Your Growing Boyfriend
He groans quietly, and you turn to look at him. He’s shifting in his seat a little, struggling under his new heft, eyes glued to the television. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. You smile, arousal at the sight washing over you. He’s perfect.
It started with larger meals, a less intense gym routine, letting go and having a burger once in a while. It took time, but he was amenable to the changes eventually. Then meals turned never-ending, his gym shorts gathering dust, fast food on the menu daily. He eyed off his growing figure with suspicion and concern but your positive reinforcement kept him going despite his better judgement - the more he ate, the better the sex. He couldn’t struggle against that for long. As his stomach stretched and he became used to his new lifestyle, he even looked like he was enjoying himself a little.
And now here he is, past the point of no return. He reaches to his side and grabs a fistful of fries from the paper bag next to him, cramming them in his mouth, still staring at the TV. Grease smears the sides of his mouth, his round cheeks glistening with it. He stifles a burp and goes in for more.
You can’t help but think about how much he’s changed. He breathes heavily now, even when he’s standing still. To hear him gasp for air while putting on a pair of pants you’d think he’d run a marathon. He slid into being unfit and out of shape comically quickly, you’d never have guessed he’d been a gym junkie if you hadn’t seen it with your own two eyes. Now he avoids moving where he can, begging you to bring his meals to him on the couch. Even now, just sitting, you can hear him breathing heavily. You imagine him trying to do a sit up and frown. It’s impossible now with that belly in the way.
Ah, that belly. It sits on his lap, spilling out of his shirt. He stopped pulling his shirts down when they’d ride up on the couch long ago. It’s huge, weighing him down and getting in the way. You make sure it’s filled as often as possible, handing him fried chicken and decadent cakes and huge bottles of soda; food and drink to keep him bloated, satisfied, and compliant. At first he was embarrassed by his increasingly flabby gut, but now he lies back as you rub it for him after meals, pacified by his fullness, surrendered to his size. It takes him a few tries to get up off the couch when he does decide to move - his gut pinning him down and obstructing him. It spills over the waistband of his jeans, swinging back and forth wildly when he’s in a hurry. You love watching it shift from side to side, real life proof of how well you’re feeding him and how much he’s let himself go.
Watching him struggle shouldn’t be so much of a turn on for you, but you can’t help but love watching him try in vain to button jeans you only bought a week ago, or stop halfway through the long waddle to the bedroom to catch his breath. You dutifully tie his shoes for him and buckle his belt (it sits below his belly, only accentuating his huge weight gain - he can’t see it and soon won’t be able to reach it). He’s massive now, and it’s impossible to hide your excitement. You take him out to dinner in button-up shirts and order for him, waiting for the satisfaction of seeing a button fly off in public. Sometimes you’re granted other gifts instead: the fabric of the shirt tearing instead, or that time he got stuck in the booth. He takes it all in stride with a good natured chuckle, accepting of the fact that he’s a fat guy now. Well, he’s past fat. He passed pudgy, and chubby, and fat, and merely overweight a while ago… He’s obese now. Morbidly so. That’s what their doctor confirmed with shock and concern. His reward for sitting through that appointment was a stop at the buffet where he ate until he had to unbutton his jeans.
You smile at him again, your sedentary hog filling out the couch. As though he knows you’re watching, he gives his belly a little shake, jiggling the soft flab, and groans again. God, he drives you crazy. You know that when he finishes his meal he’ll doze off as he digests, the meal turning to pure lard beneath his skin, his body not having exercised in months. He’ll keep expanding through his routine of lazy overeating, fattening himself further and further, becoming heavier and heavier, huffing and puffing just between bites of food.
He slaps his gut and you’re stirred from your daydream. He’s finished his fries, time for his reward.
