seen from China
seen from Estonia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
seen from Austria
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from South Korea
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
Story Index
The bakery
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
The Roomate
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Star Player
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Sophia was a breathtaking 21-year-old with long, golden-blonde hair that shimmered as it cascaded down her back, fair skin that seemed to glow, and bright blue eyes framed by thick, fluttering lashes. Standing at just 5 feet 1 inch, her petite stature only emphasised the lavish, overflowing curves she had cultivated over the past few years. Her body was an intoxicating study in excess: enormous, heavy breasts that spilled luxuriously over any bra she attempted to contain them in, their soft, pillowy weight drawing hungry stares and eager hands from every man she dated—they worshipped her chest, burying their faces in the deep, warm cleavage, kneading and kissing the vast softness for hours. Yet even those magnificent assets were now challenged by the sheer dominance of her belly: a thick, multi-fold apron of plush fat that protruded proudly and hung heavily over her thighs, rolling in decadent layers with every breath and shift. Her hips flare isd outrageously wide, supporting a broad, jiggling bottom and thunderous thighs that rubbed together with a constant, sensual friction. Her upper arms were cushioned and wobbly, her double chin soft and rounded—every inch of her screamed indulgent surrender. Sophia secretly revelled in how decadent she felt, how her lovers lost themselves in the sheer abundance of her body, but facing the outside world always carried a nervous edge.
She had chosen her outfit carefully for the routine check-up: a loose, flowing blouse that still pulled tight across her chest and belly, buttons straining heroically, paired with a long skirt that swayed against her thick legs. In the busy waiting room she eased herself into a reinforced chair, feeling it settle under her as her belly rested heavily on her lap, her breasts rising and falling with each anxious breath.
When the nurse finally called “Sophia!”, she rose slowly, the chair creaking in relief, and waddled down the corridor to the weighing station—placed, as always, where anyone in the waiting area or passing by could clearly see the large digital display.
First came the height measurement. “Five foot one,” the nurse said aloud, scribbling it down.
Then the moment Sophia had been dreading. She stepped onto the scale, heart pounding, watching the numbers climb higher and higher before finally locking in.
The nurse’s eyebrows shot up. “Twenty-two stone five pounds—three hundred and thirteen pounds exactly,” she announced, her voice carrying easily back toward the waiting room. “That’s more than two stone gained since your last visit, love. On a little five-one frame… well, that explains a lot.”
She glanced at Sophia with a half-smile that didn’t quite hide the surprise, then added, “I’m only ten stone myself, five foot six. You’re carrying well over double my weight—closer to three of me, really.”
The receptionist at the nearby desk let out an audible snort. “Three of her? No wonder that blouse is about to give up the fight,” she muttered, loud enough for several patients to hear. Heads turned. A young man’s gaze lingered appreciatively on the way Sophia’s massive breasts strained the fabric and her belly’s rolls pressed outward; an older woman tutted disapprovingly. Whispers rippled through the room like a wave: “Did you hear that? Twenty-two stone five…” “On someone only five foot one…” “More than double the nurse—almost triple…”
Sophia’s face burned a deep, scorching crimson. She folded her arms beneath her enormous chest in a futile attempt to shield the soft, overflowing spill of her belly, mortified that the exact measure of her private gluttony—those endless nights devouring creamy takeaways, towering desserts, entire family-size trays of brownies—was now broadcast for strangers to judge. Everyone could see precisely how much she weighed, how completely she had let her appetite reshape her into this lush, overfed vision.
But threaded tightly through the sharp sting of public humiliation was a darker, hotter pulse of arousal. Hearing the number spoken aloud, seeing the nurse’s slim figure beside her own towering excess, knowing the entire waiting room now had the undeniable proof of how far she had indulged herself—it sent a forbidden shiver straight to her core. This was her doing: every pound deliberately added, every craving satisfied until her breasts grew heavier, her belly thicker and softer, eclipsing everything else in its plush dominance. Her lovers adored losing themselves in that abundance, and the raw exposure of it all only heightened the secret, throbbing thrill. As she shuffled toward the exam room, cheeks flaming and breath coming in shallow bursts, the humiliation burned deliciously—fueling the undeniable ache of arousal that came from owning, utterly and publicly, the voluptuous consequences of her insatiable appetite.
Andy's Assistant
“Hello, excuse me.” There was a gentle rapping at my office door that caused me to look up from my computer. “Are you Andrew Reynolds?” I looked at a young guy obviously in his early twenties. He smiled cheerily as he stood in the doorway, waiting for my response. His smile was gorgeous, his teeth immaculate.
“Yes, I’m Andrew Reynolds,” I replied. “How can I help you?” He smiled again before he continued, walking a little further into my office.
“Well, the receptionist at the desk in the waiting area said it would be okay if I came on back.” I nodded, allowing him to continue. “My name is Parker Jeong and I applied for the job as your assistant. We had the interview over the phone early last week. I was in the process of moving to the area.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” Recent college grad. Moving from California. Could start working immediately.
“I know that you mentioned wanting to meet in person before finalizing my employment.” He smiled again, and even with the wholesome smile on his face, I could see in his eyes that he was nervous. He had beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, and he did his best to hold my gaze. He toyed anxiously with the crisp sheet of paper in his hand, which I assumed was a hard copy of his resumé. He was probably scared I wouldn’t want to hire him after all. Imagine moving across the country for a job only to be told the position had already been filled.
“I know you just graduated a few months ago,” I verbalized. “But from what I remember you telling me during our phone conversation and what I saw on the resumé you emailed over, you’re more than qualified to work as an administrative assistant.”
“Thank you, sir. I brought a hard copy of my resumé with me,” he said.
“Let me take another look.” He walked closer to my desk and handed it to me. I looked it over, recalling most of the standout credentials. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Parker had majored in marketing with a minor in graphic design. He’d spent his final semester involved in a mentorship program for Asian-Americans interested in working in advertising. He graduated magna cum laude. Hell, he was overqualified for this position.
“You’re sure you want this job?” I asked. “You could definitely get a position as a copywriter at another agency.”
“Hathaway and Associates is the best agency in the entire Midwest. I’ve dreamed of working here since I decided I wanted to go into advertising. The commercials you all put out for Nike were astonishing.” The kid had done his research.
“What about those commercials did you like so much?”
“They had this sense of authenticity that I don’t think we see much of anymore. Those ads gave me the courage to join a gym.” I wondered what he’d think if he knew the portly executive in front of him had come up with the concept that inspired his fitness journey.
“I want more for my career, yes, but I don’t plan on shirking my responsibilities as your assistant. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of, sir.”
I was a pretty good judge of character, and I didn’t think Parker would let me down. I liked his honesty. It was refreshing. My previous assistants had never been my choice, often young adults that had some sort of connection to the other executives at the agency. “Well, I look forward to working with you.”
“I look forward to working with you too,” he replied, reaching out to shake my hand. I stood, and his eyes traveled upwards to my face. Maybe he couldn’t tell I was so tall behind my desk, but it seemed like he was surprised by my size. I tended to have this effect on people. I grabbed his hand, and we shook to seal the deal of his hiring.
“Head to human resources and get your paperwork finalized. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. We start at nine.” He thanked me again, clutching his over-the-shoulder bag as he left my office. I bet he skipped down the hallway all the way to HR.
I knew he’d work hard. That was certain. But when it came to how sexy he was, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I assumed Parker was gay, and he was definitely a little snack I could see myself sinking my teeth into, but I had to remind myself that I was in a position of power over him. Even if I wanted to see what he was working with underneath his exquisitely tailored slacks, flirting with him was a no-go. And besides, that little gym bunny probably had no interest in a grizzly bear like me.
The next morning, I got to work a little early and Parker was sitting at his station right outside of my office. He had a dozen donuts on his desk and two coffees, one much larger than the other.
“Hello Mr. Reynolds,” he said. “Please let me know what I can do to help you this morning.” He handed me the larger coffee and a napkin before smoothly opening the box of donuts. I recognized them immediately. They were from a trendy new spot that had opened a few months ago. They specialized in unique flavors, like maple-bacon and Fruity Pebbles.
“You sure know how to make an impression.”
“I told you that I’d do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of.” I grabbed one of the donuts, knowing I’d be coming back out for another within the next fifteen minutes.
“Let me get situated and I’ll let you know what you can do for me.”
“Yes sir.”
I wondered if he knew what he was doing to me with all this “Mr. Reynolds” and “Yes sir” business. My last assistant was a statuesque redhead who never tried to go above and beyond the requirements of her position. Which was fine, I got it. She did what she was paid for. But sometimes I think she messed things up on purpose so I wouldn’t give her more work to do. I barely got a hello from her in the morning, and she left promptly at five without so much as a farewell.
I shuffled into my office, tossing my bag on one of the chairs opposite my desk. I bit into the donut, savoring its sweetness. It tasted like a Biscoff cookie, and I was almost certain the glaze was made from cookie butter. I took a slightly larger bite before shoving the rest of the pastry into my awaiting mouth. That donut never stood a chance. I already wanted another, but I needed to show some self-restraint. I couldn’t let Parker know I spent my working hours inhaling food three minutes into his first day.
About ten minutes later, Parker was knocking at my door, box of donuts in hand.
“We’re celebrating today, Mr. Reynolds,” he said, walking towards my desk. “I’ve already had two of these. I’m going to leave the box with you so you don’t have to worry about coming back for more.”
“Well, uh, you don’t want to offer them to some of the other assistants?”
“No, sir,” he said, coyly setting the box to the left of me at my L-shaped desk. “This is for me and you, sir.”
Damn did Parker know the way to a big man’s heart. Having the box within arm’s reach, I finished the rest of that dozen by noon.
The donuts were one thing, but Parker was constantly supplying me with snacks throughout the day. He’d brought me homemade blueberry muffins and brown butter chocolate chip cookies. He’d made me buttery croissants, decadent fudge brownies, and Oreo cheesecake bites. I wondered if he was making his way through a cookbook.
“It’s just a hobby,” he said offhandedly when I mentioned he didn’t have to bring me so many treats. “I guess I got carried away.”
“You just always bring so much. I hope you know I’m not expecting you to bring something every single day. I don’t want you to feel put out.”
“It’s just how I unwind,” he said. “Before I moved here, I had three roommates. Now that I live alone, I don’t have anyone else to share them with. I’m really sorry for assuming you wanted them.”
“Whoa!” I interjected. “I never said I didn’t want them.” This made him laugh. I didn’t mind the baked goods. I woke up salivating thinking about what new thing he’d have for me to munch on, but it was never just a sampling of his work. The portions were huge. When he showed up with his reusable containers, it always brought to mind something that would normally be placed in the breakroom for everyone in the office to sample—like a baker’s dozen of white chocolate raspberry mini-Bundt cakes or an entire pan of M&M Rice Krispie Treats.
The baked goods were just the cherry on top of having an excellent assistant. He was definitely the best one I’d ever had, a really fast learner for sure, but his competence as an office worker was second to his ability to cater to my often insatiable hunger. A month of Parker’s special treatment was damaging to my waistline. Being catered to by him turned me on beyond belief, and it was something new for me. In my past relationships, my love of food was never celebrated. Parker’s eyes seemed to light up when I munched on whatever he brought me. “It’s not too chocolatey?” he’d asked, pushing another confection my way. It was never too chocolatey. It was always perfect, just like him.
He greeted me with baked goods each morning and made sure to say goodbye before heading out every evening, carrying with him an empty Tupperware container or pie dish. Aside from the extra thousand-plus calories a day I was inhaling from his delicious goodies, he always made sure to have lunch delivered for me.
He talked to me more than any of my other assistants ever had. Almost like he was trying to get to know me on a more personal level. It had me looking forward to going to work, a feeling I hadn’t had in quite a while. It might have been unintentional, but Parker’s interest, even if it was just platonic, was boosting my ego. My old assistants barely ever looked in my direction, but this guy wanted to know what my favorite movies were and what I liked to do for fun. This attention from him was electrifying. My brain knew being this infatuated with him was no good, but my heart (and my stomach) didn’t care.
Even now, none of the interns or other assistants ever talked to me unless absolutely necessary. That didn’t mean I wasn’t a topic of conversation. They all definitely talked about me. I was big, yes. But I also had a resting serious face. Combined with my intimidating frame, they thought of me as some sort of beast. I once made an intern cry during a pitch meeting because I “looked like I was going to bite her head off.” I now made more of an effort to smile, even when there was no reason to. I also tried to ignore the implications of this, considering I was one of four black men on staff.
To the other execs, I was more of the office joke. I was younger than most of them by fifteen years, so they viewed me as some sort of kid brother. It was always a crack here or a joke there. When I landed the Nike account they all thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of the world.
“Andy?” one of them had guffawed, barely able to get out what he wanted to say. “When was the last time you saw the inside of a gym? And Nike went with your pitch?”
But it was something I had become accustomed to; all throughout school I was the big guy people joked about or avoided. Adults always thought I was with the wrong group of kids in elementary school because I was a head taller than the other boys. As if I wasn’t already too big, I had another growth spurt the summer before freshman year of high school. At fourteen my dad began teaching me how to lift weights. My body developed rapidly, and it took me a long time to get comfortable with those changes. By the time I was eighteen, I was larger than my father, who was by no means a small man. My weight sort of leveled out in my early twenties, and I graduated college at my current height and 270 pounds.
Joining the workforce was frightening, yet liberating. I had disposable income and the ability to make my own life decisions. I began working where I was currently employed as a copywriter two months after getting my degree. Lots of late nights and hard work helped me rise in the ranks. I was promoted to the executive level three years ago, and had run through five assistants in that time. I was now thirty-two, unmarried, and a little stifled.
I spent most of my time working. I hadn’t had a hookup in literal years, and to be frank, I didn’t see one happening in the near future. I used to be able to lean into being the big, burly guy who’d had one too many beers. I walked the line between dad-bod and straight-up fat guy for as long as I could before I was promoted. Being an executive meant a lot more responsibility and a lot less free time. My tri-weekly lifting sessions were now a thing of the past. I thought I could stand to lose a few pounds then, but now I was over 350 pounds.
Having Parker as my assistant only exacerbated my feelings of loneliness (and horniness). He probably didn’t even know I was gay and very much into his tight slacks and obedient disposition. The last month had been amazing, yet torturous.
“I have your forms, Mr. Reynolds.”
I told him he could call me Andy, or even just Andrew, but he never did. It was about lunch time and I was getting a bit restless. Maybe I’d run off my other assistants with my multiple food orders throughout the day. I seemed to simply exist in a state of hunger. I was also slightly convinced I couldn’t do my best work on an empty stomach.
I looked at Parker standing in front of me. His dark brown hair was short and very stylish. My hair was cut in a neat fade and my facial hair was thick. I’d kept a standing appointment with my barber every Sunday morning at ten for the last five years.
“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to take the manila folder that contained the forms from him. Like some cheesy porno with ridiculous circumstances to set up a sexual scenario, the folder fell through my fingers, all the papers scattering on my office floor.
