was the goal… right? Right.

After a moment spent catching his breath and mulling the exact wording of his post—was it too melodramatic to call this workout “the fight of his life”?—he eventually built the momentum to haul his bulk out of the seat. “Wanna just check the scales before I get out of here?” he asked.

Bryce opened his mouth to respond, but said nothing. He seemed uneasy, following along as Tom led the way. Tom was acutely aware of how much he waddled, now, as the fat around his hips and thighs struggled against itself.

He stared at the scale, the upright, analog sort that could be found in doctors’ offices. Moment of truth: time to see how well his weight loss was going.

He slid the marker to 300 pounds and stepped on. The needle hit the top of its window with a clang. Sighing, Tom started sliding the marker further. 310, 320, 330. The needle didn’t move when he got to 340, and he started to squirm. At 350, the needle started to move, but not all the way. So, he weighed more than 350 pounds: he hadn’t lost any weight; he’d actually gained even more.

Tom started sliding the one-pound marker, and the needle continued to drop. It came to rest at 357 pounds.

Tom turned to Bryce, whose expression was blank. Tom had gained another 8 pounds since their last workout, only a month prior. They were silent.

Bryce started to say something: “That’s—”

“I know,” Tom said.

He probably could have predicted this. Losing weight was hard. Really, really hard. During those weeks when he actually tried, he was hungry all the time, constantly, voraciously. It was the sort of gnawing hunger that changed him, made him distracted and irritable. He slept poorly.

June had been his “best” stretch: he’d locked in for the entire month. He’d eaten carefully, exercised at least semi-regularly, and lost six whole pounds. For a single month, it was an impressive result; a significant but sustainable number that he could build on over months and years. But after what felt like agonizing privation, all that was cold comfort. It just didn’t seem worth it.

So, in July, he let himself have a cheat day. And then another. And then a few weeks of binging ensued, and by the end of July, he’d gained back the six pounds he lost in June, and added on four more for good measure.

It seemed like the very act of trying to lose weight was only making him fatter, like he had locked himself onto some unalterable biological trajectory that rewarded his attempts at weight loss with even more weight gain. He would lose a pound one week, and gain two the next. He would deny his appetites, suffer, shed weight, celebrate, overindulge, and end up bigger than ever.

How had Bryce made it look so easy? How had he avoided this downward—or upward—spiral?

“Setbacks happen,” Bryce said. For the first time, Tom could sense some doubt. It was understandable: Tom had weighed 311 pounds when he started training with Bryce. Which meant that he’d gained close to 50 pounds in the past six months. If the goal was weight loss, this was far from the sort of result that either man could take pride in. “But—”

“I know,” Tom repeated. He knew Bryce would offer him some well-meaning advice that he already knew and didn’t want to hear.

Undeterred, Bryce changed tack: “Same time next week?” he asked. He didn’t sound hopeful; he must have known there was no way Tom would be back next week.

“Uh, maybe the week after,” Tom said, reaching across his fleshy torso to rub his arm.

“Okay,” Bryce said. “I guess I’ll see you then.” He started to turn towards the front desk. Tom wondered if, after six and a half months of diminishing returns, Bryce’s patience was running out. Then, he lingered for a moment. “You know, weight loss is really hard. It doesn’t work out for everyone.”

“Do you think I can do it?” Tom asked. He swallowed. For some reason, he didn’t quite know how he wanted Bryce to respond. He patted his vast gut: “Am I going to lose all this?”

“If it’s what you actually want, then I have no doubt,” Bryce said. And then he flitted away.

Afterwards, Tom made his way to the locker room. Bryce’s words rattled around his head: if it’s what you actually want. 

As Tom set about lathering up his fat in the cramped shower stall, he felt his horizons starting to broaden. And as he rinsed off the soap, as he ran his fingers across the underside of his belly, gathering it up in his arms and feeling its heft, he formed a thought that had been percolating in his brain for a long time: he didn’t actually want to lose weight.

December 31, 2024

Fadi’s ex, Ramona, with whom he remained on good terms, was throwing a New Year’s Eve party. Fadi was invited, and he needed backup. But most of Fadi’s non-work friends were now also Ramona’s friends, which meant that Fadi’s work friends needed to provide said backup.

That was more or less the lay of the land as Fadi described it in the groupchat. Nils was persuaded on the condition that he could leave before midnight if the vibes were bad. After being told there would be weed and hot girls, Brenna was also on board. For Tom, the winning promises were food and beer.

In any case, he needed to find something decent to wear to a party. But that was a problem for later in the day. For now, Tom had an absolute mountain of Chinese takeout waiting on his doorstep, and his stomach grumbled with vengeful insistence.

So, Tom set about hefting his considerable weight out of his large, new gaming chair. He was nearly naked, wearing only a pair of stretched-out boxer briefs, but his stomach overhung his waistband to such an extent that they were barely visible. He didn’t want his food to get cold, though, so he waddled to the front door as he was, relieved that none of his neighbours had chosen that moment to step into the hallway. If they had, they would have met with their nearly-naked 380-pound neighbour, bending over to retrieve his next meal.

Tom carried the two overloaded paper bags to his desk, ignoring the kitchen table as he passed. He’d stopped using his kitchen chairs last spring; he didn’t know their weight limit, but they’d been making more and more worrisome noises as the months passed, and he was fairly certain they could no longer tolerate his significant mass.

His office chair, too, had been phased out of rotation. It had started screaming in protest under Tom’s bulk, and, more annoyingly, the arms dug deep into his broad love handles, making it difficult to escape.

The new chair, which he bought online, boasted a 500-pound weight limit, and plenty of room for Tom’s ample figure to spread out. It had seemed comically enormous when he first put it together, but it was actually a comfortable fit, and its size made him feel a bit like a king on his throne.

Tom tossed aside three of the four sets of chopsticks, and tucked into his feast. Four egg rolls, orange chicken, Mongolian beef, sweet and sour pork, shrimp fried rice and vegetable lo mein (for a healthier option) disappeared down his gullet, washed down with a few litres of Mountain Dew, until every container had been laid bare and Tom’s exposed gut plowed out even further in front of him, round and full and almost painfully packed beneath a heavy layer of soft fat.

You will meet new challenges with confidence, his fortune cookie informed him, as he put the capstone on his meal. He liked the sound of that. He briefly debated eating the other four fortune cookies the restaurant had included, but decided against it in a moment of superstition.

After discarding his empties, Tom spent most of the day playing Starforce Online, having just bought the much-vaunted Nebula’s Promise DLC during the Steam Winter Sale. Tom’s starfleet had grown almost as much as Tom himself, and his iron-fisted control over the Epsilon Quadrant made him a desirable ally and a regular fixture on the leaderboard. He spent a few hours asserting his dominion over the galaxy, until he realized it was time to get ready for the party.

The clothes he’d bought for the office Christmas party still fit him well enough, although even they had gotten a little snug around his giant legs and mammoth ass. At least his shirt buttons weren’t gaping apart over his gut.