“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed. “That’s my bad.” He bent over to pick up the documents, noticing there were more papers to gather than he first realized. He then got on his knees in front of my desk and once again I got to take in his beautiful ass. The fabric of his slacks pulled tight against his butt. His back was slightly arched, as if advertising himself to me. What I wouldn’t give to be bucking my hips behind him. I thought about fucking him constantly, and it had become an obsession. I’d definitely gotten the vibe that he was gay, but I had some serious doubts he’d ever want to hook up with me. “Here you go,” he said, hopping to his feet and handing me the papers.
Almost like it was trying to embarrass me and purposely kill my arousal, my stomach growled.
“Sorry,” I said. I couldn’t believe how hot my face got. My stomach growling was only going to draw attention to the fact that I was twice his size. The portion of goodies I received from Parker at the start of the day was on the smaller side, so that hadn’t helped to dull my hunger pains.
“It’s okay.” He smiled. “It’s lunchtime.” I felt my face go hot once more.
“Yeah, I guess I am kind of hungry.”
“You’re a pretty big guy. I get it.” He fidgeted with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. “Do you, maybe, want to take lunch with me today?”
“I’ve never eaten with one of my assistants before,” I said, in disbelief he wanted to spend time with me outside of the office.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I can just pick something up for you if you’d prefer—”
I stood quickly, not wanting to pass up any opportunity to talk to him about topics not related to copies or signatures or meetings. My gut shook a bit with the momentum. The buttons had given me a difficult time when getting dressed, and I needed to get some new shirts.
“I’m free for lunch,” I exclaimed. “We can go now.”
There were a ton of restaurants in the downtown area. I asked what he wanted to eat and he deferred to me, claiming he wanted me to get whatever I was craving. If I were able to get whatever I was craving, it would be the Parker Jeong meal, extra sauce. He’d probably think that was so cringe. I sighed to myself.
“There’s this place called The Coop,” I said, giving my second choice for lunch. “They serve Nashville style hot chicken.”
At the restaurant he got a normal sized portion of food for a normal sized person, and I wanted to be good, but I needed to replace the lust I was feeling with something else, and that something else was two Nashville hot chicken sandwiches, a large fry, baked beans, coleslaw, and a strawberry mint frozen lemonade.
He didn’t even bat an eye, offering to pick up our trays while I waited at the table. I knew he was just being nice to me because I was his boss. I’d paid for the food, so he was probably just still in assistant mode.
“Order up,” he said, returning to where we sat, setting my overstuffed tray in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said, taking in his tray with three tenders and a medium fry.
“Do you like to eat here a lot?” he asked, sipping from his unsweetened iced tea. Coming from someone else, that would’ve felt like a jab, but from him it just felt conversational.
“I do like this place a lot. Especially for the downtown area. The portions aren’t skimpy and it tastes pretty good too.”
“What other places do you like?”
“Oh, well that’s easy,” I said, digging into my first sandwich. “There’s Tripp’s for seafood, Curry House for Indian, Miss Janie’s for BBQ, oh yeah—Sub Daddy has these huge hoagies. Best in the city. And they’re open late!”
“Sub Daddy?” he laughed. “What kind of name is that?”
“Well, maybe they’re leaning into the innuendo?”
“Hmm, maybe,” he said, looking down at his tenders. “We’ll have to eat there together soon, though Dom Daddies are actually more my speed.”
Was that directed towards me? There was no chance. Absolutely no way. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t coming on to me. But still—even if his comment meant nothing, I could feel myself getting hard.
I took another big bite of my sandwich, trying not to fuck things up. If I lost another assistant they’d probably open an investigation or something to figure out what I did to keep running them off.
“So, um, how’s your food?” I asked, deflecting.
The vibes never quite got back on track after that. I was too wound up and way too invested in my food. If my inability to hold conversation wasn’t enough to scare him off, me stuffing my face for fifteen minutes straight surely did the job.
We made our way back to the office and finished up for the day. It was a little after five when Parker peeked his head into my office.
“Have a good night, Mr. Reynolds.” He hesitated for a moment. “Oh, and thanks for lunch.”
“No problem. I enjoyed your company.” I did enjoy his company. Even with how poorly I felt things went, it was nice being out in public with him. I had to remind myself it wasn’t a date and only lunch between colleagues.
“About the joke I made,” he started, stepping completely into my office and closing the door. “I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”
“Don’t even sweat it,” I said, knowing I sent him into this spiral because I was now inept at talking to cute men. Things had been so much easier ten years ago.
“I am gay,” he continued. “I know some people feel a type of way about that sort of thing. I just don’t want it to ruin our relationship.”
“You don’t need to disclose your sexual orientation, there are policies in place to protect people from discrimination in the workplace and I’d never treat you poorly because of something like that because—”
“Because you’re a really good boss, I know. I’m sorry I even thought you’d treat me differently. It’s just—the real world is way different than a college campus.”
I was about to come out to him. What did I even think was going to happen? Were we going to fuck, me taking control as his sought after Dom Daddy? I was being ridiculous. Of course he was concerned about his career.
“Are you going to be much longer?” he asked.
“Yeah, I have to catch up on some work for that supercenter presentation next week.” He started to take off his jacket. “No need to do that, Parker.”
“I can help,” he said.
“No, that’s okay. Don’t ruin your evening,” I said, still feeling embarrassed by this whole debacle. I could use his help. The copy room was unbearably small and I didn’t want to have to keep squeezing in and out of there.
“But if you need my help, I can help.” He smiled. “It’s my job. I’m your assistant.”
I was glad he wanted to help me. He was truly the best assistant I‘d ever had and not just because he had such a fantastic ass. I didn’t want to come across as demanding or difficult to work with, but selfishly, I wanted to spend more time with him.
“Well, okay,” I relented. “As long as you’re free.”
“I’ll order us something from Sub Daddy,” he said, heading back out to his station. “It’s been hours since lunch. You can’t focus on an empty stomach.”
After that, we worked late a lot, and went to lunch together even more often. He was more than willing to try new restaurants with me, always encouraging me to order as much as I wanted. He always offered to treat me, but I never let him. What sense did that make? He only ever ate a fourth of what I did.
His personality was pleasant, which didn’t make it easier for me to stifle my crush on him. Who wouldn’t be into him? He was smart, hardworking, fun, and considerate. He knew how to bake and never made me feel bad about eating what I wanted. I had gotten into the habit of eating more and more when I was around him. I hardly noticed until all the food was gone. I found myself to be less nervous when I was stuffing my face. It felt less likely that I’d say something dumb. When I was 70 pounds lighter, I was way more willing to flirt or say something corny to make a guy laugh. But now I felt like everything I said or did seemed desperate. And so instead of talking, I stuffed my face. In the two months Parker had been working with me, I’d gained ten pounds.
On our late nights, I always told him he could leave but he never did. Not once.
That was enough to keep my delusional fantasies about him going.
He started mentioning clubs and bars, asking if I’d ever want to go with. I figured it was just a gesture, and I was way too rusty to ever take him up on the offer, but maybe one day I could. The more I got to know him, the more I found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was interested in me too.
My pants had gotten even tighter; I needed some new ones. My thighs filled them out completely and my ass was getting pretty big too. I’d never gotten around to getting those new shirts, and now I needed new pants. I had to face it. I was fat, and with my habits, I was just going to keep getting fatter.
It was late October, and one of the other execs was celebrating his fiftieth. His assistant and a few of the interns had organized a little office party for him after lunch. I’d already eaten these really delicious chocolate covered pretzel sticks Parker made me and something he’d picked up for me from The Coop for lunch.
Everyone filed into our largest conference room. There were a few toasts and it was a decent time overall. Then the cake was revealed. It was from a nice bakery near our office that people always used when doing festive things like this.
It was time to admit to myself that I loved sweets, and with Parker’s kind gestures, I had tried tons of things I’d never eaten before.
I moseyed on over to the cake, planning to only have a piece. Just enough to be polite to the planning committee. But it was delicious. It was a strawberry lemon layer cake, the perfect marriage between tart and sweet flavors. The lemon cake layers were separated by a delightful strawberry compote (a term I’d learned from Parker), which was also incorporated into the rich buttercream frosting.
By the time I finished my (substantial) piece, Parker discreetly replaced my empty plate with another that had an even larger slice. He did this three more times while we mingled with others from the office. I must have ended up having a third of that cake to myself.
Returning to my office after the celebration gave me time to reflect. I tried to get some work done, but it was hard to focus, especially with the buttons on my yet to be replaced shirt and slacks straining.
What was Parker trying to do? Was he simply being an attentive assistant or was he subtly making fun of me? Or maybe I was just too in my head and he was attracted to me? He’d never done or said anything that alluded to disliking me because of my size. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to me because of it either. I looped through variations of the same arguments over and over.
I must’ve overanalyzed those different scenarios for a good fifteen minutes before shifting my focus back to work. I’d already sent Parker to the art department to collect some mock-ups we’d need, but I couldn’t move forward in my current task without making some photocopies.
I was going to have to face the dreaded copy room.
Minutes later, I stood outside of the copy room. I paused momentarily to psych myself up before proceeding. The room was not spacious to begin with, but with multiple built-in cabinets full of office supplies on one wall and a line of photocopiers on the other, the only space for a person to move was a narrow strip of floor down the middle of the room. I walked up the aisle to one of the machines in the center of the room.
So far, so good. I made one of my copies, and proceeded to the next. Still good. I moved on to my last document. That’s when the machine jammed.
“Fuck me,” I said to myself, sighing. I took a step back, my ass already brushing against a cabinet. I leaned forward, opening the side panel and noticing the jammed paper immediately. This would be an easy fix, thankfully. I was bending my knees slightly, and I could feel the fabric of my slacks pulling tight against my beefy behind. It might have just been my anxiety, but I swear I could feel the stitch on the rise of my pants stretching to its limit. I made a mental note to myself that at this point some new items in my wardrobe were necessary, not optional.
I removed the jammed paper, made my last copy, and swiftly made my exit from that claustrophobic space. Bull in a china shop, meet Andrew Reynolds in the copy room.
I paused for a moment, as I could hear Parker’s voice.
“I really should be getting back.”
“Come on, Parker. You can’t actually like working with Andy.” I backpedaled before I could be seen. It was Antoinette, one of the office gossips. She’d been close with my previous administrative assistant.
“Yeah, I do,” Parker said, sounding somewhat bothered. “He’s really very nice. And super smart.” Whoa. He was actually sticking up for me. I could hardly believe it.
“You’re gay, right?”
What a segue. Antoinette was likely upset he wasn’t down to badmouth me, ready to move the conversation in a direction she found more interesting.
“Uh, yeah, I am,” he said, his tone slightly more annoyed.
“You don’t like him, do you?” Antoinette pushed. “Because you’re probably barking up the wrong tree with that one. He’s never been with anyone since I started here, and it’s been seven years.”
“Mr. Reynolds might just be a private person. He could have a wife and kids at home. You don’t know.” At this, she laughed.
“I highly doubt that.” Parker likely made a face, as she then said, “Now don’t give me that look. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I hadn’t realized how much you looked up to Andy.” She couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic.
“Like I said,” he reiterated. “I really should be getting back.”
“Okay, wait. I only bring it up because there’s someone else in the office who is interested in you.” She sounded like some sort of matchmaker.
“Toni, please.” He sounded even more irritated. “I don’t think my love life is any of your business, and I don’t need you to hook me up with anyone.”
“Mark is the one that wanted me to talk to you. He really likes you,” Antoinette continued. Mark was a copywriter that had started two or three years after I did. He’d never gotten over the fact that I’d been promoted and he hadn’t.
“I’m flattered, truly,” Parker replied. “But please tell him I’m not interested.”
“Fine, but here’s his card anyway.” There was a slight pause. “But you’ve got to be real with me. Working with Andy must be hard. I heard from his last assistant that he was so demanding, and not about work matters. She spent most of her time placing food orders and picking up his take-out.” She laughed. “Did you see all that cake he ate at Dave’s party this afternoon? That’s why he’s not with somebody. Who wants to date a pig?” I felt my stomach tighten in embarrassment.
“Watch how you speak about my boss,” Parker responded. “This conversation is over.”
“Fine, I swear—” I could hear her heels clicking on the linoleum of the hallway as she walked away from the corner in which they’d been speaking. I could then hear Parker’s steps as he headed towards the copy room.
I froze.
What could I do? There was nowhere to hide. I was in the world’s smallest copy room, and even if there was somewhere to hide, there was no way I’d fit into that hiding spot. I just stood there, ready to face the awkwardness. He turned the corner quickly, bumping into my stomach.
He stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He dropped all the samples from the art department. I could feel that tight feeling in my stomach again, my mouth going dry. He must have known I was listening.
“Mr. Reynolds?” he mused. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” He knelt down and started picking up the papers.
“No apologies, please. It’s my fault.”
I bent over quickly to help him and there was a loud ripping sound. The same seam in my pants that had worried me moments before gave way. I could tell immediately that my pants had split down the back.
I stood up straight immediately. I could feel his eyes on my face.
“Andrew,” he said softly.
No, not the pity. I could feel it coming, and that would make me feel worse. I pushed past him, leaving him alone in that tiny room to gather the scattered papers. I waddled awkwardly back to my office to grab my jacket. I didn’t want the pants to rip anymore than they already had. I needed to get some new slacks.
Taking a moment, I looked in the mirror on the back of my office door. My blue button up shirt didn’t hide my large, round belly. I’d really let things get bad these last few months. I had completely lost all restraint since meeting Parker. I was happy-eating when he brought me his baked goods. I was nervous-eating when we went out to lunch together. I was sad-eating at home when I thought about how much it sucked to have unrequited feelings.
My love handles sloped away from my torso down over the side of my pants. My pants looked like they’d been painted on my meaty thighs. When did my face get so round? If I shaved my beard how many chins would I find? More than the one I remembered when I started working here ten years ago? I had once had a square jaw, but I knew now it would be backed by a second chin, with a new layer of fat likely being formed behind that. My round cheeks made my eyes look smaller than they were in my youth. I even had a light dabbling of sweat on my forehead from my dash back into my office.
“Mr. Reynolds?” Parker called gently as he knocked at my door. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said, speaking slowly. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” he inquired.
“Yes, I’m sure. I need to head out for an errand, so please make sure you reschedule the rest of my meetings this afternoon.”
“Do you need to go shopping?” he asked.
I could have leaped from my office window—and we were on the twentieth floor. Any chance of ever being with Parker was surely ruined. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get this interaction over with. I opened my office door.
“I could help you pick some things out,” he suggested. “I am your assistant. And I know it’s a stereotype, but I have a pretty good fashion sense.” He was trying so hard to be nice to me.
“This is my problem.” I was still speaking slowly, forcing the words out in a way that likely came off as short. “This is a personal matter, not something to do with work.”
He didn’t say anything. He turned and walked over to his desk, rummaging in one of the drawers. He held a tiny sewing kit in his hands as he strode back over to where I stood. He placed his hand on my stomach, pushing me back into the office before closing the door.
“I understand you would rather shop alone, but I’m not going to let my boss walk around with a split in his pants.” What was he expecting me to do? Strip? There was no way.
“Parker—”
“We don’t have to make a big deal out of this, sir,” he said. “Just take off your pants and hand them here. I can mend them in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Really, that’s not necessary.”
He just stood there, looking at me expectantly. I didn’t want to walk around exposed until I could get to a clothing store. It would only take him fifteen minutes. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt. It was a brown leather material that matched my loafers, which I’d slid out of before shimmying out of my too-tight navy slacks.
I could see myself in the mirror behind my office door again. Here I was in my boxer briefs, Parker standing right in front of me, and it wasn’t a scenario I’d previously imagined. He crouched down in front of me, grabbing the pants so I wouldn’t have to bend over.
He inspected the rip for a moment. “This is perfect. It’s not frayed or anything.”
“You really think you can fix them?”
“A temporary fix, yes.” He walked towards one of the extra chairs in my office and had a seat. Things were silent for a few minutes as he threaded the needle and got started on the repair. I’d taken a seat behind my desk and watched him work.
His skin was so smooth, his lips kissably full, his nose a little large for his face.
“I can see why these split,” he said, not looking up from his work. His words abruptly hit me and filled the silence in a way that sat heavy on my mind.
“Me too.” He still hadn’t looked up at me. He just continued mending my pants.
“I knew I needed new ones, and I—” The words got caught in my throat. I was already embarrassed, so maybe it was time for me to just speak honestly, but speaking honestly kind of felt like admitting defeat. It felt like I was giving up on taking things in an intimate direction with Parker. “I’ve been putting it off. They probably could’ve held on a bit longer, but I’ve put on some weight recently.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Guys like you don’t get it. You could have anyone you wanted.”
“What if I wanted you, Andrew?”
He finally looked up from his work. I must’ve been looking at him stone faced, because his bravado faltered almost immediately.
“Mr. Reynolds—I’m so sorry. That was out of line.”
Parker’s confession allowed me to push past that voice in my head that explained away all the things he did as platonic. He liked me. He wanted me. He’d said so himself.
Before the self-doubt set in, I had to shoot my shot. I’d sulk about my split pants late at night years from now, but right at this moment I refused to return to that negative place. He wanted a Dom Daddy, and that was a role I was more than willing to play.
“What if I told you I wanted to fuck you right now?” His face reddened considerably. I’d never seen him so worked up before, and that made me more confident. “Since the day I hired you, I’ve thought about what it’d feel like to be inside of that sweet ass.”
“Sir—”
“C’mere,” I said in a low voice. He stood, placing my slacks in the seat he’d gotten up from, and gingerly made his way to where I sat behind my desk. He looked down at me slightly as I sat, but we were essentially still on eye level with one another. I could see his chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his lips parted slightly in lust. He pressed his crotch into my gut as he leaned down to kiss me. I could feel his erection through his khakis.
I reached up and palmed his ass, holding a cheek in each hand. He really was stacked back there. He moaned slightly, pressing his dick further into my stomach. We continued kissing, and I pulled him even closer into myself.
I could have kissed him like this for hours, but he pulled away after a few minutes. His palms were pressed against my sagging chest, which sat atop my heavy middle. He slid his hands down my front before resting them on the part of my gut that sat out the farthest. Normally, my first instinct would have been to suck it in, but I realized how useless that would have been. There was no hiding it anymore.
He patted my stomach gently before moving his hands beneath it, lifting it and bouncing it up and down slowly. I could see his hardness through his khakis, so it was clear that he was enjoying himself. If I were to be honest with myself, I was enjoying the belly play too. I’d never had someone focus so intently on my gut before.
I stood up, and he tilted his head back to continue meeting my gaze. I had to play this correctly. I knew he made a joke about liking dominant men, but I wasn’t certain it was actually what he was into.
“Get on your knees,” I said, staring down at him.
“Yes sir.”
He knew what I wanted. He pawed at my underwear until it was around my ankles. My dick bobbed freely now, level with his line of sight. The closer he got to me, the harder I got and the harder it was to see him. He reached up with one hand to hold my belly out of the way and with the other he grabbed the base of my dick.
“Get to work,” I instructed. I grabbed a fistful of his hair as he wrapped his mouth around my dick. It had been a while, but I couldn’t recall a better blow. He was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. His one hand gently massaged the base of my gut as he continued sucking me off. I’d been with people who liked that I wasn’t rail thin, but never with someone like Parker. Everything was adding up. The special treats, the lunches together, the cake at the party this afternoon. He liked me being fat, and I was now fairly certain he wanted me even fatter. “I’m about to cum.”
He didn’t stop his work. He simply slowed his pace, teasing my dick with his tongue in a different way. The switch in sensation caused me to erupt. A heavy stream of cum shot from my dick into his mouth and he made sure to get every last drop. I let go of his hair, stepping back so I could have a seat.
I was panting heavily, my underwear around my ankles, gut rising and falling with each deep breath I took. He looked up at me from his place on the floor. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. I could still see his erection through his khakis. Damn, he was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. I could hardly believe he was experiencing such intense lust over me.
“You’re something else,” I said, still catching my breath. “And I can’t believe it, but I’d kill for another piece of that cake right now.”
That had him up on his feet, speed-walking from my office and back to the conference room. He was so out of it, he’d probably run to that bakery to get me another piece if he had to.
This shift in our relationship was going to be interesting.
I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen immediately following our initial sexual encounter, but we went about our weekends like nothing had changed. After eating one of the final slices of that cake from the office party, I left early to purchase some new clothing items. He texted me, and I replied, but neither of us mentioned what had happened.
So Monday morning came and I had spent the entire weekend eating optimistically. I thought about how much he’d want me to be eating good. At one point, I googled “gay fat fetish” and found there was a whole world of people not only into big guys, but into big guys getting even bigger. Maybe he’d bring it up, but now I wanted to test the waters a little. What sort of things would get him going? I was excited to find out. Monday morning, I was hard the entire commute to work thinking about demolishing whatever Parker planned to put in front of me.
I walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would lead me to the twentieth floor. I noticed Parker making his way toward the elevators. Just seeing him existing in the world made me so fucking happy. I almost didn’t even notice that Mark was right next to him. I hit the door open button quickly, wanting to be near Parker as soon as possible, even if that meant sharing the space with Mark. The doors stayed open, and they both got on.
“Good Morning, Mr. Reynolds.” He smiled up at me. He was carrying a tote bag, and like some sort of sugar-addicted bloodhound, I was almost certain I could smell cinnamon.
“Parker, hey,” I said, covering my crotch with my bag. Just hearing him say my name was turning me on, giving me a semi. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Hello Andrew,” Mark said. To be completely honest, I’d blocked him out almost immediately. He and I weren’t on the best terms, especially after my promotion.
“Hey Mark.”
“Are you still hitting the gym?” he asked. “Since you got that promotion, I’ve noticed a change in your appearance. I’m sure you’re eating well on that executive salary.”
“I do have a hand in that,” Parker said plainly. “Mr. Reynolds is very kind to indulge my personal baking hobby.”
“But still,” Mark pressed. “Sometimes we’ve got to push ourselves, you know? Once you hit thirty it takes more effort to stay in shape.”
“I think he looks great,” Parker offered, turning to look at Mark. He gave him an obvious once over, his eyes traveling from the top of his head all the way to his shoes. “Do you work out, Mark?”
“Yeah, I do actually,” Mark responded proudly. “Six days a week.”
“Really?” Parker inquired. “I’d have never thought that.”
The man was too stunned to speak.
We all stood silent, the whir of the elevator’s mechanisms the only source of sound. The elevator finally stopped on our floor. Parker and I went towards my office while Mark made his way to his cubicle. Parker placed the tote bag on his desk and I stopped for a moment.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, giving a knowing smile.
“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”
“You’re something else.”
“I’m nothing special,” he said, removing two Tupperware containers from the tote bag. “So today you have options. You could have some millionaire shortbread bars or carrot cake cinnamon rolls.”
“Or? You act like I’m not going to polish off both of these containers before we head out for lunch.”
“Uh—well, I—I didn’t think you’d want—”
He looked up at me in surprise, like he’d been found out. I’d known Parker for a couple of months now, and I’d never seen him so flustered. It made me weirdly satisfied. He wanted me to eat? He wanted me to put on a few pounds? If he kept blowing me like he had last week, I’d eat whatever he wanted for the rest of my life.
“I bought some new pants, so I can probably keep indulging for a little while. I need my assistant to make sure I don’t go hungry. That’s not a problem, is it?”
“No, sir,” he said. “Not a problem at all, sir.”
“I didn’t think it would be.” I grabbed both containers and went into my office, peeling off both lids and diving into the baked goods with unabashed enthusiasm. Over that first hour of the day, I ate a dozen shortbread bars and six hefty cinnamon rolls.
Once I’d finished both desserts, I sat back at my desk. I felt my chair sag, groaning slightly as I allowed my bulk to settle into the seat. This was so unhinged. What was happening to me? Maybe it was all the sugar, but I was in some sort of stupor. My only thought was how I wanted Parker between my legs again, his hands all over my gut. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. I must’ve sat there for about ten minutes before there was a knock at my door. “Mr. Reynolds?”
“Come in.” Parker opened the door and walked up to my desk. I watched him survey the scene. I laughed a little to myself at the shocked expression on his face as he took in both containers sitting empty in front of me.
“You already finished the–the–the shortbread bars?”
“And the cinnamon rolls,” I added. “They were both phenomenal. You’ve got quite the talent.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I only wish I’d had some milk to wash it all down with.”
“I’ll make sure to remember that for next time.”
“There is something you could do for me right now,” I said. He looked back at my office door, which he’d left open. He went over to the door and closed it quietly.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?”
“You could get that ass over here, for starters.”
He made his way to where I sat behind my desk, like he had on Friday. We looked at one another for a moment, both taking in the moment. It probably wasn’t smart to fuck my assistant before 10 AM on a Monday, but I’d spent nearly two years involuntarily celibate.
“Get undressed.”
He didn’t question me. He immediately began unbuttoning his crisp, white dress shirt. He tossed it on my desk and then peeled his undershirt off over his head. He shimmied out of his navy-colored chinos. He was in nothing but a pair of stylish briefs. It was obvious he worked out, as his quads bulged with muscle as did his arms. He had well-defined abs, firm pecs.
His body was completely opposite to my own. My legs and arms were large, yes, but not defined with muscle as they had been in the past. I’d never had abs in my entire life. My stomach sat heavy in front of me, packed full of sugary snacks. And even though I’d just eaten enough baked goods for a small get-together, I was already thinking about what I’d be having for lunch.
“What’re we doing for lunch?” I asked. His whole face reddened, all the way to his ears. I reached out to pull him closer, so I could feel his body with my mouth. I kissed his chest softly, enjoying his scent in the process. “I asked you what we’re doing for lunch.”
He moaned loudly.
“Last—last week you mentioned you wanted an—an Italian beef from—” I bit his nipple gently, sucking it afterwards. “Big Beef’s.”
“Fuck that sounds good. With extra hot peppers and a cheese sauce on the side.” He pawed at his briefs, exposing himself to me. He had a nice dick, a respectable size. He was getting off on this for sure. I let go of his waist and began to unbutton my own shirt. He watched me intently, still stroking his penis. I tossed it on the desk with his clothing items.
He paused his masturbatory efforts to help me remove my undershirt. His briefs were now around his ankles and he pressed his dick into my gut. I grabbed at his ass, lightly teasing his hole with my finger as he grinded against me. He didn’t last long after that, coming all over my bloated stomach. He took a step back. Looking down, I could see his cum glistening as it coated the fuzz of my belly. “You’re not done,” I said, lifting my gut to reveal my belt buckle.
A man of excellent intuition, Parker immediately got me out of my pants and gave me some very thorough head.
Oh, and lunch at Big Beef’s that afternoon was stupendous.
We fell into a routine that made every work day well worth it. He was still bringing me his baked goods (beverages now included). We left the office whenever possible to grab a bite to eat during our lunch hour, and when we couldn’t get away he made sure to pick something up for me or to have it delivered. But the best part had to be our sexual escapades. I’d had nearly every part of his body in my mouth at least once. And he was excellent at taking direction. I was pretty sure at this point that he craved it, being told what to do. He was my good boy, doing what I requested, often going above and beyond like there was a chance of being promoted.
From the end of October to the start of the winter holidays, he and I were completely engrossed with one another. Although, even with how intense things had been within the four walls of my office, we had yet to move beyond them.
It was now the second week of December. I was nearing 400 pounds, a thought that was slightly frightening to me. I’d never been this big in my entire life. People around the office had taken notice of my rapid weight gain. It was the elephant in the room. But the food was good, and the sex mind-blowing. I was also intoxicated by Parker’s adoration. With each pound I gained, he seemed to get more and more excited to service me. I wondered how much longer my wardrobe would last before needing to be updated again.
“Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.” I looked up from the email I was drafting. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
“Yeah? What is it?” I inquired, wondering what it was Parker had been mulling over. He was shifting his weight back and forth, nervously smiling in my direction like the day I hired him.
“Well, my parents bought me these tickets to a musical a few weeks ago, and I know that it’s last minute, but I was really hoping you would come with me to see it.”
“A musical?”
“What can I say?” he offered, shrugging slightly. “I’m as stereotypical as they come.”
“When is it?” I asked.
“Tomorrow.” A Saturday.
Was Parker trying to take things to the next level? This was an exciting development. I would love to spend time with him outside of working hours. I could only imagine how much fun we’d have late into the evening post dinnertime.
“If it’s too much, I understand.”
Too much? Not at all. We both wanted more. It was like a weight had been lifted from me (metaphorically, of course). The office sexcapades were nice, there was no doubt about that, but he too wanted to be more than just a hook-up.
“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?”
He laughed.
“I’m kind of obsessed, can’t you tell?”
“I love being adored,” I said, smiling at him playfully. “And now I’m really looking forward to this musical tomorrow. What’s the runtime? Over two hours, I’m sure. I’ll probably need to eat something beforehand.”
“I’ll make a reservation,” he declared enthusiastically, always delighted at an opportunity to get me eating. I was only half-serious with my comment about needing to eat beforehand, but I wasn’t so sure I’d make it the two and a half hours without a meal prior to the curtain rising. I felt incredibly lucky. We’d be getting dinner and seeing a show (and hopefully having even more fun at one of our apartments after).
Once he made the reservation, he emailed over all the info—the restaurant, the reservation time, the name of the theater, the showtime. I could hardly wait. I’d be counting the milliseconds until then.
The next evening, I dressed to meet Parker for our date. I wore a pair of dark jeans and some Nikes. When I first landed that account, they’d sent over at least ten different pairs. I had lots of dress shirts that fit fairly well since I re-upped, but I wanted to be a little more casual. I found a burgundy crew neck in the back of my dresser that had been a staple in my wardrobe last winter. I pulled it on and found myself shocked at how it fit. I figured there’d be some resistance, but the fabric clung to my plump chest and protruding belly in a way that was much more form-fitting than I anticipated. I tugged at the bottom trying to pull it down to cover the entirety of my stomach. If I moved my arms too much, it exposed some of my brown skin, even though I was also wearing an undershirt.