He met his friends at Fadi’s apartment, uptown, and they had a quick drink before making their way to Ramona’s. The walk was only five minutes, but Tom would have taken an Uber, if his friends hadn’t outvoted him.

Ramona’s house—which also used to be Fadi’s house, apparently—was a small, eclectic bungalow with an overgrown front lawn. Tom could hear music from the front step.

As for the party itself, Fadi had not overpromised: platters brimming with food burdened Ramona’s kitchen table, so encumbering it that it seemed at risk of collapse; bottles of beer stuck out from an ice-filled cooler on the floor; the coffee table was strewn with weed and rolling papers; and beautiful girls lounged or stood all over the house. Tom couldn’t help but notice a few beautiful boys in attendance, too.

One, in particular, grabbed Tom’s attention and refused to let go. He was standing by the door to the patio, wearing a tight t-shirt and a tight pair of distressed, light-wash jeans. Tom studied him from behind, drinking in the guy’s taut body, his v-shaped torso, his shapely ass and his long, tousled, light-brown hair. Even as Tom made peace with the changes that had so transformed his body, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia as he remembered a time when he looked like that.

Then, the guy turned—it was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Bryce. He sported a few more piercings, with rings or studs now adorning his right ear (in two places), eyebrow, and nostril. His glossy lips caught the low light, looking plump and pink and kissable, while his eyes sparkled as he conversed.

Tom had quit the gym in September, and hadn’t seen Bryce since. He’d been too embarrassed—to see Bryce would force Tom to admit his indiscipline, to own up to the reality that not only had he really let himself go, but that he planned and wanted to continue. Any time Tom imagined a conversation with Bryce, it ended with an acknowledgment that Tom had failed. Even if Tom was learning to enjoy his new build, it wasn’t a conversation he relished having.

But Bryce had noticed him, his face lighting up as he traipsed over. “Tom!” he exclaimed, “I’ve missed you, big guy!” He threw his arms around Tom (as far as he could reach, at least) and drew him into a hug, his narrow frame sinking into Tom’s flab.

Tom was touched by the fond reception as he hugged Bryce back. Tom had forgotten that Bryce had become quite a hugger—three years earlier, the guy Tom trained had been shy and withdrawn, but the new Bryce exuded physicality.

“I missed you, too,” Tom said. It was true—without the gym to keep them in touch, and with Tom still a bit embarrassed about his turn to all-out gaining, they had nearly fallen out of contact. 

They talked, catching up and discussing the holidays. Bryce had taken to streaming video games in his spare time, and his Twitch channel seemed to be taking off. He was still coding his new game, but had decided to pass the torch to a friend, so he could focus more on his channel without losing time at the gym. For his part, Tom had spent Christmas with his family, and he avoided mentioning the looks of exasperation and warning comments they had given him regarding his exploding weight—or how frustratingly exciting he found those comments. He just said it had been a nice Christmas.

Eventually, there was a pause in the conversation, and Tom had to address the (other) elephant in the room. “Sorry I never replied to your texts,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He searched for an excuse, but came up dry.

“It’s alright,” Bryce answered. He gave a small smile: “I’m sure you can only put up with a guy throwing himself at you for so long.”

Throwing himself at me? Tom was confused. Was that what Bryce was doing? He sort of assumed that Bryce had had a crush on him in college, when he was in his physical prime. But as the tables turned and Bryce started lighting up rooms, Tom had given up on thinking that the handsome twunk could still have feelings for him. He assumed that Bryce’s affections were platonic, or just an expression of his gratitude.

Oh, God, how did I not see this, Tom thought, as he mentally catalogued the many signs of Bryce’s true intentions. How excited he always was to see Tom. How he guided Tom during their workouts, with firm but gentle hands. The stolen glances, the relentless praise, that fucking belly rub: how had Tom not realized that this guy was flirting with him, had been flirting with him for months?

It occurred to Tom that a lot of time had passed without him saying anything. “I didn’t, um… I didn’t know that's what you were doing.”

Bryce laughed. “I don’t know how I could have been any more obvious. Short of, I don’t know, an unsolicited dick pic, or something. Did you really have no idea how into you I was?”

“‘Was’?” Tom asked, feeling a twinge of fear that his chance may have passed. He had to step forward, to allow a petite, pink-haired girl to slip around his gigantic ass, but he underestimated the size of his belly and it bumped against Bryce’s flat stomach. He inched back after she moved on, but the room was so crowded, and Tom so large, that only a fraction of an inch separated his body from Bryce’s.

“Am,” Bryce corrected. He looked down, like he wanted to gaze at his shoes, but Tom’s overhanging gut obscured Bryce’s view of the floor. “How into you I am.”

Tom’s cheeks burned. He could have kicked himself for being so oblivious, for wasting so much time. “But you never made a move,” Tom said, in his own defence. “Never, like, actually asked me out.”

Bryce shifted from foot to foot. He furrowed his brow and sighed. “I don’t know. I was always afraid you’d reject me. In school, you could pull any guy you wanted. I guess I just never thought I had a shot.”

Tom wanted to shake him: of course he had a shot! But it dawned on Tom that Bryce had probably been insecure his whole life. Being big could really mess with your confidence, as Tom had learned. Given how completely their roles had reversed, Tom hadn’t even considered that Bryce might still see him as a popular, unattainable jock; that version of Tom felt like a completely different person, now. But maybe he still lived on, in a part of Bryce’s brain where self-doubt still lingered.

Tom wanted to banish him for good. “I would never reject you,” he said, definitively. “I would be so happy to go out with you.”

Bryce exhaled, a sigh of clear relief, and his face broke into a massive grin. “How about Thursday, after work? We could do some sprints at the indoor track, and then hit the gym?”

Tom stared blankly at him, until Bryce burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you. What about… dinner and a movie?”

Tom nodded. “Sounds perfect. Maybe Imperial Wok, for dinner? Or Eastern Flavours?”

“Let’s do Imperial Wok. The manager at Eastern Flavours definitely has a thing for big boys, and I don’t want him competing for your attention,” Bryce said, his grin turning lopsided.

Tom was fairly sure that the manager of Eastern Flavours had an enormous husband of his own, but he liked the sound of Imperial Wok, anyway: their midtown location was all-you-can-eat, and Tom could eat quite a lot. The date was set, and Tom couldn’t have been happier.

Hours passed in a blur as Tom and Bryce chatted, reminisced, flirted. Tom pounded beer and Bryce sipped gin & tonic until both men were a little buzzed; the looks that passed between them became more loaded, and each touch lingered just a little longer than the last. 