My first inclination was to change. I wouldn’t have normally wanted to draw attention to my size. But I knew what Parker liked, and I loved pressing his buttons, so I put on my jacket and grabbed my keys, deciding to keep on the sweater. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret my outfit choice later on.
I was right on time to Haraboji’s, and as I entered the restaurant, I noticed my perfectly punctual assistant had already beaten me to the establishment.
“Mr. Reynolds, over here!” He waved at me from a seat at the bar. I felt silly for being this excited, considering we ate together in restaurants every other day, but this was no work-lunch. This was a Saturday night dinner. A date.
“Parker, hey,” I said, smiling down at my companion for the evening. He was still wearing his jacket, a stylish, olive-green duffle coat. He had on a pair of platform Chelsea boots and dark chinos. “Please, call me Andy, or Andrew—even Drew would be fine.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I guess we aren’t in the office.”
“That’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he replied. “I’ve wanted to eat here with you for months.”
“I’ve heard this place is really good.”
“Have you ever had Korean barbecue before?” he asked. “I haven’t been to a Korean restaurant since I moved here.”
“I haven’t, but you know I’ll try anything. I trust you to make sure I have something tasty.”
After that the hostess called Parker’s name and we were seated. It was pretty crowded, every table filled. In front of us was a little grilling station. Our waiter came and Parker took the reins, ordering what seemed like a lot of food for just two people. He asked for bulgogi, pork belly, garlic butter chicken, and brisket. He also ordered fried seaweed rolls and tteokbokki. Our waiter brought out a lot of little dishes with different vegetables on them.
“These are banchan—um, side dishes,” Parker explained. “They’re really good with the grilled meats. That one is cucumber, that one is potato, and that one is zucchini.”
“And that one is kimchi.”
“Yes, exactly!”
Our waiter returned with another worker to assist him. One of them held our appetizers, the other numerous plates of raw meat on a serving platter. Once all the plates were set out in front of us, it seemed truly excessive. Parker got to work immediately, oiling the grill and placing meat on it strategically. As things were cooked he piled them high on my plate. Everything tasted great and I followed every suggestion he gave me. “Eat this with that,” he’d say, hyper focused on his grilling. “Ooo, you’ve got to try that with this dipping sauce.”
Halfway through the meal, I noticed that he was no longer eating. I seemed to be his main priority. I was now regretting my earlier boldness when getting dressed for this outing. My sweater rose slightly on my stomach exposing the light layer of dark hair on my underbelly. Parker didn’t stop either, making sure to cook every piece of meat that had been provided to us.
“There’s also Korean fried chicken on the menu,” he said, having just finished grilling the last bit of bulgogi and pork belly. “They come in orders of four.”
I groaned slightly, sitting back in my seat and resting my hand on the top of my gut.
That was when the waiter returned, taking in my gorged state his face reddened on my behalf and he focused his attention on Parker. “Is there anything else I can get for you guys?”
“Yes, we wanted a double order of the fried chicken wings and a bottle of peach soju.”
The waiter glanced in my direction and then back at Parker. He probably couldn’t believe we were ordering more food. I couldn’t believe we were ordering more food, but my date was a man on a mission. We did have about forty minutes before we needed to be at the theater, but I still thought he was cutting it close.
“I’ll put that in right now.” I waited for our server to leave before speaking.
“I’m spilling out of my sweater and you're still shoving food in my direction.”
“Andy,” he said innocently. “You don’t want to be hungry while the show is going on. You said so yourself, remember?”
“How considerate of you,” I responded, sitting up. I grabbed my fork and started in on the last bit of meat he’d put on my plate. “And I can’t wait to thank you at my place after the show.”
After dinner at Haraboji’s, we made our way to the theater for the musical. I’d already parked my Buick Enclave in a parking garage on the same street as the restaurant. He informed me that he picked this restaurant not only because he’d been wanting to try it, but also because it was only a block away from where we’d be seeing the show.
I was so full I didn’t feel like doing anything, especially walking. I was perspiring a little bit so I left my jacket open to air myself out. I could feel a cool breeze on my stomach, but I just ignored it. Parker was leading the way, glancing my way every so often to check me out. If his parents hadn’t gone through the trouble of buying him these tickets, we’d already be halfway to my place.
We made it to the lobby and the worker scanned the tickets on Parker’s phone. There was about ten minutes until the show would start so we made our way to our seats. This was where things got awkward.
Personally, when purchasing tickets in advance, I always tried to get the seat closest to the aisle. But these two seats were right in the middle of a row. Not everyone was in their seats yet, but we’d still need to shimmy past five or so people. Parker seemed somewhat oblivious to this issue, and in his defense, he likely never faced this sort of problem. Being bigger meant anticipating any obstacle. Would there be a lot of walking? Would there be a lot of stairs? How sturdy were the seats? I’d always thought about these things, but having gained fifty pounds in the last five months created even more complications I needed to be ready for.
“Excuse us,” Parker said, making his way into the row. He got by the first person with ease, whereas the man needed to stand up for me and press himself as far back into his seat as possible. Even then, my gut pushed up against him as I made my way past him. This happened four more times until we made it to our seats.
I sat in the chair and it creaked loudly. It was a really tight squeeze. This was not a theater that had been updated this century. It had probably been forty or fifty years since there had been any type of alteration to the seating. The armrests could not be lifted, so I sat there as they dug into the sides of my bloated gut. Fuck, I thought. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone so hard at dinner.
“Isn’t there like a special section for bigger people?” the woman next to me asked the man she was with. She was at least trying to whisper, but considering the fact I was sitting right next to her that didn’t do much to keep me from hearing her. “It’s just, these seats are so small, you know? Even for someone regularly sized.”
I’d been feeling pretty good before all of this happened. I was used to people making comments. But something about this made me really think hard about what I’d been doing to my body. I was already fat. I’d already had horrible eating habits. But should I have let this thing with Parker push me so completely into gluttony? I was the one who had to deal with the wardrobe malfunctions and too-small theater seats.
Parker was a great person and a masterful lover, but he was also ten years younger than me. If this dalliance were to end, he could go about his life unchanged. But me? How much bigger would I be by the time he got bored of me?
“Andy,” Parker said, his hand on my thigh. “Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. This wasn’t the time or place to share my thoughts with him.
“I didn’t pick the seats,” he explained. “Next time, I’ll make sure that we’re on the end.”
“Thanks.” I exhaled, feeling a little better. Him saying that didn’t absolve all of my fears, but it reminded me of how thoughtful Parker was. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like to be my size, but he did try to consider how my size affected my day-to-day life.
The lights dimmed and the show started a few minutes later. It was pretty funny and the music was enjoyable. I never thought a musical adaptation of an 80’s fantasy-horror-comedy would be any good, but I’d see it again if given the chance. After the cast took their bows we waited for our row to clear out before we got up. I could tell he really enjoyed himself, so that made the two and half hours in that seat from hell worth it.
“I Ubered here from my apartment,” he said once we were outside.
“I’m in that parking garage by the restaurant,” I said. “I could give you a ride home.”
“You did say you needed to thank me at dinner.”
“Oh, I know just how to thank you.” It was nearly ten, and aside from the people who were also leaving the theater, there weren’t a ton of people around. I grabbed Parker’s hand and we went to my car. I asked him where he lived and other than that I just listened to all the fun facts he had about the production. We were soon out front. “You’re coming up, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course.” I parked and we made our way towards the entrance. He led me up some stairs to his fourth floor apartment. If he lived any higher, we’d have had to call it a night. His place was pretty small, a one bedroom. It was also super neat and tidy. Everything about Parker was that way.
He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, offering to take mine too in the process. He told me to take a seat on the couch. I sat and realized how little it was. I guess a couch of this size was all he really needed, but it was more like a chair. I filled it up three-fourths of the way.
He carried in a tray with some vanilla oat milk and a container of cookies. He placed it on the coffee table and sat on the remaining one-fourth of sofa. “Consider these as a thank you for a great evening,” he said. “They’re lemon shortbread.”
“You must spend a fortune on butter and eggs.”
“Not at all, I just started buying in bulk when I realized I had someone to bake for.”
“I appreciate getting to eat everything you’ve made for me,” I said, pulling at my sweater, “though I should probably slow down on all the baked goods.” I looked in his direction, wondering how he’d take in that information. He looked a little hurt, a little embarrassed.
“Is everything okay, Andy?” he asked. “With us, I mean. I just thought—”
I could just keep all of these concerns to myself, but that wouldn’t solve anything. It was probably better to have this conversation now instead of later. “I’ve gained a substantial amount of weight since we started sleeping together. I know we haven’t put into words what this is, but I’m pretty sure you’re a feeder—or an encourager—which term is it?” I thought about all the information I found back when I investigated gay fat fetishes a few months ago.
“I think they’re pretty interchangeable.” He wasn’t looking at me. “And I guess that I am, yes.” He actually looked super pale. Was he scared? Did he think I was upset? I figured he was aware that he’d been found out months ago. He was always so focused on my weight and overfeeding me. His preferences were kind of obvious.
“I’m not upset,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty into it.”
He looked up at me, relief overtaking his previously sullen expression. “You are?”
“I think you know I like to eat. And getting bigger is kind of hot when I have someone so into it.”
“I’m into it for sure.”
“My main concern is how serious you are, Parker.” He looked at me intently, waiting for me to continue speaking. “You’re young. You’re still fairly new to the area. When it comes down to it, you’re a hot commodity. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. With how big I was, with how big I’ve gotten, I’m limiting myself. My prospects were slim before, but I’ve probably made the margins even smaller in regards to my marketability.”
“Andrew, I am very serious about you,” he said. “You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever been with. You’re also the biggest guy I've ever been with. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I am willing to do. If you want to lose weight, that’s fine. If you want me to stop with the baking, that’s fine. I just want you. I like you.”
“I like you too. I have since you first started working for me.” Our eyes were locked on one another. This conversation felt so real, so needed. This guy was serious about me. What a relief. “And let’s not be too hasty about the baking. I’ll let you know if we need to slow down, Mr. Feeder.”
This caused his whole face to redden, all the way to his ears. I loved when that happened. It was so funny to see his emotions so clearly. “Now bring that container of cookies over here. I’m hungry.”
Maybe it was reckless of me. Maybe I should’ve taken the out Parker had offered me. But I kept on eating like I had been. I blew past 400 pounds as we entered the new year. He’d flown home for the holidays, so I spent time with my own family. They all showed great concern for how big I’d gotten, but that didn’t stop them from piling my plate high with soul food at Christmas dinner. That was just how my family operated. It’s why I was so big growing up to begin with.
That first Monday back after the winter holidays was nice because we were able to fall back into our normal routine, which included copious amounts of food and a great deal sex. While most people around the office set goals for having a healthier diet or joining a gym, I did nothing of the sort. It was somewhat freeing to know there was no resolution I was bound to break.
Over the first few months of the new year, Parker began spending more and more time at my apartment. Suddenly there was a toothbrush, and then extra pairs of underwear, and then, an item that let me know how serious things had gotten between us, his KitchenAid Stand Mixer.
“You’re here more than at your place,” I said one Saturday evening in April. We’d ordered pizza for dinner, and even though Parker had stopped eating thirty minutes ago, I was still working on an extra-large, tavern-style sausage and pepperoni. I’d already eaten some buffalo wings and a Caesar salad (for balance, of course). “When does your lease end?”
“Well, it ends August of this year.”
“Cancel it.”
“Cancel it?”
“Yeah,” I said, reaching for another slice. “I’ll pay whatever fee your landlord charges for breaking your lease.”
The next week he moved into my three-bedroom apartment. I had more than enough room for his stuff. Even his dollhouse-sized couch fit comfortably against a wall in the home office. This did mean my office baked goods were a thing of the past. They were never able to last long enough after he prepared them to be brought into work. Since meeting Parker nine months ago, I was now 75 pounds heavier.
Parker and I were going to take a long weekend for Memorial Day. We’d both put in for the day off on Friday and we wouldn’t need to return to the office until Tuesday. I’d rented a house up north, about three hours away. The Thursday before we were to leave, Parker frantically entered my office a little after we returned from lunch.
I was positively beached. We were both looking forward to the weekend and he excitedly ordered for me at Rockin’ Sushi. We had purchased enough sashimi, nigiri, and maki rolls for a party of five or six people.
My belly covered my lap almost to my knees when I sat. I normally didn’t dress so casually for the office, but today I was wearing a polo. The fabric was pulled tight around my stomach and I’d been massaging the sides of my gut before Parker came to find me. If he didn’t seem so distraught, I’d have asked him to take over.
“We can’t go out of town,” he said. “We have to reevaluate your accounts.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes half-open. “I have nine major accounts and twelve smaller ones. That’s more than all the other execs.”
“Yes, that’s true, but—” he stopped talking. He probably felt like he’d been overreacting, but I wanted to make sure his worries were quelled.
“Talk to me.”
“I heard from Mr. Monroe’s assistant, who heard from Mr. Otterly’s assistant, that Mr. Otterly plans to retire at the end of June.” John Otterly was well past the age for retirement. His presence at Hathaway and Associates was really just a formality at this point. He’d been an exec at our agency since the mid-seventies. In his prime, for sure, he was incredible at pulling in clients and coming up with catchy slogans for print ads. Now, he had only one major account for a failing brand of novelty gag-gifts. “They’re looking to promote someone, but they want to make the position more robust by taking some accounts from other executives.”
“Bullshit.”
“Agreed.” He watched me heave myself out of my desk chair. “What should we do?”
“Follow me.”
I might have moved a little bit more slowly these days, but with Parker’s help I’d acquired two new clients in the last nine months and strengthened our agency’s relationship with all my original accounts. I wasn’t just some overweight behemoth who didn’t do any work. I was a heavy hitter. I’d recently had a confidence about myself that, shamefully, came from the idolization and devotion Parker gave to me. I was the biggest I’d ever been, but I didn’t feel ashamed of myself. I was already going to draw attention entering a room so I might as well not give a fuck what people thought.
We stopped outside of William Hathaway’s office, whose grandfather had actually founded Hathaway and Associates almost a century ago. We executives kept things running while he received a great deal of the credit, considering he was only in office two days a week. He did hold a forty-five percent share on the board of directors, which was the largest portion of any member. This meant he had a great deal of influence when the board made the large decisions that affected day-to-day operations.
“He’s preparing to leave early for the holiday weekend,” his administrative assistant said plainly. She was also the office manager. Mr. Hathaway’s schedule allowed her to take on more responsibilities, so she helped to organize the tasks for the interns and other assistants. “He doesn’t want to be bothered, especially after the meeting he just had.”