Tom continued to put away beers—he’d brought his own, since it took quite a few to get a man of his size properly tipsy. He also didn’t feel guilty about going to town on the snack table, even though none of that was his, technically speaking. But Tom increasingly embraced the mantra that, in relation to food, “for everyone” meant “for Tom”. Eventually, a spot on the couch opened up, and Tom deposited his substantial backside there, next to Bryce, who made regular trips to the kitchen to replenish Tom’s stockpile of food.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, too. Nils was speaking in animated Norwegian to a stony-faced beefcake, who responded occasionally in terse Danish. Brenna had found a girl almost as tattooed as herself, and they seemed to be getting together far quicker than Tom and Bryce had been able to. Fadi was laughing with Ramona as she poured a glass of wine, his chubby cheeks dimpling and her black curls bouncing, and Tom was happy for them.

Shortly before midnight, Ramona’s neighbours started setting off fireworks. Plenty of people rushed out to the deck to watch, but Tom’s knowledge of civil engineering led him to question whether he should really add his weight to the mix. So he stayed behind on the sofa with Bryce, the music seeming considerably louder without the boisterous conversation to drown it out.

“So, you’re really sure you wanna go out with me on Thursday?” Tom asked. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to reassure himself that their date was real, and not some beautiful hallucination.

Bryce nodded, unhesitating.

But Tom needed something more. “So you’re…” he gestured vaguely to his massive torso, “Fine with all this?”

Bryce nodded again, more vehemently this time. “Tom, I love it,” he said, with almost alarming clarity. “I’ve never been more attracted to you.”

Tom snorted. Bryce was laying it on a little thick, in his opinion. “Seriously, never? Not even in college?”

“Not even in college,” Bryce agreed. “Man, you have no idea how many times I checked out your Grommr profile since you started it.”

Tom’s eyes widened. So, he’d been completely ass-backwards, then; Bryce’s crush was not just vestigial. “You mean…”

Gingerly, as if to test the water, Bryce spread his hand over the widest part of Tom’s gut, just above his navel. His fingers pressed against it, and Tom couldn’t remember a time when being touched felt so good. “Yeah. I really, really like this,” Bryce said, with a shy smile.

More fireworks went off outside, and pop music blared through the speakers. But the whole room seemed to be fading into the background, like the universe itself was shifting focus to Bryce and Tom.

Heavily, and a bit clumsily, Bryce inched a little closer to Tom. Now, there was nothing separating them. They looked deeply at each other, neither saying anything.

A roar went up outside, as the partygoers swapped cries of “Happy New Year!” 

Tom blinked, realizing that midnight had passed without him even realizing it.

“Aw, did we miss the boat on a midnight kiss?” Bryce asked, looking at Tom through lidded eyes. Their faces were so close together.

“Better late than never,” Tom replied. He trailed the backs of his chubby fingers across Bryce’s cheek, each staring deeply into the other’s eyes.

And they kissed.

February 14, 2025

“Happy Valentine’s Day, big boy,” Bryce said, entering the bedroom with a massive tray of breakfast. He was naked except for a pair of tighty-whities.

Yawning, Tom stirred in bed. He looked at the clock: it was only 7:30. At one time, he would have already been up for an hour, but his sleep schedule had shifted to accommodate late-night Starforce sessions, among other sorts of binges. “You’re up early,” he mumbled, as he considered the best way to maneuver himself onto his back. He slept on his side, to mitigate the worst of his snoring—although the necessity of mechanical assistance was really becoming undeniable—and even wiggling around in bed had become cumbersome, these days. A side effect, he reasoned, of his very rapid increase in weight.

“You know I like to pamper you,” Bryce said, balancing the tray in his hands as he climbed onto the bed.

With some undignified wobbling, Tom rolled onto his back. He struggled for a little bit to sit up, before remembering that he needed to use his hands for that now—to lay his palms against the bed and push against his own weight to overcome his incredible absence of physical fitness. Finally, he inched himself upright, relieving the pressure imposed on his lungs by his weighty middle.

“I like to watch you, too,” Bryce said, carefully placing the tray on the top of Tom’s belly after the big man had positioned himself. Then, he reclined at Tom’s side.

“Watch me struggle, you mean,” Tom said, smirking as he picked up a crispy piece of bacon. He bit into it; it was perfect. “Mm, you nailed it again.”

Bryce was a decent cook, but only in relation to two specific kinds of meals. The first consisted of bland health food, like grilled chicken breasts and steamed vegetables. The second, perfected during the most fattening days of 2020, consisted of the greasiest, sweetest, and most unhealthy foods that could be combined on a plate.

Tom learned early on that Bryce very much enjoyed feeding him the latter type of meal, with such frequency and in such quantities that Tom was almost always stuffing himself, these days. Which meant that, in the six weeks they’d been dating, his weight had climbed past 380 pounds and now loomed precipitously close to 400.

“You sure you can’t take the day off, today?” Bryce asked, as he rubbed the lower reach of Tom’s soft belly.

“Sadly, Valentine’s Day is not a holiday at my office,” he said. “But maybe I can make up for it tonight?”

Bryce agreed. Tom ate his breakfast with his usual haste, taking care not to nip Bryce’s fingers as he pushed hashbrowns and bacon strips into Tom’s mouth.

Finally, it was time to get up. Tom moved the tray from his belly-shelf to the bed, and Bryce sprung to his feet, moving gracefully to Tom’s side of the bed and offering a helping hand.

Tom didn’t need help getting out of bed—he wasn’t that far gone—but he did appreciate the gesture, and Bryce’s eagerness to please. And, if he was being completely honest, a hand did make it easier to get on his feet.

“Are you working today?” Tom asked, lumbering towards the dresser. His plodding footfalls seemed to shake every piece of furniture in the room; he could see ripples in Bryce’s coffee cup as the end table vibrated in response to Tom’s heavy gait.

“Nope, although I might stream Horizons this morning, and I probably will go in for a workout. Did you want me to time it so I can bring you home some Taco Bell, for after work?” Bryce leaned back on the bed, hands folded behind his head.

Tom couldn’t imagine any man luckier than himself, with an adoring boyfriend to greet him with fast food upon his return from the office. But he paused: “Taco Bell isn’t much of a Valentine’s Day dinner,” he said, as he retrieved an enormous pair of underwear from the top drawer.

“Oh, that wouldn’t be your main dinner,” Bryce said, as if it went without saying that Tom would eat two dinners if given the chance.

Which he really would, to be fair.

As Tom squeezed his enormous thighs and gigantic butt into his boxer-briefs, he and Bryce debated their options. By the time he’d pulled on some clothes—new enough to actually fit him, which was rare—they’d settled on a little Italian bistro for their “main” dinner.

Bryce leapt from the bed to kiss Tom goodbye, and Tom made his way down the corridor of his building. The elevator was empty when he stepped inside, which meant that Tom was alone with a large mirror.

He blinked, and the whale of a man staring back at him blinked, too. He was so much fatter now than Bryce had ever been—every part of him was large, doughy, protruding. He looked at his round, jowly face, its thickness evident even beneath his well-kept beard. He had no neck to speak of, anymore, and the fat around his face seemed to flow into his expansive torso. He looked past his broad, sloping shoulders, to his arms. They were huge, but his taut biceps had long since been replaced by pure lard. 