“Martha,” Parker said gently, smiling in her direction. “Mr. Reynolds was hoping to speak with Mr. Hathaway before he left. If he’s not terribly busy, would you please let him?”
“I don’t know. He was pretty adamant that he didn’t want to see anyone else.”
“Didn’t you say your husband liked the chocolate-dipped almond biscotti I made you for your anniversary?”
“Those were divine,” she said, taking more interest in Parker’s plea. I remembered those biscotti. I’d eaten two test batches before he felt confident enough to share them with Martha.
“Weren’t they?” I added. “I don’t know how he does it, but he’s incredibly talented.”
“My husband’s birthday is coming up,” she pondered aloud. “Have you ever made a cake before?”
“Of course!”
They ironed out some details and settled on a tiramisu inspired layer cake. She hopped out of her seat giddily and went to inform Hathaway of our arrival. We got the go ahead to enter and there he was waiting for us behind his desk nursing a scotch.
“Reynolds, you’re bigger every time I see you.”
Hathaway wasn’t one to mince words.
“You’re one to talk. I’m not the only one carrying around a spare tire.” This made him laugh.
“I’m in my sixties, what’s your excuse?” He didn’t stop. “And I’ve got a spare tire, you’ve got a whole Goodyear.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, allowing him to think his ribbing had gotten to me. “I’m just eating good. And my assistant here is a master baker.”
“He is, eh?” Hathaway asked, drinking from his scotch. “You're the biscotti boy?”
“Yes sir. That’s me.”
“Martha, that stingy bitch, only let me have one. Said they were for her anniversary. I’ve got an anniversary. And a birthday.”
“I’ll get those dates from Martha, sir.” Hathaway gave an impressed smirk and took another sip from his drink.
After that, we were finally able to talk business. I asked about Otterly. His retirement was true, a decision “strongly encouraged” by all members of the board. The position being padded with the accounts of other executives was also true. We would be asked in the coming month to choose one or two of our large scale accounts to let go of. When I asked why they didn’t just cut the position, they were concerned about losing their lead copywriter, who voiced concerns about a lack of upward mobility at Hathaway and Associates. He claimed he’d be willing to walk away from the agency unless he was seriously considered for Otterly’s position.
That lead copywriter? Mark.
If it were anyone else, I would have thought twice about my next course of action. But for Mark? I couldn't care less.
“Well,” I started, hoping I was playing this right. “I say cut Otterly’s position. Give his few accounts to one of us execs, and if he walks, he walks.”
“He’s done good work,” Hathaway offered.
“You can save a great deal by cutting the position. Promote one of the junior copywriters to Mark’s position. And for good measure, Parker here can take the open junior copywriter role.” Parker made a sound of surprise but did his best to recover.
“Biscotti boy?”
“He’s got the Andrew Reynolds seal of approval.” This meant a great deal. I had the most accounts out of all eleven execs. I also had the greatest renewal rates. “I’d be losing the world’s greatest assistant, but I’d do anything for Hathaway and Associates.”
“My great-niece did just graduate from Columbia,” Hathaway said. “I’m sure she’ll need help finding a job with a degree in art history.” If I had to deal with another nepo-baby, so be it. I was keeping my accounts and helping Parker advance in his career.
“Just think about it,” I said, ending our conversation. As we left his office, Martha entered. Before the door closed completely, I heard him mentioning that the board needed to convene after the holiday weekend to vote about an important matter. I had a good feeling that things were going to change for my little Biscotti Boy.
We did still manage to make it up to the house I rented. Fortunately, it was somewhat secluded, the houses pretty far apart from each other. They were only really visible to one another from the front yard. Parker had a long list of grocery items he needed, so our first stop after checking into the rental was the local supercenter. He was obviously grateful for what I’d done in Hathaway’s office, and he spent the weekend showing me that gratitude with his culinary skills and physical flexibility. My favorite memory from our trip would be how he’d gotten me on the floor after grilling some brats and making s’mores.
“Okay, so bend your knees,” he said, swinging his leg around my waist after tossing me a pillow for underneath my head. There wasn’t a ton of space between my bent knees and my bulging belly, but Parker fit there perfectly. He looked down at me as he sat atop my waist, sliding all nine inches of my penis inside himself. He rested his hands on my stomach. Their warmth penetrated me to my core.
I reached up to grab at his butt as he rode me. It felt good in my hands, and the thought of what it looked like as I fucked him had me salivating. Always the hard worker, Parker swiveled his hips back and forth rhythmically. His dick was angled upwards, sandwiched between the bottom of my gut and his flat stomach. He leaned forward slightly, his hands sliding up my stomach to my chest. He grabbed my slightly puffy nipples and pinched them gently. That intensified the pleasure I was feeling and I lifted him slightly by raising my legs, pushing myself deeper inside of his ass.
“Oh God,” he moaned, sitting straight up. He bounced up and down like this for nearly a minute before he came. His cum shot up his front, some landing on the floor and on my gut. The look of sheer pleasure on his face was intoxicating. That did it for me too, and had me shooting my load as well.
We stayed on the floor longer than intended. I couldn’t get up just yet, so he covered both of our naked bodies with a large blanket and cuddled up close to me. Losing him as my assistant was going to be tough, but moments like these would make up for it.
Returning to work on Tuesday was fine. I’d have preferred another week in a secluded lake house with Parker, but the real world was waiting for us. Antoinette was in rare form, flitting from assistant to assistant spreading gossip. She was Hathaway and Associates' very own Lady Whistledown, though a lot less discreet.
Before lunch, the board met to discuss the future of Mr. Otterly’s position. Antoinette made sure everyone knew how they voted, openly voicing her dismay that her good friend Mark would not be shifting to an executive role, as John Otterly’s position would be closed and his accounts redistributed amongst some of the remaining executives.
The ball was now in Mark’s court. He could keep his current job or he could quit. I was hoping for the latter, so Parker could shine in the field he’d gone to school for.
We worked all day and at exactly five we clocked out. We entered the elevator and Mark followed behind us. “That’s some shit you pulled Andy,” he spat. I noticed a cardboard box in his hands.
“You’re referring to what exactly?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Oh please,” he said. “You get a little ass from your assistant and you’re bending over backwards to get him a promotion. It’s pathetic, but it makes a lot of sense. Why else would he ever waste his time trying to find your dick under that massive gut?”
“You’re out of line,” I said, stepping towards him.
“He’s a sneak and you’re a gullible, desperate, sorry excuse for a professional.” He was upset, understandably, but his job had still been intact. He could’ve continued in his role as lead copywriter, a position I held for over four years before my promotion, and one day he’d be seen as ready to move up in the agency. He’d only been lead copywriter for a year and a half, a role in which he’d been given when the previous lead stepped down to take care of her newborn twins. Mark expected things to be handed to him without putting in the work. Now he was throwing a tantrum, and he wanted to take out his anger on us because he thought we were easy targets.
“Have you ever considered the fact that you just aren’t that likable?” I asked, staring down at him, forcing him into the corner of the elevator. “You’re talented, sure, but you are just so fucking hard to like. Hathaway knows this, the other execs know this. Why do you think it was so easy to encourage them to close Otterly’s position? They don’t want to work any more closely with you than they already do.”
I looked down at the cardboard box. Like a baby, he’d quit when he didn’t get his way. “Or should I say did?”
The elevator stopped on the main floor and the doors opened. Mark looked up at me and then over at Parker. “Fuck the both of you,” he said, pushing past me with slight difficulty. Parker looked pretty mortified, his entire face red with embarrassment.
My little ingénue. He was still very green, and I loved that about him, but I needed him to stand up for himself if he was going to survive in this industry. People made jokes or rude comments. There’d be backstabbing and petty office gossip. At the end of the day it didn’t matter. I was proof of that. There’d been talk about my weight for months, and I was still one of the most successful people on staff.
I’d for sure been in a slump before I met Parker, but I was becoming the man I’d been in my early twenties (metaphorically, not physically). There was a lot less self-doubt and self-loathing. I liked looking at myself in the mirror. I knew that I was good at what I did, and I knew I just needed to carry myself like I had when I was grinding as a junior copywriter.
“That was really intense,” he said. We’d slowed, pausing in a stairwell. We were halfway between the lobby and the underground parking garage. “I would never sleep with you for that. I swear that I would never do that.”
“I know.” I felt myself smiling. It made me feel good that he liked me so much. His first thought was how I felt. He was always looking out for me, and if he did get a new role as a copywriter, no assistant would ever live up to what he was capable of.
“I love you,” he said, looking at me seriously. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that to me. How we’d gotten to this point, I’d never fully grasp, but I was glad that we did.
“I love you too,” I said. We were silent for a moment, and I took the opportunity to joke with him. “And I have to say, what an elaborate scheme you pulled. The baked goods, the lunches, the head. All for a promotion. You’re truly a mastermind.”
He laughed, swatting me on the ass. “And this is only Phase One. Mu-ha-ha.”
“What’s Phase Two?”
“Hmm, I’ll let you know when I think of it.”
“Maybe you aren’t the mastermind I thought you were—”
“Shut up!” he said, laughing. “Now let’s get you something good to eat for defending my honor.”
A month later, Parker was officially offered a position as a junior copywriter. He’d taken me shopping for some summer clothing items—both work attire and casual items. The number of X’s on my shirts and shorts was a little shocking, but he did have a knack for picking flattering cuts and patterns. I may have been over 400 pounds, but I’d never looked more stylish.
“Are you ready yet?” Parker called from the living room. It was the last Saturday in June and all of Parker’s old roommates from California were in town for the last weekend of Pride and to celebrate his promotion.
“Yeah,” I called in response. I walked out of our bedroom. “But you’re sure you want me to wear this to meet your friends?”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s just a pair of shorts and a polo. It’s not risqué.”
The shorts were much shorter than I’d buy for myself, but they did fit me very well. They were a good three inches above my knees. He saw them on some Instagram ad and bought me three different pairs. The polo was much more out of my comfort zone. It was cream-colored and a crochet knit. You could see glimpses of my brown skin through the hundreds of small holes that made up the shirt.
“But it seems like you guys want to dance and that’s not really my scene anymore. Can’t you all celebrate tonight and then we all meet up for brunch tomorrow?”
“Okay, what about we all meet up tonight and go out to brunch tomorrow morning?” he countered in rhetorical fashion. “And besides, if you don’t want to burn any calories, you can just have some bar food and a beer.”
“They have those soft pretzels there don’t they?”
“They sure do,” he said, handing me my keys. “Now let’s go please.”
Fortunately I was able to find a good parking spot not too far from the bar. I parked and we walked the block to Dudes. The day had cooled considerably, which I was grateful for. It’d been in the eighties, but it was only about seventy now that the sun had set. They asked to see Parker’s ID and then we made our way inside.
“Parker!” I looked for who had shouted his name. It was another Asian guy who was about Parker’s height.
“Yedam, hey!” Parker looked at me. “Andy, this is Yedam. Yedam, this is my boyfriend Andy.”
“Oh wow,” Yedam said, taking me in. He smiled, like he was trying to stifle a laugh. “Um, it’s nice to meet you.” He locked eyes with Parker, raising his eyebrows theatrically. Was this a good interaction or not? I was having trouble reading the situation. Two other guys made their way to where we stood, both holding drinks. One of the guys handed a glass to Yedam.
“Mike, Sam, this is my boyfriend Andy.” Mike was white and very blond. Sam was black, a little lighter than I was. Overall, they all had the same vibe as Parker. Very put-together, the same height and build.
“This makes sense,” Sam said, gesturing back and forth with his pointer finger between Parker and I.
“Oh yeah, a thousand percent,” Mike added.
I felt like I was missing something, but I was hopeful Parker would fill me in later. The guys all told me I was very handsome and very large. It wasn’t in a sarcastic way, or a flirtatious way even. They presented it like they were simply stating facts. I ordered my pretzels and a round of shots for Parker and his friends. They were all laughing and joking and hanging off of one another. It was almost enough to make me jealous, but I knew I was what Parker wanted. I didn’t need to worry about his friends.
After another shot Parker pulled me towards the crowded dance floor. “Ready?” he asked, leaning into me.
“I thought I was supposed to drink my beer and eat bar food.” I scanned the whole place; I was the biggest guy in the entire club.
“You’ve got all night to eat bar food. You can dance with me for a few minutes.” He started to move his body and I did too. I wasn’t a bad dancer; it was just something I tended to avoid. He turned slowly, his butt against my crotch.
It seemed like the music got faster and louder, and the entire time I couldn’t take my eyes off of Parker. He was absolutely gorgeous. I leaned down, kissing his neck. He lifted his arms, wrapping them around my neck. I stepped back and felt a foot under me.
“Shit, man, watch where you’re going! You’re gonna break someone’s foot!” This guy was drunk.
“What was that?” I asked. Six months ago, I’d have left the dance floor completely mortified. But now, why would I ever stop living my life because I took up just a little too much space? The world was a big place, and people would just have to make room for me.
“Nothing, nothing,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Just be more careful. Sorry.”
“That dude was an ass,” Parker said, turning to face me, resting his hands on my waist.
“As crowded as it is, I was bound to step on someone’s foot.” I leaned down so I didn’t have to shout this next part so loudly. “Although it does probably hurt a little more when the one doing the stepping is over 425 pounds.” Parker smiled at me, and I think it was a relief to him that I was being a good sport.
“Parker! Andy!” It was Sam waving us over to the bar.
He and the rest of Parker’s friends wanted to do another shot and my pretzels were waiting for me. “They were just delivered,” Yedam said. “And we didn’t want them to get cold.”
The rest of the night went pretty well. Parker was always so reserved and in control of himself, so it was nice to see him having fun and letting loose. They were all pretty toasted by midnight, and Mike drunkenly started talking about getting something to eat.
“Why did we drink so much?” he bemoaned, leaning against Yedam as we left the bar. “We should’ve gotten dinner before the bar.”
“You were the one convinced you were getting laid tonight,” Sam stated, stumbling right along next to them.
“Andy knows a place,” Parker said, leaning against me. “Isn’t Sub Daddy’s second location near here?”
“Uh, yeah, it is,” I offered. “I can drive, though you all better not puke.”
“We won’t!” they all sang in unison.
We made it to my Buick unscathed, and I made sure everyone was buckled up. Looking at Parker in the seat next to me and his three drunk besties in the back seat was hilarious to me. It looked like I’d kidnapped a bunch of intoxicated twinks.
“So did Parker used to bake a lot when you all lived together?” I asked, making conversation as we drove.
“Constantly,” Yedam said, sounding comically exasperated. “We had this neighbor.”
“Oh yeah!” Mike interjected. “Big Idris.”
“Your neighbor went by ‘Big Idris?’ Seriously?” I asked.
“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed, cracking up. “I think his real name was Tyler or something?”
“Tyson,” Parker clarified, his entire face and ears covered in a red blush that I didn’t think was entirely from the alcohol.
“Tyson, right,” Sam continued. “We called him Big Idris because he was hot like a young Idris Elba, but much bigger. I mean, not huge.” There was a slight pause, as if he was second guessing his next statement. “Like you’re way bigger than he was.”
“Okay, so he wasn’t fat-fat, got it.”
“So anyway, Big Idris was our neighbor across the hall. When we moved in at the start of our fall semester junior year, Parker baked little treats for everyone on the floor. Big Idris was the only one who came back asking for seconds.” The three of them roared with laughter. I could see where this story was going. Yedam continued the tale.
“It was just like when we were in the dorms. He didn’t have access to a kitchen, but Parker made sure this guy who lived on the floor above us never went without a snack. Insomnia Cookies should probably erect a statue in Parker’s honor. What was his name? Owen?”
“Yes, Owen,” Parker confirmed.
“So Owen, the ex-football player, ended the year having put on the freshman fifteen.”
“Plus fifteen,” Mike added.
“Plus fifteen,” Sam followed. They all cracked up again. Parker was definitely an anomaly to them. An oddity that made for interesting stories. Their sex lives were probably pretty tame compared to what Parker and I were into.
“Owen was nothing like Big Idris though,” Yedam said. “Those 45 pounds were nothing compared to the almost a hundred Big Idris gained living across the hall from us for two years.”
Mike spoke next, saying, “To be fair, it wasn’t all Parker. This guy liked to eat, and he was always ordering DoorDash or UberEats.”
“But Parker wasn’t innocent,” Sam said. “He baked him a different type of cookie at least three times a week.”
“What happened to Big Idris?” I asked, now extremely curious.
“His girlfriend moved in and Parker moved here to start his new job. She’s definitely helped him change his diet around. You can tell he’s lost some weight, not eating as much take-out. But he for sure doesn’t seem as happy as when Parker was visiting his apartment at two in the morning.”
“That’s a shame,” Parker said. Now that had me cracking up as I pulled into the Sub Daddy parking lot. Of course Parker would be upset to hear that all his hard work was being undone.
We went inside and ordered, and the four of them decided to split two sandwiches, which was funny because I ordered two sandwiches for myself. We sat and ate, the four of them passing tiny bags of chips back and forth to supplement their little sandwiches. After we finished eating I drove them back to their Airbnb. We made plans to meet up for brunch the next afternoon, and I was very interested to hear more about Parker as a sexy coed with feeder tendencies.
Parker was only slightly hungover the next morning. We hung out with his friends again in the afternoon. They mostly shared stories, while I mostly ate boujee brunch food. We said our goodbyes and they made plans to get together again soon. They all still lived in the old apartment, at least until their lease ended in the fall. Overall, the weekend had been a success, and I was sure Parker was excited to start his new position come Tuesday.
Monday he’d be training his replacement.
“So make sure his lunch is ordered at eleven so that he’s able to eat by noon,” Parker stated matter-of-factly.
He had been with my new assistant all morning. She was a nice girl, and I could tell she was already a little overwhelmed by all the things Parker expected her to remember. I think Parker was sad to be shifting to a new position, even though he was really excited to be doing what he dreamed of.
He would be on an entirely different side of the office. It was probably for the best that we had a bit of space from each other. We didn’t want to become one of those couples that couldn’t function without the other.
But still, he knew me better than anyone. I didn’t have to think about my next move because he’d already anticipate it.
“Parker, can I see you in my office for a moment?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” he said before turning his attention to my new assistant. “Nicolette, we can go over the best times to schedule Mr. Reynolds for a meeting after you get back from your break.” She couldn’t grab her purse fast enough. She was probably going to be updating her LinkedIn and putting in applications on Indeed.
“You need to go a bit easier on her,” I said once we were behind closed doors. “Remember that's Hathaway’s great-niece.”
“I didn’t have anyone to show me the ropes when I started,” he said. “I just want to make sure she knows what to do so things go smoothly for you.”
“I’ll be okay, babe.”
“Fine. I’ll dial it back.”
“So how about a quickie for old time’s sake?” He laughed, but he immediately loosened his tie.
I ended up seated behind my desk with my pants around my ankles. He was completely nude, claiming he didn’t want to chance getting a stain on his clothes. He kneeled in front of me and reached into my desk drawer. He grabbed a tiny bottle of lube. He squirted a moderate amount in his palm before wrapping his hand around my erection. He pumped my dick slowly, covering it with the lube.
I watched him stand with his back to me. I got to my feet, grabbing the bottle of lube from him and covering his hole with some of it, massaging it with my fingers. Being between his fat cheeks was always a pleasure. It was the only fatty part about him, and I loved grabbing his ass roughly in these moments. I bent my knees before angling my dick so there’d be a smooth entry and pushed my penis into him slowly. I leaned my body on top of him, my gut resting on his back as I rocked my hips back and forth. I felt his body relaxing as I found a good rhythm. I continued to thrust my hips and he did his best to stifle his moans.
“I’m your biggest success story,” I said breathily, pushing a bit more forcefully. “I just know your friends are going to be shocked the next time they see me.”
“Uh—” he whimpered, his knees buckling slightly.
“Say it,” I said. “Say that you’re gonna make me bigger.”
“I–I’m gonna make you bigger.” He tugged at his dick desperately. He wasn’t going to last much longer.
“500 isn’t that far off,” I said, not entirely believing it myself. Would he want me to get that big? He did tell me that I was the biggest person he’d ever been with. Could he handle that? Could I?
“Oh fuck!” he panted, doing his best to catch his cum in his hand. I gave a few final pushes before filling him with my cum. I pulled myself from inside of him and we both got cleaned up. He got dressed, looking positively pristine, like nothing lewd had just taken place in my office.
That’s when he turned to me and said, “I hope you’re ready for lunch.”
He had a look in his eye that let me know our sex talk wasn’t just talk. Parker had goals, and I liked a man with motivation.
I sure knew how to hire ‘em.
The End!
Just a Pinch of Magic...
"Tell me you didn't just breath that in" Morgana said, running her hands over her face, "Magnus that's unrefined magic!"
Magnus sneezed so hard it knocked him back on his heel, "I didn't - ACHOO- mean to" he pouted. He submitted sheepishly to Morgana's attentions. She looked him over, top to bottom, front and back looking for changes he couldn't even begin to imagine. After be compelled to undress and redress and spin on the spot three times, finally she appeared satisfied.
He gave her his best approximation of puppy dog eyes, "Now my waistcoat is wrinkled"
She kissed him on the forehead and sighed, "I'm sorry darling. You just never know with experimental magic. Do you feel different? Body, mind, emotions?"
"You're pretty when you're worried about my well-being" he teased.
"You think that's funny but if- when this is finished it's supposed to be of the love potion variety"
"Love potion? What does the king need a love potion for?" Magnus asked, settling himself at the cluttered table. Books, scrolls, and other magical sundry stacked high. Being involved with the court mage could be a messy, even dangerous affair and he wondered to himself how he had made it this long without accidentally ingesting one of her projects. He pulled over the plate she had enchanted for him and mumbled the inscription on the rim until a hearty dinner materialized.
"Not the king, the prince. He scheduled to meet his betrothed and he's terrified he might not be her type"
"Not to salt the wound, but does it matter? It's a very sweet sentiment but I don't believe either of them have much say in the matter. I do hope she likes him a little. It took me ages to find someone suitable in temperament and lineage"
"Shame his father wouldn't let him marry for love"
"I think we've given him as good a chance as any" Magnus said, "Speaking of the prince, that isn't supposed to do permanent physical change is it?"
"Oh, goodness no. 24 hours at most. It's more of a temporary transfiguration. When she sets eyes on him all he has to do is say a few words and he'll be slightly more shaped in the way that she likes if he's not already" she paused, pulling up a chair beside him, "that powder you got a nose full of is the transformative agent. It doesn't seem to have affected you so perhaps I diluted it too much"
Magnus took a moment to, in as gentlemanly a fashion as he could muster, wipe the gravy from his beard before responding. "I didn't say any incantation, it might not be your ingredients. I'm half way there, shall I test subject for you"
"It would be a very unreliable test" Morgana mused. She snapped her fingers and two plates appeared. One with her dinner and another loaded with treats that Magnus delightedly anticipated would soon be following his turkey leg. "The problem is love, I already find you incredibly handsome"
He swallowed a whimper alongside several bites of a strawberry tart. Her hand was warm against his belly even through his clothes, her finger sliding into the gap forming between his buttons. "And growing more handsome by the day. We'll have to have your clothes let out before the wedding or you might just pop in front of everyone"
The devilish grin she was wearing would have been enough to make him blush on it's own, the feeling of her hand sinking into his belly was driving him absolutely mad. He poured himself a glass of wine with shaky hands and drank to steady himself.
"You're a *hic!* vixen" he purred, "Look what you've done to me darling. I *hic* was a squire once I'll have you know"
"And now," She straddled his lap and held a leg of honeyed mutton under his nose, grinning when he obediently set into it as though he hadn't eaten in days, "Now you're my good little piggy. Isn't that right?"
Magnus moaned and ate with more ferocity until there was nothing left on the bone. Morgana gently wiped the grease from his lips before leaning in for a kiss that made his head spin and his hips buck.
*POPPOPPOP*
"Fuck" he gasped, shocked to his senses by the cool air on his lower belly.
"Soon darling" Morgana purred in his ear. Her hands squeezed his muffin top before running her hands over the belly that was fighting her for room on his lap. "So much for needing an incantation" she mused, patting the side of his belly just to watch it jiggle.
Just then they heard the seams of his trousers creak. Magnus panted, "There's easier... ways to... *hiccup* get my... clothes off" he teased.
He might have gone on if she hadn't pressed a slice of cheesecake into his mouth. Magnus groaned and ate with obedient fervor and his belly inched out again, impossibly plump and soft for how heavy his stomach felt.
"More" he begged breathlessly.
She snapped her fingers and a feast appeared on his plate. She rocked her hips, pressing slice after slice of pie into his mouth. His gut welled out further and further proving to be a perfect shelf for his softening chest. Soon his face had grown soft, jiggling with bite. Finally his belt snapped and wave of fat spilled out into the open space with enough force that it almost knocked Morgana off his lap.
She set the plate, still piled high, on top of his heaving tummy. Then in one swift motion she coaxed his trouser down and was kissing up the inside of his thigh.
"Oh... Oh gods.." he moaned.
Morgana lifted Magnus' belly out of the way and kissed the tip of his cock. "Now darling" she grinned, "be a good boy and empty that plate for me"
Dragalia Digest
Well, I come after several months with a story for a game that I’m sure none of y’all play lmao but I am not immune to stoic green dragon man that got me desperately playing Dragalia for a few weeks lol
This was originally meant to be a short story but it just kinda got longer and longer so here’s a 4.8k story about a really, really, really big Midgardsormr. Though the fat content isn’t like the entire story cause I just do that for some damn reason lol
WARNING: This story is a fat kink story. So like, if some rando finds this and you still click on this, that’s on you~
“Uhh, were we expecting any visitors?” Careful to shield his eyes from the blazing gaze of the sun, Ranzal peers up at the sky. Looming over his much thinner and shorter companion, the built mercenary stands besides Luca.
“None whatsoever,” The blue haired bunny archer stares at the small shadowy speck in the distance. His arms remain crossed as his line of vision follows his partner’s. “And it’s just the two of us guarding today,” A grin spawns across the width of his face from his thoughts. He reaches for his quiver and delft slots an arrow into his bow. “So, we’ll shoot now, ask questions later!” His shit eating grin plastered onto his face, his tongue sticks out a fraction of an inch.
“We ain’t doing that,” Ranzal swings his open palm down onto Luca’s head.
Luca’s bow and arrow immediately plop onto the floor as he nurses his aching head. “That hurt!” Gritting his teeth, his eyes return to the ever-encroaching shadow in the sky. He continues to grumble under his breath about his pain all the while he watches.
Ranzal ignores all of Luca’s comments, his mind more concerned with the vaguely familiar approaching figure. The encroaching figure’s speed far faster than either could ever hope to achieve running, it only takes a mere extra few seconds for Ranzal’s brain to process the figure. “You almost shot at one of the Greatwyrms, you idiot!” The crisis averted regardless, Ranzal still picks a fight with Luca for his recklessness.
“You’re the idiot who doesn’t know his own strength! It would’ve all worked out regardless!” The two facing each other, Luca on his tip toes in a poor attempt of sizing himself up to somewhat compare to Ranzal, a feat that Luca has no hopes in achieving, they completely fail to ignore the complete disappearance of the day’s calm weather. Light breezes of winds pick up, the blades of grass and other fauna swaying in the sun’s light. Their shouting match more important, their focus only returns to their original issue upon the two almost losing their footing from a particularly strong torrent of wind.
Their eyes widen as the wind Greatwyrm Midgardsormr flies above them by only a few feet; their eyes only widen further as a figure jumps off said Greatwyrm.
“Looks like I finally reached my favorite descendant’s humble abode,” Alberius outstretches his arms with a cheery grin. His eyes roam across the expansive open field only to find nothing but interspaced buildings.
“Euden ain’t here right now,” Ranzal decides to clear up Alberius apparent confusion.
“They all left for some training along with all the dragons, so it’s just good ol’ Ranzal and me here guarding the place,” Luca’s chest puffs out in pride.
“A fine duo for guards indeed. Then I will gladly help defend the castle grounds. It is the least I can do during such an impromptu visit,” The sun seemingly shines directly behind Alberius, his entire radiant figure gleaming in the light as his hair flutters in the wind behind him. However, he suddenly clears his throat. “Though my partner here is in need of-” The ground trembles upon Midgardsormr’s descent. Though a crash landing is more apt, a sizable indent in the ground where he let himself fall. “Mids just needs some rest, so a room would be much appreciated,” His voice picks up in speed and pitch. Midgardsormr glares at Alberius for using his nickname.
“The place where dragons usually hang out is all empty so I can show Mids over there while Ranzal shows you to a room in the castle,” Midgardsormr’s glare towards Alberius intensifies.
“No need,” Alberius raises an open palm in the air. A small chuckle escapes him with a small grin. “If I wish to foster better relationships between dragons and humans, then what better way to show those ideals than cohabitation? I shall rest and watch over Mids,”
“If you could point us to a building that would be much appreciated,” A light strain mars Midgardsormr’s voice yet he keeps a straight face throughout his fatigue.
“It’s that group of buildings over there,” Ranzal points behind himself, large similar looking buildings not too far off in the distance.
“Thanks,” With a quick wave of goodbye, Alberius takes a quick pace ahead of the trotting Midgardsormr, the Greatwyrm keeping a speedy pace as well.
“They sure are in a hurry,” Luca huffs to himself. His brows furrow.
“They’re probably just tired from all the flying, that’s all,” Ranzal smacks Luca in the lower back. “Now, back to patrolling,”
Luca dutifully marches beside Ranzal. The duo once again all alone with their unexpected visitors resting, the two joke back and forth amongst each other, Luca regaling about possible new tricks to use on their teammates upon their return. Their patrolling turns out to be more formality than anything. Soon, the sun begins its slow descent and the two call it quits. Upon their return to their rooms, the two pause in their tracks as a quick clang rings out.