He slipped a hand under his belly. It was so heavy; it boggled Tom’s mind to think that it was actually a part of him. His colossal gut was a perfect blend of roundness and softness, thick but buoyant, pushing outwards and dangling downwards simultaneously. His tits rested heavily atop his stomach, so bulging with fat that they cleaved plushly against his shirtfront, aiming outwards in opposite directions. His buttons weren’t straining per se, but he knew they would be before long. Already, his new shirt seemed to have very little fabric left to spare.

He felt his suspenders through his shirt; they were the only way he could keep his pants up, anymore. The problem wasn’t that his waist was small; it was that his ass was so big. He needed pants with a waistband large enough to overcome his butt. But the frenetic bouncing and wobbling of his paunch and behind exerted downward pressure on that waistband, threatening to expose his massive buttocks to the viewing public. A belt buckle dug painfully into his underbelly, so he resorted to suspenders. He thought they looked goofy, at first, but like so many other things, they’d grown on him. He was very curious about a certain type of fat-boy belt that had been making the rounds online, though.

He turned and looked at himself in profile. He looked even bigger side-on, with his sweeping curves laid bare. He just took up so much space, now. He trailed his hand along the curve of his buttocks, which seemed to go on forever, bounding out behind him. They rested atop thighs as thick as columns, and his light-coloured pants only emphasized the enormity of his lower half.

Gaining weight used to scare him. Then, it became an uncomfortable inevitability, until he learned to view it with indifference. After that, there was the first, tepid step into actively enjoying his larger body—those exhilarating moments that increased in frequency and intensity until Tom began to relish his size and heft and power. The thought of how much he’d grown excited him, now; he thought about it often, and he basked in it in that moment, as he studied the slopes and sweeps of his body, feeling his arousal budding. He wanted more.

The elevator dinged as it reached the garage, and Tom pulled himself away from the mirror. He could always check himself out later—it was more fun with Bryce, anyway.

June 28, 2025

“Our love is forbidden, Toran. It would jeopardize peace in the galaxy.”

“You are wrong, Byrneth.” Toran looked away, toward the horizon and the setting of the Two Suns of Vath’Nagoth. When he turned back, tears clouded his dark eyes: “You are a prince of the Empire, but you have lived among my people. The best of the Sarani dwells within you. I am Sarani, but I have pledged my life in service to the Empire. This love of ours—

“Did you hear me?” Bryce asked, his hand gliding smoothly across Tom’s enormous gut. Bryce’s hands had been so soothing, and Tom had been so unexpectedly entertained by this cheesy, gay Starforce novelization, that he barely heard what Bryce asked him. “Do you want some more ice cream, big guy?”

Tom burped into his fist. “Is that even a question?” he asked, with a smile, before tipping the last drops of melted Rocky Road into his mouth. It was a perfect Saturday evening: sunny and sweltering, although generous air conditioning kept Tom from completely overheating. But even with air conditioning, heat like this demanded ice cream.

That was the only prompting Bryce needed. He sprung to his feet, taking the empty pint from Tom’s hands and returning from the kitchen a moment later with a fresh one. “Can I feed it to you?” He asked, holding up a spoon.

“Yes, please,” Tom said, as Bryce slipped in next to him on the loveseat. There wasn’t much room left, but it was perfect for getting cozy.

He read on as Bryce spoon-fed him chocolate and peanut butter ice cream. Toran explained that their love was rooted in mutual understanding: each man had walked in the other’s shoes; they had changed each other. In spite of himself, Tom was almost getting a little teary-eyed as Byrneth left for battle. He opened his mouth for another spoonful of ice cream, but none came, and he saw that Bryce had set the now-empty carton on the coffee table.

“I can’t believe you’re reading that,” Bryce said, when he noticed Tom looking up. He looked amused as he uncapped his lipgloss, ready to reapply. “My big, chubby nerd.” He spoke with unadulterated affection, without a hint of irony or mean-spiritedness.

“You gave it to me,” Tom said, marking his page and setting the book aside. “I seem to remember a whole row of your bookshelf dedicated to these.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bryce said. “When I first read that book, you were probably sniffing poppers and doing CrossFit.”

“I didn’t typically do those things at the same time.” Tom chuckled. “But, if I’m a nerd, what does that make you?”

“A himbo, probably.”

Tom laughed. “You’re not a himbo. You just look like one.” It was true: anyone who judged a book by its cover might have assumed that Bryce was shallow or unthinking, but Tom appreciated his kindness and intelligence far more than his appearance, and he made sure Bryce knew that. As for poppers, Bryce wouldn't have had much use for those: it had been months since Tom had successfully topped him, and he wasn’t optimistic he’d be able to manage it again. No, Tom had made his peace with life as a power bottom, and Bryce was proving to be very adept at handling all that ass. In that regard, he had two important assets: strength, and length.

“And what does a chubby chaser look like?” Bryce asked, running his hand along Tom’s leg. “Do I look like one of those, too?”

Tom licked his lips, melting into Bryce’s touch. “I imagine a chaser looks like whatever guy I’m dating.”

“And what about a feeder?” Bryce asked, his hand gripping and squeezing the bottom of Tom’s belly so perfectly that Tom almost moaned. He could feel Bryce’s warm breath against his neck. “How do they look?”

“Like you, I hope,” Tom said. He couldn’t resist Bryce a moment longer; he had to kiss him. Tom tipped forward, causing his belly to push even further into Bryce’s hand, and their lips met. The kiss intensified; Bryce removed Tom’s t-shirt, and then his own. Bryce’s fingers sunk deep into Tom's belly flab, squeezing, caressing.

After a bit of making out, Bryce leaned back a little, his eyes wandering across Tom’s mountainous body. “I’m so turned on right now,” he said.

“Fuck, me too,” Tom said. He ran his hand along the small of Bryce’s back. “Maybe we need to do something about that.”

Bryce leaned forward and kissed Tom’s cheek, then his double chin, then his shoulder, his breast, the top of his belly… Bryce slipped off the couch and dropped to his knees, kissing along Tom’s gut. Tom helped him lift it up to let Bryce undo the top button of his shorts, and lifted his ass enough to pull them down.

Tom’s once-formidable cock was fully surrounded by blubber, now, with only the head poking out from his thick fat pad. Both he and Bryce strained to keep his belly aloft and out of the way, as Bryce slipped his mouth over Tom’s eager erection.

Tom tried to keep from shuddering with pleasure—and sending various parts of his massive bulk slapping against his poor boyfriend—as Bryce bobbed and licked and sucked. The pleasure was incredible, and Bryce seemed to be enjoying it, too, since he slipped his right hand into his pants and tugged his manhood over the elastic waistband. At least, that’s what Tom thought was happening, since he couldn’t actually see much behind the curve of his gigantic belly.

His fingers plunged into his yielding flesh as he held his gut out of Bryce’s way, his heart pounding ecstatically. He moaned, and leaned ever-so-slightly from side to side, to feel the weight of his gut shift against each hand. Bryce was feeling him up, too, rubbing his thumb along Tom’s tender underbelly, and it all felt so good.

Bryce kept going, and Tom felt his breath coming faster—it was getting hard to hold up so much weight! But it wouldn’t be a problem for long, since he was on the edge of coming, and as Bryce deployed some dazzling maneuver on the tip of Tom’s dick, Tom couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he finished, and oh, God…

Bryce swallowed it down easily, and pulled himself out of the way just in time for Tom to release his hundreds of pounds of belly fat. Bryce kept working his own erection, and he squeezed and fondled Tom relentlessly as the big man tried to catch his breath, until Bryce came, too.

After cleaning himself up with some tissues from the table, Bryce climbed back onto the couch and folded himself into Tom’s side. The skin of Bryce’s bare arms stuck to Tom’s sticky flesh: the mere act of getting head was enough exertion to leave Tom out of breath and, in this heat, sweating. He could imagine the sweatstain his bare ass would definitely be leaving on the sofa.

Bryce grabbed the remote and bumped up the air conditioning, before resting a gentle hand on the upper curve of Tom’s belly. “How much do you even weigh, now?” He asked. His face was alight with a mix of curiosity and hopefulness as he looked Tom up and down.

“Honestly? No idea. Our scale doesn’t go up high enough. More than 400, but probably less than 450.” He threw in a “probably” just to be on the safe side; it seemed unlikely, but he couldn’t rule anything out, with the way Bryce had been (over)feeding him.

Bryce whistled, patting Tom’s gut a few times as if to feel all that weight for himself.

Tom continued: “You know, I’ve gained way more than 200 pounds since we graduated. Like, an average of 55 pounds a year, at least.”

“If current trends continue, you’ll be half a ton before you’re 40,” Bryce said, smirking.

“Fuck off,” Tom said, although he couldn’t help but smile. He’d never let things go that far… right? He bumped his fleshy shoulder against Bryce. “Hey, that was some quick math for you, pretty boy.” He occasionally teased Bryce about quitting engineering, but it was purely playful: Bryce seemed much happier training and streaming than he ever had in an office job. Tom would never want to take that away from him. Even if Tom was the better Starforce player, according to the leaderboards.

Bryce kissed him on the cheek, and whispered: “But there’s another equation I might need your help with.”

Tom looked at him lustily. Only Bryce could make math sound sexy. “Go on,” he said.

“A large pizza, plus a twink, plus his 400-and-something pound lover,” Bryce said, still rubbing his hand along Tom’s colossal stomach and its acreage of hairy, stretch mark-lined flesh. “Can you solve for X?”

Tom didn’t need to be an engineer to figure that one out. With a belly full of ice cream and a heart full of love, Tom pulled Bryce into another passionate kiss… before pausing to order pizza.

[gainingfiction]

next part of "The almost perfect couple" coming out next week?

this is by far the most intoxicating and addictive story I've read. Gainer fiction parts aside, the actual storyline and writing is really well done - you could genuinely be a fully fledged author!

D’awww, you guys always know how to make a writer feel so special!! 🥰

Seriously, thank you so much. I’m so touched and delighted to hear that people are enjoying. “Almost the Perfect Couple” is definitely a bit different than my usual offerings—longer and more story-driven, for starters. For those of you who miss “classic” gainingfiction, though, rest assured that I’m still working on my usual types of stories! I hope to have some to share with you soon.

As for your questions, the next ATPC update is currently scheduled for this Saturday, June 28… I’m really gonna try to make that happen, but the story has reached a bit of a delicate point plot-wise, and I want to make sure I get it right! So, if not this Saturday, certainly by the next one (July 5).

Thank you again for your wonderful words. I love sharing my work with this big, beautiful community, and comments like yours make it even better.

[gainingfiction]

are you planning to release the role-reversal story with the trainer?

Yes! Watch this space...

[gainingfiction]

Excited for the day when Milo gets that big ass of his all up in Owen's face 🥵

Filing this under "asks that Owen would send".

Also filing a copy under "asks that Milo would send".

[gainingfiction]

Almost the Perfect Couple - Parts 7 and 8

(read Chapters 5 and 6 here)

CW: problematic drinking, fatphobia

Part 7 - Owen

Milo’s ass was absolutely falling out of his underwear, and I couldn’t stay in the room one second longer. I felt like I was going to explode. I had to get out of there while Milo’s back was turned, before he could see how rock hard I was. I didn’t even get to ask him the number, I just bolted for the door and locked myself in the bathroom.

I considered my options.

I could watch TikToks until my erection went down, or get a cold shower. Or…

I undid my belt buckle in under a second, and then my fly, and then I dropped my jeans and underwear. I grabbed my cock and started pulling, my left hand gripping the edge of the counter.

I felt so dirty. Armando was right about me—I was getting off on Milo’s weight gain, in the most literal sense. But he was so fucking hot… What did his face look like, when he finally saw how big he actually was? Surprise, his beautiful lips making an ‘o’? Would he be embarrassed?

I remembered that jolt of electricity when he put my hand on his stomach. That rounded gut, soft and full and creeping over his waistband. Just a centimetre of fabric separating our skin.

And God, when that shirt came off… his torso was surrounded by buttery fat, with mean red stretchmarks on his gut and sides. He even had a couple under his arms, where extra weight was piling up around his chest. And the way his belly spilled forward when he bent over to take off his pants, and how his small double chin really stood out when he looked down at himself, and the image of the leg holes of his underwear digging into his ass cheeks…

I jerked off so vigorously as I thought about putting my hands on Milo’s shoulders, backing him off the scale and steering him to my bed. I’d tuck those beautiful black curls behind his ears so I could admire his perfect face. Then, I’d turn him around and bend him over—he’d go along, because he’d know what a bad, bad boy he’s been—and he’d ask me what I was going to do, in that deep jock voice of his, and he never was very good at hiding his excitement…

I’d pat his butt a few times. Just to remind him that I really could spank him, if I wanted to… and I’d feel it jiggle against my fingers. How could he let it get so ripe and juicy; hadn’t he noticed all that extra weight back there?

But I’d show him mercy—no spanking today. Instead, I’d lean in and take the waistband of his underwear in my teeth. Would my canines rip the strained elastic? I probably could, if I tried. It wouldn’t be that hard, with how much Milo was already torturing it. In just shy of four months, he had ruined those poor undies.

If I didn’t rip them, I’d pull them down with my mouth. I think Milo would like that; he always liked theatrical flourishes. He’d wiggle that round ass in the air, because he also loved showing off. I’d grab it with both hands, feel the full heft of it. I always said no straight guy should have an ass that big, and that was truer now than ever.