"Questions first, shooting later," Ranzal stresses with a whisper, his eyes staring daggers at Luca. Luca simply sticks his tongue out. The svelte archer nimbly makes his way towards where the noise came from as Ranzal follows behind him.
Luca immediately stops upon turning another corner. He makes no noise when Ranzal bumps into him from behind from the unexpected stop. Listening in on their intruder, Luca's ears twitch. A clear lack of concern from their intruder is evident from the turned-on lights and humming, Luca remains still. The sound of rolling wheels adding to the noise, the intruder finally steps out.
Alberius pushes out a cart chock-full of varying plates of food. With a quick flick, he turns off the lights before bustling on down the hall with a pep in his step.
"Must have company over or something," Ranzal scratches the side of his head.
"Regardless, we're following him," Luca announces, his shoulders tense.
"Luca," Ranzal outstretches his hand, the limb hanging in the air above Luca's shoulder, Ranzal not used to hearing the archer sound so serious.
"I was saving that carrot cake for a rainy day," Luca cries out, wrapping his arms around Ranzal's waist as he buries his head in Ranzal's chest. "It's not fair,"
"Dumbass," Luca clinging to him for his dear life, Ranzal simply carries Luca by his ass. Following Alberius from a distance, he follows him all the way back to the buildings the dragons sometimes reside in.
Alberius none the wiser, he even leaves the door open.
"Quit your moping. It's not that serious," Ranzal pries Luca off of him and puts him back on the ground. "They were tired when they got here, so they were probably also low on supplies,"
"But so much food? Including my carrot cake," Luca dejectedly stares at the floor.
"Well, Midgardsormr is a dragon so he probably needs to eat a lot. I'll go and buy you a carrot cake at the market another day, my treat,"
"Deal!" Luca immediately cheered up figure perks up. "I've never seen a dragon eat before, so I'm not passing up this chance," Luca drags a willing Ranzal behind him. Though the two immediately stop at the scene that awaits them.
Midgardormr’s true form no longer in sight, he currently takes advantage of his human form. The change between forms is of no shock to Ranzal or Luca, Midgardsormr having elected to use his human appearance often, his new figure is the kicker.
Dwarfing even the size of his towering, built draconic form, Midgardsormr’s human form is, for a lack of better words, fat. The rooms constructed with dragons’ large frames in mind, Midgardsormr’s lard happily occupies every available inch. So many engorged, heavy rolls make up the entirety of his bloated body. A decent sense of proportions is somehow maintained despite Midgardsormr’s elephantine figure. His stomach large enough to smother a trio of beds pushed together, the pale oceanic blubber oozes on down onto the floor. An overwhelmingly large amount of fat swaddling his body, the lower roll making up a portion of his stomach is smothered by the upper tube of fat right above it and even smothers and obscures his navel. The middle roll of fat is wider to the point that one would find it easier to grab someone by the waist than to grab its love handle. The roll of fat right above it not as massively wide, it instead rests comfortably atop the roll below it. Still rather wide as well, the extreme width of said roll’s love handle is comparable to that of Ranzal’s bicep. His chest impacted from his new size just like his crushing gut, two bulbous sagging mounds of fat reside where a chest once was. Each breast alone is larger than a person’s head. Each one larger than even Midgardsormr’s bloated face. Both tits splay out to the side, the uppermost roll of his stomach making a fine bed for his pillowy breasts as they noticeably sink into his billowing fat. Connected to his great doughy chest is his numerous amounts of neck folds and extra chins, each smooshed up against one another and the lowest one even spilling onto the upper crests of his breasts. Connected to that is his face, most of the space taken up by his blubbery over bloated cheeks sagging with fat. His face hard to make out in the vastness of his corpulence, the main indicator of his face lies with his vibrant long mop of rich green hair that cascades down in between the crevices and folds of fat lining his back. His hair flowing onto his tail, his tail is completely invisible from the front with so much fat blocking the view. Two horns stick out on top of his head, though those are no longer as prominent as they once were with fat pooling around it in all directions. Midgardsormr’s arms bulge out on both sides of his face, the two pillar-like appendages forced at an angle from the bunched-up fat from the sides of his stomach. His arms are completely useless with both being unable to budge a fraction of an inch. The upper portions of his arms surpass the width of a tire. His elbow basically absorbed in his own arm fat, his forearm is far less as wide as his arm yet is still equally swaddled in so much fat so as to be incapable of movement. His wrist follows suit, the doughy circular mass of fat affixed to his forearm while also nearly swallowing his fingers. So bloated, the sausagey fingers are basically the only portion of his body that Midgardsormr can move, albeit for short periods of time. The entirety of his arms billowing in lard, his shoulders are practically nonexistent from being buried under so much flab. His back is covered in a litany of rolls just like the rest of his body; the flabby landscape is akin to a rolling field with the numerous mountains and valleys for folds of fat. Each fold cascading and jutting out alike, none of them compare to his couch sized ass cheeks. The shapeless lard stuffed ass pools out onto the floor behind him. His tail runs down the middle of his ass, the once large tail absurdly small in comparison to the extreme width of his ass. It rises into the air like the rest of his figure, so much bad placed on top of more fat to give the appearance of rising dough. His ass jutting behind him, his immovable elephantine legs jut out on both sides of his body. His great stomach takes up as much space as needed, his legs splaying out at somewhat of an angle as a result. Bits of what could be described as his inner thighs seep underneath his stomach however, most of his legs press against the doughy sides of his gut, rolls on his thighs and rolls on his stomach intersecting to create new folds of fat that seemingly mesh together. The entire length of his barrel shaped legs presses against his stomach with his fat having nowhere else to go. His thighs caked in vast amounts of fat, the width of one thigh alone surpasses that of even the largest of doorways. His shins sink into the mass of fat that is his thighs. His feet are in the same predicament, most of them swallowed by the quicksand of fat. Every single inch of Midgardsormr packed with copious, overly exaggerated piles of fat, Midgardsormr’s mammontine body is a caricature of a caricature.
“I brought you some food Mids,” Alberius is ignorant of his two guests. Unable to wheel an entire cart up the rolling hills of fat comprising Midgardsormr’s body, he instead carries the serving platters in his hands. He carefully navigates the oceanic pile of blubber that is Midgardsormr’s body, obviously used to doing so numerous times. Trekking upwards, he perches himself atop Midgardsormr’s breast, nestling his back directly in between the folds of fat where his arm and necks and cheek meet. Alberius rests the extra serving platter on Midgardsormr’s free breast. “This’ll help you get back your energy,” Alberius pats his round chipmunk cheeks with a smile. Alberius pauses as he notices his silence and the bright red blush adorning his face. “What’s wrong? You’re usually begging for-”
“We-” Midgardsormr wheezes out in response. “have guests, “He averts his gaze away from the dumbstruck Luca and Ranzal.
Alberius whips his head around. His eyes go wide. “I’ll be right back,” Patting Midgardsormr’s arm, he climbs down. Luca and Ranzal still outside, Alberius first closes the door as he steps outside. Or at least tries to, Midgardormr’s blubbery stomach wedged in the middle of the doorway. “Hello,” Alberius starts off rather meekly, the smile on his face only half formed. “I’m sure this isn’t something you expected to see,” He gives a weak chuckle before letting out a sigh. “Look, please keep this to yourselves. Mids is rather embarrassed about the whole thing,”
“How soft is he?” Piping up, Luca completely ignores Alberius as he stares behind him.
“Huh? Well, he’s pretty soft, I guess?” Alberius fumbles his words.
“I doubt he’s more than just ‘pretty soft’,” Luca walks past Alberius, his eyes purely focused on the soft, fleshy pile of lard in front of him. His grubby little hands press down into Midgardsormr’s stomach, his entire wrist and more sinking into it. “This is way better than soft! Hey Ranzal, you gotta try this!”
“What do you think you’re doing!” Voice rising in intensity, Midgardsormr panics as Luca lets himself fall into his stomach. “Stop your ridiculousness,” Midgardsormr attempts to squirm, however he only succeeds in wobbling the entirety of his fat around, rolls of lard sloshing into one another.
“He’s even got a vibrate function,” Luca teases with a content sigh.
Ranzal still with Alberius, he merely sighs. “So, curse got him or something?” He gestures towards Midgardsormr.
“Not exactly,” Alberius hesitates, focusing on using all his brainpower for what to respond with. “He, just kinda really enjoys human food,” Alberius shrugs, awkwardly laughing.
“Oh,” Ranzal stares at Midgardsormr who is struggling against an eager Luca.
“Yeahhhhh,”
“So, you’ve been feeding him so much he got this big?” Ranzal raises a brow.
“W-well we both enjoyed it so it just kinda happened! Only his human form is affected from all his eating so we kinda reasoned it’d be fine, and it is. He looks rather dashing like this if I do say so myself,” Beginning to regain his gushing nature over Midgardsormr, Alberius gives a confident grin. His teeth gleaming, his eyes are closed as he speaks next. “So, I’d be grateful if you don’t say a word to anyone about this,” A response not given, Alberius opens his eyes. The spot in front of him devoid of another person, Alberius turns around.
“You sure do like to eat huh? Well, lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of recommendations for good stuff,” Ranzal in front of Midgardsormr’s oozing stomach, he grabs a serving platter full of meat. “Looks like you probably know way more about food than me at this point,”
“Great idea, Ranzal!” Carefully navigating himself off Midgardsormr’s overly plush and soft, cushiony stomach, Luca joins Ranzal in fetching him food. He focuses more on grabbing sweets and treats rather than the hearty filling of meat like Ranzal.
Alberius stands with his mouth slightly agape. Not expecting such a rather positive reaction from the two, his confused eyes gaze up towards Midgardsormr. His eyes gaze back down at Alberius and instead of confusion plastered all over his face, embarrassment mars the wide, doughy landscape of his cheeks.
“What do you two think you’re doing?” A bit of panic seeps into his voice as he stares wide eyed at the two overeager men. Encumbered by the mountainous pile of flab making up his body, his only hope for assistance is Alberius, the man too surprised to help him out.
“Giving you a helping hand,” Ranzal plops himself down where Alberius once was. Holding his tray with a shocking amount of delicacy, the overflowing tray manages to avoid a single spill as its holder makes itself comfortable in between the crevice of where Midgardsormr’s chins, arms and chest meet.
“Yeah! Hafta make sure you’re nice and full; you’re our guest afterall,” With an abundance of cheer and pep in his voice, Luca gladly takes a seat on the other side of Midgardsormr akin to Ranzal’s position. “Your partner sure brought you a ton of food. It must take him forever to feed it all to you. We're just speeding up the process,”
“I do not mind the time it takes for Mids’ appetite to be sated. His stomach rivals the depths of the hungry sea and I have placed it upon myself to aid him,” Alberius gloats to himself, proud of his nonsensical statement. “Though on the other hand...” Alberius turns his attention even further away from Midgardsormr’s predicament as he finds himself increasingly lost in his own thoughts.
“Alberius!” Midgardsormr shouts, a slight huff to his voice from the mere effort. “Do so-” The rest of his sentence becomes muffled nonsense as Luca shoves a forkful of his carrot cake into his mouth.
“See, he’s fine with it. Just relax already, big guy,” The serving tray resting on his lap, uca pats Midgardsormr’s tube of fat for an arm.
A generous portion of cake placed into his mouth, zero words are needed to coax the embarrassed, reluctant dragon. His hunger always creeping up on the back of his mind, he obediently chews on the mildly sweet and moist dessert. Despite the heaping helping of cake, it only takes him a few moments for it to all go down his greedy gullet. A slight chill escapes his voice as he speaks next, a clear, obvious contentment to his bashful face. “I am not-” His sentence once again ends up rendered pointless with another serving of food offered right to his mouth, this time by Ranzal.
“If ya got time to complain, then ya got time to eat,” Ranzal grins and watches Midgardsormr chew through the half portion of steak, his bulbous cheeks wobbling to and fro from the simple act of eating. Ranzal leans back into the comfort of Midgardsormr’s arms and cheeks, his bulk sinking into a fair amount of his plush body.
“I,,,,” Quickly finishing the second offering, Midgardsormr struggles to get a coherent thought out, his stomach doing most of the thinking for him. His half-lidded eyes switch between Ranzal and Luca. Even that movement is groggy and sluggish, as if any sort of movement is foreign to him. “I’m hungry,” Huffing out the words, the last portions of his embarrassment scream at him, yet his stomach thanks him as more food finds its way into his cavernous mouth.
“Happy to help, big guy,”
“All you had to do was say something,”
Midgardsormr finds himself unable to even come up with a retort to either of them, his mind simply focusing on the delectable dishes offered to him as he gobbles them all down. A generous portion of food enters his mouth only for another to be promptly stuffed inside the instant he finishes the former. Ranzal and Luca offering the barest of times in between each offering, Midgardsormr finds zero complaint in such a speedy stuffing. His oceanic gut churns as it craves more and more food, the numerous servings of food already stuffed inside him merely a start meant to whet his appetite. Human food having such an effect on him since his very first taste of the cuisine, he simply found himself unable to get enough of the food. Alberius far too eager to feed him, Midgardsormr’s appetite directly grew alongside his waistline. With two people eager to stuff him full of such delicious food, his stomach yearns for more. As when Luca finds his tray devoid of any food, Midgardsormr mentally whines at the minimal break in pace, Ranzal’s speedy stuffing still not enough. Or when Ranzal goes to fetch him more food as well upon Luca’s return, the two planning their switches to keep a steady pace of food going into his mouth at all times. And he eats it all willingly. Far too willingly, his body basically begging for every morsel they toss his way. Until the food ends up all gone, an entire cart’s worth of food able to serve as a veritable feast stuffed inside the expanse of his stomach. A bit of a huff escapes past his lips, his flushed rounded cheeks huffing and puffing for air.
Alberius remains completely ignorant to the current ongoing events. The rather loud huffs coming from Mids and the increasingly loud churning in his stomach falls on deaf ears. He merely paces around a bit as he continues to mutter to himself. “It does take me a rather long time to feed him,” He paces around a bit. “And that’s just for one feeding,” Alberius’ concentration only breaks upon hearing Midgardsormr’s needy voice.
“Alberius,” Mids whines. He breathes heavily, the entire mass of food sitting comfortably in his stomach. A tiny spackle of food smears his lips and cheeks.
“Yes,,,” Alberius stares wide eyed at Mids. He instinctively steps forward a few paces before he ends up right in front of Mids’ stomach and places a gentle hand on the upper lip of one of his many rolls.
“I’m hungry,” The statement leaves his lips as plainly as he thought of it, his aching stomach craving and wanting for me.
“No problem! I’ll serve you,,,,” Turning to the cart, he freezes mid step. His mind races as he comprehends that the entirety of the cart has been devoured.
“Don’t tell me you thought that was enough to fill him up,” Luca chides as he cheerfully lies on top of Midgardsormr.