I came before I could even imagine what I’d do next. I barely had time to grab a towel, I was completely overcome… so to speak. I gritted my teeth as I shot, to keep from making some unfortunate noise. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more intense orgasm.

My heart pounding, I wiped myself off and tossed the towel in the cabinet under the basin. After I dressed, I washed my hands and splashed some cold water on my face. I didn’t feel like myself—that daydream seemed to come from a whole other person, someone intensely dominant. Most of the time, I was a bottom; my fantasies usually involved guys’ dicks, not their asses. And what was that whole discipline thing about?

I looked at my reflection. Same thin, freckly face, same green eyes behind the same horn-rimmed glasses. But more and more, Milo was bringing out parts of me that I didn’t recognize—envy, power, and an attraction to thick asses and soft bellies. It felt weird to still be learning things about myself at 25, or to realize that things I thought I knew had changed.

I lingered for a minute in the washroom, to give Milo a chance to put his clothes back on. But by the time I came out, he had already left the apartment.

~

The next few weeks were… awkward, to say the least. For the first few days after Milo’s little weigh-in, we avoided each other, or at least, I avoided him. It wasn’t too hard, since he worked a lot. I stayed over at Kurt’s, or went out with friends, or for runs. I let myself fall a little behind schedule on the costumes.

After a few days of avoidance, we graduated to stilted exchanges in the kitchen. Which felt like shit, since spending time with Milo was usually the highlight of my day. But instead of depositing himself on the couch, he took his food back to his bedroom—I guess he didn’t want to eat in front of me, presumably because of my behaviour. He really loaded up, though: pizza boxes, cases of beer, and armfuls of chips, chocolate, and cookies. He was clearly binging more than ever, even if he didn’t want me to see it.

The effects piled up quickly, but because I saw Milo every day, I didn’t notice the steady, gradual change. Then, about three weeks into the month I saw him shirtless. He was heading from the shower to his bedroom, with his towel underneath his wet, hairy belly. I was stunned by the size of it, and the thickness of his love handles. Enough flesh had accumulated around his chest that it had started to droop, and he seemed to have even more stretchmarks than the last time I saw him shirtless, barely two weeks ago.

He saw me looking at him, and I thought I had just set us back to square one, but he actually winked at me. “Been workin’ on my beach body.” He grinned, and gestured to his inflated body.

I cracked a smile, and he went into his room.

But he came back out when he was dressed.

Things started to go back to normal after that. Well, back to our new normal: Milo gorging and drinking and belching his way through hockey highlight reels and MLB games, while I stole glances at him at every opportunity and bedazzled a cape for Aaron, Pharaoh’s lead singer. My costume work was back on schedule, and Kurt had even floated the idea of bringing me on tour—he said he was asking the tour manager about it.

I wasn’t the only one working. Milo was still taking on a lot of shifts, and it seemed to be catching up with him in a few different ways. Obviously, he was gaining tons of weight, but it also seemed to be affecting his mood. As soon as he got home from a shift, he made a beeline for the fridge and started drinking. I don’t know if he did that after working nights, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

As a general rule, he just seemed happier before work than he did after. It didn’t strike me as a horribly stressful job: he mostly ate pizzas, and occasionally delivered them. But I could see it wearing on him.

I was glad he would get a little break, since October meant Thanksgiving (at least in Canada), and he would be spending it with his family. I did wonder how they’d react to Milo 2.0, though… I’m sure it would surprise them to see how much their darling glutton had expanded.

I for one was planning to use the holiday to do some tailoring. My mom was in Málaga on the advice of a wellness guru (he was quite specific, apparently), and I had no intention of going to Thanksgiving dinner with my father’s new family. I assumed that Lydia’s friendsgiving would be the extent of my plans for the day.

But then, as Milo was getting a few things together on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, he turned to me: “What time did you want to leave?”

After some confusion on my part, I was formally invited to his family’s Thanksgiving. I must once again apologize to Lydia for choosing Milo; but in no universe would I pass up the opportunity to go to a massive lakehouse and watch Milo St. Clair eat an enormous amount of turkey dinner.

~

Gravel crunched underneath the tires of Milo’s car as he headed down the long driveway towards the main house. The forest was thick, and bright red and orange foliage stood out against the evergreens.

It wasn’t so much a “house” as a palace: broad beams of timber and slabs of stone and huge windows. I didn’t realize a house could be that massive while remaining tasteful. The driveway ended in a loop, with a freestanding three-car garage perpendicular to the residence, but Milo didn’t park there. Instead, he parked a few steps away from the front porch.

Milo’s parents must have noticed us arriving, since they were standing in the doorway as we approached.

They looked like rich people: both in tidy cashmere sweaters, him with a glass of red wine and her with a massive diamond on her finger.

Milo’s father had glasses and thin, light-coloured hair, and shared Milo’s Roman nose. Milo’s mother seemed to be the main source of his stunning beauty—same dark hair and luminous eyes and smooth, olive complexion.

Neither of them looked happy.

They greeted me first, Belinda grabbing me by both arms and kissing both cheeks. “You look lovely, darling,” she said. I thanked her.

“Owen,” Greg nodded at me tersely as I shook his hand. I thought he was annoyed at me, but then he glared at Milo’s paunchy middle, before crossing his arms and giving him an irritated look. “Milo.”

“Hey, Dad,” Milo said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed. So did Belinda, as she took in her son’s new look.

Their reactions were kind of expected—it had been ten months since they last saw Milo, and I could only imagine how much weight he’d gained since then. He looked like he ate his former, twunky self: his narrow waist was now a definite gut, with thick love handles at the side and a massive set of hips, while his handsome face looked particularly soft.

Milo squirmed. I felt guilty for finding his embarrassment so damn cute.

“Why don’t we go inside,” Greg said. He led the way through the foyer and into the front room. High ceilings and broad pine beams, with views of the forest and the water. A fire was crackling in the hearth, even though it was warm out.

“I’m gonna show Owen upstairs,” Milo said, when we got to the foot of the staircase. “Let’s go unpack.” His head start gave me a chance to admire the bounce of his butt as he climbed the steps.

Part 8 - Milo

I could already tell: this long weekend would be a long weekend. As soon as my parents saw me, I knew I was in for it. I managed to hold them off by taking Owen to his room, but I knew from the looks on their faces that my weight was going to be a topic of discussion.

I didn’t want to go downstairs and face them, so I went to my old room. I always kept a full closet there, so I never needed to pack anything—

Oh, shit.

I realized as soon as I walked through my bedroom door that none of my clothes were gonna fit. I checked my backpack—at least I had a few changes of underwear.

I checked out my closet. I didn’t keep much in there, but there was a hoodie that might fit. I remembered it being really loose, anyway.

I changed out of my t-shirt. My gut really flopped out of that thing as I pulled it off, and it wobbled like crazy. That shirt was tighter than I realized!

I held up the hoodie and looked at it. Damn thing looked tiny—did that really used to be loose on me? I pulled it over my head without any problems, but then the trouble started. I started pulling it down; it really squeezed my shoulders, and my little tits were practically popping out of it. I forced it down over my love handles, past my belly button, but I couldn’t get it all the way to my waistband. I tried to stretch it, but there just wasn’t enough material. My big, round gut was using every stitch.

Of course, that was when Owen knocked on my door. I called out for him to come in, and he did.

He had that classic Owen look on his face when he saw me—stunned, like Bambi on the ice, but also shy. I was starting to think Owen had a crush on me, and I enjoyed winding him up. Apparently, guys really found me sexy now—I figured I’d just go with it.

“Dude, look at this,” I said, gesturing to my sides, where the elastic hem was sliding up my love handles. “I swear, this fit me at Christmas.”

Owen gulped. “I feel like I keep walking in on you like this,” he said.

“Like what?” I smirked at him. “Fat?”

He cracked up, a little, when I said that, and we both laughed.

“I didn’t bring any clothes with me,” I said, shaking my head. “I completely spaced. I never had to pack to come out here before.”

Owen tipped his head to the side. “I mean, that sweater almost fits,” he said. “If you pull your pants up a bit.”

I laughed. “Dude, there is no room in these pants.”

Owen breathed in. “I think you might have gained some weight there, bud.”

I looked down and saw my belly instead of my feet. “Tell me about it.”

~

I spent the weekend avoiding my parents. Which, considering the number of rooms I had to choose from, wasn’t actually that hard.

We spent the rest of Saturday afternoon in the projector room. Owen made popcorn, and we watched Jaws. We all made it through dinner unscathed, and then Owen wanted to see if the sauna actually worked. I joked that he just wanted to see me naked, and he joked that I was the one who had brought up being naked. In the end, we both kept our towels on. He was definitely checking out my belly, though.

After we each showered up, I showed him the bar, where we managed to make some pretty decent cocktails. He raided the pantry and came back with his arms full of snacks—I’m guessing those would be for the kids of visiting guests, but I wasn’t above stealing candy from babies. We drank, and chatted, and agreed that the whole evening reminded us both of high school.

“But the parts I actually liked,” he said.

I agreed with that, too.

It was good to be back to normal with Owen. Maybe it was because of how fat I looked in my underwear, or because he somehow sensed my hard-on, or because all of this was happening in his bedroom, but things had definitely been weird between us after I borrowed his scale last month. Part of that was on me—after getting so turned on in front of him, it took me a few days to be able to face him again. And I avoided eating in front of him, because I was afraid his attention would turn me on again.

Eventually, I missed spending time with him. I got plenty of attention from Armando, but he kind of made me feel like a blow-up sex doll… emphasis on the “blow-up” part. Plus, he still paid my salary, which made things even more complicated. It was totally different than hanging out with my buddy. So when I caught Owen checking me out after a shower one day, I took a chance and tried to break the ice. I was so glad it worked.

On Sunday I slept in, and my parents were gone by the time I left—the note they left said they were hiking. I was kind of glad they let me sleep, since they usually woke me up to hike with them.

Owen met me in the kitchen, where I was trying to turn bread into a fat boy feast. “Want me to make you french toast?” he asked, when he saw me looking at the toaster like it hurt my feelings.

He made some really solid french toast—he said he used coffee cream instead of milk—and I drowned it in maple syrup. It was a damn good breakfast. “You need to start cooking for me more,” I joked.

After an afternoon spent on our asses, I persuaded Owen to drive into town with me for some dinner. We left just in time, since we passed my parents on their way back from the trail.

The nearest town was small, but with enough tourists to have a few good places to eat. I took Owen to Lark’s, where I absolutely flattened the bacon smashburger, along with some onion rings… and fries. Owen agreed to drive back, so I had a few drinks, too. And an ice cream sundae for dessert. With a fudge brownie on the side.

If my old hoodie fit badly before, it was really bad now. It was practically up to my belly button by the time we left, and I had to stifle some pretty mean burps on the bumpy ride home.

We went in through the back door, and I told Owen to head up to his room while I went to get some more drinks. I thought going to the bar in the projector room was sneaky, but I came face to face with my dad, smoking a cigar, watching a black and white movie.

“Milo,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

That was a fucking jump-scare. “No, I haven’t,” I said. “It’s just… y’know. Ships—urp—in the night.” That burp really came at a bad time. 

“Have a seat,” he said, patting the space next to him. He muted the movie. The black-and-white lady on the screen was twisting against the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

So I wasn’t getting out of this.

“I think you know what I want to talk about,” he said. He took a puff of his cigar, and I sat down. He looked me over, and I tugged on my sweater, but it was pointless—it rode up even worse when I was sitting down.

“I can guess,” I mumbled.

“I’m not trying to judge you,” he said. In my head, I could hear him complaining about that exact phrase—nowadays, and I blame the political left for this, everyone is so afraid of causing offence…. “I’m speaking from a place of concern.”

I gritted my teeth. Concern about image, maybe. “I know, I know. I’m getting fat.” The villain in the movie was twirling a tumbler of brown liquor. I wanted some of that.

“It’s not a matter of appearance. I just worry about your health. I think you should take a look at your lifestyle, and, well, do better.” He blew a cloud of white smoke.

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like a five-year-old who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’m sorry,” I said, stupidly, even though I wasn’t fucking sorry at all.

“I accept your apology,” he said, which made me regret apologizing even more. “You were such a promising athlete. Hands-down the best offensive winger on your team.” He smiled.

I wish I didn’t, but I smiled back. I didn’t want to care, but I did. It made me think of what he always used to say when I won games—Nathaniel is my successor, Madeline is my prodigy, and Milo is my champion. It was like… okay, I’d never be successful like Nate, or smart like Maddy, but I could still be strong. I could be a winner.

Now, though… I tried to imagine what it would be like to skate with all this extra weight. I used to be a really good skater, but now, my balance would definitely be off. And my endurance would probably be shit.

I was trying to figure out what to say, but my dad wasn’t done. “You know, you’re turning 25 soon, which means full access to the funds held in trust for you. But that money isn’t an excuse to be lazy—”

That’s when Owen saved my fat ass. He seemed surprised to see us when he walked in. “Oh, sorry to interrupt. I was—”

My dad gave him an annoyed look. “It’s fine. Milo was just leaving.”

I sure was.

~

On Thanksgiving Monday, I woke up hungry and embarrassed. Waking up hungry was getting to be a pretty regular thing for me, but the “embarrassed” part was left over from Dad’s ambush yesterday.

I had toast for breakfast, going over the whole interaction again and again. He was probably telling the truth about worrying over my health, but he sorta gave the game away by bringing up my days as a high school hockey star. It was just ego—healthy or not, he didn’t want me making the family look bad.

This is probably a good time to say: I’m not a spiteful person. I usually let things go pretty easily. But this was personal. He was talking about my body. And as hard as it was to admit, I was kind of enjoying how my body was changing. I definitely loved to eat. And okay, maybe I didn’t love how big my legs and ass were now, but people clearly still found me hot, and I was finding myself pretty hot, too. I was just trying to figure shit out, and getting a surprise lecture didn’t help with that.

All of that should help explain my behaviour at Thanksgiving dinner.

I think Owen could sense storm clouds all morning. Instead of snacking like I usually did, I was saving my appetite for the main event. After I spent most of the day playing NHL 25, I went up to my room to change.

Since it was a special occasion, I figured I should at least try my old khakis. They were a 32” waist, and my waist was… definitely not 32 inches. I didn’t even get the chance to try to button them, anyway, since I couldn’t get them all the way over my ass—the top of my butt was bulging over the top when I finally gave up.

I headed down to the kitchen in the same gray sweatpants and t-shirt I had arrived in. My mother was wearing pearls and a dress, my dad had on chinos and a blazer, and Owen was wearing a tweed jacket over his turtleneck. I felt like a slob.

My mom poured me a glass of wine. “We just opened the Latour,” she said, “Your father is about to carve the turkey.”

I gulped my wine and watched hungrily as Dad cut up the massive bird. My parents always cooked together, and they usually went all out on Thanksgiving—roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy… just looking at the spread made my mouth water.

There was a debate over who should serve themself first, but my parents insisted on Owen, and Owen insisted on me, so I started loading up my plate. And I do mean loading it. That thing was piled up. But like, why did they make so much food, if they didn’t want me to eat it?

Mom looked shocked at the size of my first helping, while my dad watched with crossed arms and a frown. I ignored them. He was worried about my “health”? My “lifestyle”? Well, maybe he needed to see that lifestyle in all its glory.

I didn’t wait for anyone else to sit down: I started right away. Owen waited for my parents, and they all started eating at the same time.

I drained the last of my wine and poured another glass, earning another huffy glance from my father. He always said I didn’t know how to appreciate good wine, and he was absolutely right.

“This is delicious, Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair,” Owen said. He had taken a little of everything, and he was eating it slowly.

“Really good,” I agreed, through a full mouth.

“You certainly seem to be enjoying it,” my mother said, looking at me. I could tell my pigging out was starting to test her composure.

I just grunted and kept eating, not even caring that food was getting on my shirt and the white linen tablecloth. I had served myself a whole turkey leg, and I picked it up with my hands and tore off a big bite, like a medieval king.

“Do you mind?” my dad said, giving me a dirty look. “You’re being disgusting.”

I shrugged. “Aren’t you happy I’m enjoying your meal?” I said, as I chewed. I patted my round stomach; I was already bloating up, and I was barely half way through my first serving.

He rolled his eyes, and turned back to Owen. “Anyway. Are you still working at the… clothing store, Owen?”

I glared at him. I was used to him being rude to me, but there was no excuse for talking down to Owen.

“Uh, for now,” Owen said, as he sliced a carrot. “But I’m looking for more serious design work.”

“And are you worried about artificial intelligence?” my dad asked. “A lot of that work will be automated in the next decade.”

God, shut up! I wanted to say. I took another huge bite of turkey leg. 

“I’m not particularly concerned,” Owen said. “Creative work will always need a human touch. It should, anyway.”

“Absolutely right,” my mother said. “Don’t listen to Greg, honey; he can only think like an engineer.”

At least Mom still had some manners. I shoveled a forkful of mashed potato into my mouth and washed it down with more wine. I wiped my face with a napkin, and realized how filthy it had been.

“Owen is designing costumes for a band right now,” I said. “For their national tour.”

“Don’t remind me,” Owen said. “I’m gonna be so busy tomorrow with finishing touches.”

That invited some polite questions from my mom. I finished my first plate, and got up to get more. I was a little pleased to see how blatantly disgusted my dad looked when I announced that to the room. “And I’m gonna open another bottle of wine,” I said.

“The pinot is on the kitchen counter!” My mom called after me.

I came back with an overloaded plate in one hand and an open bottle in the other. I still had some wine in my glass, but I poured myself some more from the new bottle. My parents looked absolutely mortified.

Then there was some more polite conversation that I barely registered—my parents’ winter plans (skiing in Whistler, a trip to the Maldives); how Owen’s family was spending Thanksgiving; questions about Nate and Maddy. I was laser-focused on filling my belly with as much dinner as possible.

I used a dinner roll to soak up some of the ocean of gravy, and then filled my fork with turkey, dressing, and mashed potatoes—is there a name for trying to get the best bite possible? Can we call it bite-maxing? I was definitely bite-maxing.

My stomach was so full by this point, it was starting to get kind of uncomfortable. I shifted in my seat, and the ancient wooden chair creaked a little, which was obnoxious. That was when I noticed that my ass didn’t fit on the seat anymore; I was literally spilling over the edges. My huge legs blocked the fabric from view, and my bloated gut covered the tops of my thighs.

I noticed everyone staring at me. I was so zoned-out I didn’t even realize they had all finished eating, and I was the only one still stuffing my face. I looked around the table: Dad, looking angry; Mom, looking uncomfortable; Owen staring at me across the table with wide eyes.

I could see my parents actively willing me to stop eating, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t want to. I chugged some more of my fancy wine mixture, and started mopping up the last, mashed-together remnants of food with another bread roll.

When my plate was spotless, I leaned back in my chair, which creaked again. My t-shirt was covered in stains, and my stomach was so round and full that it was starting to ride up, so when I stretched, I could feel the air against my fat sides and the lower part of my belly. I didn’t even bother to pull it down. I just patted my gut and let loose a long, loud burp. Owen turned bright red when I did that, looking between my parents’ faces.

My dad banged his fist on the table. “Why do you insist on behaving like a child?” he asked.

“Because you treat me like one,” I said. If he wanted to do this in front of Owen, that was his choice.

“After everything your mother and I have given you, this is how you act?” He really looked mad.

“Stop it, Greg,” my mom cut in. She turned to me. “Knock it off, both of you. We have a guest. It’s Thanksgiving.”

I looked at her thankfully. But I felt like I hadn’t quite made my point yet, so I stretched out my arms, letting my shirt climb even higher up my big, doughy middle, and put my hands behind my head. “So, what’s for dessert?”

[gainingfiction]

Excited to see you posting again! Let's collab ;)

Thanks so much!!

DM me and we’ll make it happen ;)

[gainingfiction]

When is "almost the perfect couple" part 7 released?

Parts 7 and 8 will be released together next Saturday, June 14!

I know this story is a slow burn, and the updates have taken a while. Thanks for your patience, everyone. I’m thinking it will end up being about 15 chapters (give or take), which means ATPC is on track to be my longest-ever story.

I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcome :)

[gainingfiction]

Who is the cover photo of your blog a drawing of?

I’m not sure! That would probably be a question for the inestimably talented artist, @bee-wg!

I think it's just a cute guy—an artistic imagining of my beautiful readers 😘