“He’s been practically begging all this time. Seems like he’s been holding back quite some time,”
Hearing the implication, Midgardsormr goes to speak only for him to find no words, his face flushing a bright vibrant red.
“Mids,,,” Alberius elects to speak instead. His own face matches the intensity of Mids’ blush. “I’ll bring you all the food I can!” Storming off in a rush, a fervent intensity in his step.
The overall rather silent atmosphere of the night ends up disturbed a few minutes later as Alberius’ soft grunts sound out. His figure approaching, he comes with two carts this time alongside a bundle full of an assortment of bread. “This was,” Alberius takes a pause to catch his breath, his chest heaving as he takes in several gulps of air. “This was everything I could find,” A radiant smile illuminates his face before he goes to place as much food as he can on a serving tray. Upon grabbing as much as possible, he climbs up the roll ridden hill that is Midgardsormr’s body. He gently moves aside Midgardsormr’s mane of green hair before sitting on the plush rolls of back fat. Able to get a better view of Mids’ face, he peers down at him with a gentle smile. He brings a bread roll to his mouth, Mids’ devouring it whole. “You should’ve told me you haven’t been feeling full as of late. You always brushed me off when I asked about you being so tired often,”
“I’ve been eating way too much lately,” Mids takes another bread roll. “You’ve been spending so much on food just for me,”
“That’s it?” A small snicker escapes past Alberius. “Seriously?” His snickering erupts into laughter. “Mids, it’s more likely that you’ll eat everything before I run out of money,”
“You don’t have to be so blunt,” Mids murmurs.
“I’m sorry but it’s true. And if you’re worried about me spending too much, just know that your happiness is worth more than anything else,” Bubbling laughter still escaping him, Alberius reaches for more food with a renewed vigor. “Now, to make sure you actually end up full tonight,”
His fear turning out to be completely mundane, Mids holds back his remark at Alberius’ placating yet loving remarks. Both from embarrassment and from having his mouth being stuffed with food. The two’s conversation over, Ranzal and Luca get off Midgardsormr to grab some more food as well. Not having been used to two people feeding him yet adjusting to that quite well, he finds no issue in adjusting to three people impatient to stuff him. His cheeks caked in fat, the jutting mounds of flab hide the ridiculous amounts of food stuffed inside his hungry maw at all times. Barely able to keep up with the supply of food, his mouth sluggishly gives each dish a few chews before swallowing it to make room for the next batch of food coming his way. So much food packed inside, the individual flavors and textures jumble together. Yet his addiction to human food is all the same, Midgardsormr greedily devouring it all while still wanting for more. His stomach is so vastly bloated that even as he slowly begins to feel his aching hunger subside, the hill of fat appears no different than before, zero tautness in the blubbery expanse of his gut. However, before he can fully claim himself as full, Alberius’ loving face peers down at his.
“Sorry to say, but we’re fully out of food,” Both hands gripping the tip of Mids’ horns, Alberius leans down for a quick peck, his face neatly slotting itself between all of Mids’ fat. “Did you end up full at least?” Both Ranzal and Luca gone, the two having left after confirming there was no more food in the entire castle, Alberius goes to make himself comfortable. He lies down in between the jutting crevice of Mids’ chest where each moob juts out to the side. He rests his head right on Mids’ multiple folds where his chins and necks mold together.
“Almost,” Mids admits, a slight bit of sadness sounding in his voice.
“Wait, seriously!?” Alberius’ face turns a violent tinge of red. “That’s kinda hot,” He admits as his hands rub at as much of Mids’ expanse as they can reach. “Then next time I’ll make sure to get you enough food to where you’re begging me to stop feeding you,” A small yawn makes it past Alberius’ lips. The infectious yawn worms its way into Mids’ mouth before he lets one out too; the entire expanse of his body jostles and jiggles from the action, Alberius taken along for the ride as the human bed shakes beneath him.
“You better,” Mids merely replies, the overtaxing churning of his gut making him rather drowsy.
“Once we make it to Hinomoto I will,” Alberius lazily pats whatever fold of fat his hand rests on. “If we leave first thing in the morning, we should make it in a few days,”
“Deal,” Letting out one final prolonged yawn, Mids begins to snooze off, his entire body rising and falling with each breath he takes.
Come morning, the two guards find zero trace of their visitors besides a completely barren kitchen and a hefty bag of gold.
“So, what’re we gonna say happened?” Luca scratches the side of his head as he stares at the vacant room where Alberius and Midgardsormr once were.
“We go out for drinks, then we replenish the pantry,” Ranzal happily holds up the bag of gold in his hand. “Then we split the rest that’s left,”
“Deal!” The two head off on their merry way to enjoy their day, yesterday knight a pleasant experience decided to be kept as their little secret.
The Star Player: Chapter 3
Thursday morning, I decided to weigh myself at the gym. I hadn't checked in a while, and with all the strength gains I'd been making, I was curious to see the numbers.
I stepped on the scale and watched the digital display flicker before settling on a number: 201 pounds.
Two hundred and one fucking pounds.
I've put on eight pounds since the start of the season. Eight pounds of solid muscle. I stared at myself in the mirror next to the scale, turning to the side, flexing my arms. My biceps are bigger, no question. My shoulders looks broader. My chest is huge.
This is insane. I am getting more muscular without even trying that hard. Phil's shakes are like magic—pure gains in a bottle.
I flexed again, admiring the way my shirt stretched across my chest and arms. Fuck, I look good. If I keep this up, I'll have to buy new clothes just to fit these huge arms and muscular thighs. Maybe I should slow down a bit, or I'll end up looking like one of those bodybuilders who couldn't fit through doorways.
But damn, it feels good to be this big. This powerful.
The recruiters are going to lose their minds.
Later that afternoon, Coach called me into his office. I figured it was about game strategy or maybe some praise for my recent performance, but when I sat down, his expression was serious.
"Listen," Coach said, leaning back in his chair. "I've been noticing some changes in you lately."
"Changes?" I said, confused. "Like what?"
"You've been bulking," he said bluntly. "And I get it—strength training, building muscle, all that. But you need to be careful not to overdo it. You've got to stay in prime shape, not just big. Agility, speed, endurance—that's what makes you a star."
I almost laughed. Was he serious?
"Coach, I'm in the best shape of my life," I said. "I've been lifting heavier, running faster—"
"I'm not saying you're not working hard," Coach interrupted. "I'm just saying, don't let yourself get out of shape. You've got recruiters coming to watch you play. You need to be at your absolute best."
Out of shape? Was he fucking kidding me? I had an eight-pack—well, a six-pack, but it was solid as hell. I was stronger than I'd ever been. This was ridiculous.
"Coach, I'm not letting myself get out of shape," I said firmly. "I know what I'm doing."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Just keep an eye on it. I want you at your best for that game."
"I will be," I said, standing up. "Don't worry."
As I left his office, I shook my head. Coach was such a nut sometimes. As if I'd let myself get out of shape. I was a fucking machine.
The next morning, Phil showed up at my dorm with two protein shakes.
"What's this?" I asked, taking them from him.
"One for now, one for practice later," Phil said. "Figured you could use the extra fuel in the mornings too."
I stared at the shakes, then at Phil. "Dude, why do you want me so muscular? You trying to turn me into the Hulk or something?"
Phil just smiled and reached out, patting my stomach. His hand lingered there for a second, and I felt the firmness of my abs under his palm—or at least, I thought I did. It felt... softer than I expected.
"I'm just being a friend," Phil said. "You've got a big game coming up. I want you to be at your best."
There was something weird about the way he said it, but I shrugged it off. Phil was always a little odd. Maybe he just needed to get laid and focus on his own play instead of obsessing over mine.
"Alright, man," I said. "Thanks, I guess."
I drank the first shake right there, and it was just as thick and delicious as always. Phil watched me the whole time, that same unreadable expression on his face.
"See you at practice," he said, and left.
I finished the shake and wiped my mouth, feeling the familiar heaviness settle in my stomach. Whatever. Phil was weird, but the shakes were working. I was getting bigger and stronger, and that's all that mattered.
By the end of the week, I started noticing something annoying: my pants were getting hard to button.
I stood in front of my mirror, trying to fasten my jeans, and the waistband dug into my stomach. I had to suck in a little to get the button through, and even then, it felt tight.
What the fuck?
I looked at myself in the mirror, turning to the side. My thighs looked thicker, pressing against the denim. My ass filled out the seat of my jeans more than it used to. Even my shirts felt tighter across my chest and shoulders.
But that made sense, right? I was as muscular as a Greek god now. Of course my clothes were getting tight—I was packing on serious size. My arms were huge, my chest was broader, my legs were more powerful. This was just what happened when you got this jacked.
I'd have to go shopping soon, get some bigger clothes to fit this new body. It was a good problem to have, honestly. Most guys would kill to have my physique.
I flexed in the mirror one more time, admiring the way my shirt stretched across my pecs. Yeah, I looked fucking incredible.
Saturday afternoon, I had another project meeting with Ed. I was dreading it as usual, but at least he was doing most of the work. All I had to do was show up and pretend to care.
When I got to the library, Ed was already there with his laptop open. And, of course, he'd brought food. A ridiculous amount of food.
He brought donuts. Not just a box—a massive, family-size box from the fancy bakery downtown. There had to be at least two dozen donuts in there, all different flavors: glazed, chocolate, jelly-filled, cream-filled, sprinkles, the works.
"Jesus Christ, Ed," I said, sitting down. "You planning to feed an army?"
"I just thought we might get hungry," Ed said quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I rolled my eyes and opened my laptop. "Let's just get this over with."
Ed started typing away, working on the presentation while I sat back and watched. I wasn't planning to eat any of the donuts—I had discipline, after all—but the smell was incredible. Sweet, sugary, fresh-baked. My stomach growled.
I'd skipped lunch to hit the gym, and now I was starving.
"You mind if I have one?" I asked, reaching for a glazed donut before Ed could even answer.
"Go ahead," Ed said.
I took a bite, and fuck, it was good. Soft, sweet, melting in my mouth. I finished it in three bites and reached for another one. Then another. Before I knew it, I'd eaten five or six donuts. I wasn't even keeping track.
Ed didn't say anything, just kept typing while I ate. I told myself I was just hungry, that I'd burn it off at practice on Monday. It wasn't a big deal.
By the time we finished the meeting, the donut box was half-empty, and my stomach felt heavy and full. I stood up, feeling the waistband of my jeans dig into my stomach.
"Same time next week?" Ed asked.
"Yeah, sure," I said, already thinking about how I'd need to hit the gym extra hard to work off all those calories.
The following week, I started feeling off. Not sick, exactly, but just... sluggish. Less energetic. During practice, I felt like I was dragging, like my body wasn't responding the way it used to.
"You alright?" one of my teammates asked after I fumbled a pass.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I snapped. "Just caught something, I think."
But it wasn't just one practice. It was every practice that week. I felt slower, heavier, like I was running through mud. My lungs burned faster, my legs felt weaker. I couldn't run circles around the other guys like I usually did.
Coach noticed too. "You feeling okay?" he asked during a water break.
"I'm fine," I said, breathing hard. "Just a little under the weather."
"Well, get some rest," Coach said. "I need you at your best for the big game."
I nodded, but inside, I was frustrated. What the hell was wrong with me? I was eating right (well almost), drinking Phil's shakes, lifting heavier than ever. I should be in peak condition, not feeling like this.
Maybe I just needed to push through it. Get my act together. The recruiters were coming, and I couldn't afford to look weak.
Wednesday afternoon, I stopped by a cafe near campus to grab a quick coffee and sandwich before my next class. I walked in, barely paying attention, and froze when I saw who was behind the counter.
Alex.
The fat guy from Grindr. The guy I'd told to get his shit together.
And he looked even worse than his photos.
His barista uniform was stretched tight across his body, the shirt barely containing his gut. His belly hung over the waistband of his pants, soft and round, jiggling slightly as he moved. I could see the fat of his love handles bulging out on the sides of his apron, spilling over like dough.
What the fuck.
"Hey there," Alex said, smiling at me like we were old friends. "What can I get you?"
I wanted to turn around and leave, but I needed caffeine, and I wasn't about to let some fat loser ruin my day.
"Black coffee and a turkey sandwich," I said curtly.
"Coming right up, big man," Alex said, and his hand reached out to touch my arm. His fingers lingered there for a second, and I jerked away.
"Don't touch me," I said.
Alex just smiled, that same knowing smile, and turned to make my order.
When he handed me the cup and bag, I didn't check it. I just wanted to get out of there. But when I sat down at a table and took a sip of my coffee, I realized it wasn't black. It was sweet and creamy, loaded with sugar and milk.
"What the fuck?" I muttered, opening the bag. Inside, there was my sandwich, but also two extra muffins—huge, chocolate chip muffins that I definitely hadn't ordered.
I should have gone back and told him he messed up my order. But I was hungry, and the muffins smelled amazing, and honestly, I didn't want to deal with Alex again.
So I ate them. Both of them. And the sandwich. And I drank the sweet coffee, even though it wasn't what I wanted.
By the time I finished, I felt bloated, and a little sick. But whatever. It was just one meal. I'd work it off later.
At practice that afternoon, I was still feeling sluggish, but I pushed through. Phil showed up with my shake, and I drank it gratefully, hoping it would give me some energy.
As I was bending over to tie my cleats, Phil walked past and said, "Your ass looks nice and round today."
I straightened up, staring at him. "What the fuck, dude?"
Phil just grinned. "What? I'm just saying. You're looking good."
"You need to get laid, man," I said. "Seriously. You're acting weird."
"I'm just being honest," Phil said, shrugging.
I shook my head and turned away, but his words stuck with me. My ass looked nice and round? What the hell did that mean?
I glanced down at myself, noticing the way my football leggings clung to my body. They did feel tighter than usual, especially around my thighs and ass. The fabric stretched across my glutes, hugging them in a way that felt... different.
But Phil's ass was twice the size of mine, so he could talk.
Still, as I jogged onto the field, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. My clothes were tighter, my body felt heavier, and people kept making weird comments.
But I was just getting more muscular, right? That's what this was. Just gains.
I had to stay focused. The big game was coming, and I needed to be at my best.
Nothing was going to stop me from impressing those recruiters.
Nothing.
Mason's Gain
Mason Megalos had been my best friend for over a decade when everything fell apart. I still hadn’t gotten over how suddenly we went our separate ways. Like many sexually confused adolescents, I had fallen in love with my best friend. We were both boys, and I had come to realize my love for him was one of the worst things that could have ever happened. I heard how other guys talked. I knew that liking Mason wasn’t something I could act on.
We’d been about a month into our freshman year when I felt him slipping away from me. He had joined the football team and started hanging out with a bunch of his misogynistic, homophobic, and slightly racist teammates. Most people would say these guys were harmless, but I knew that the longer Mason hung around them, the more influence they’d have over his ideologies. He was being brainwashed! I had to win him back over from the dark side.
Mason wasn’t a hateful person, and I was determined to come out to him before it was too late. I trusted him more than anybody in the whole world; I genuinely believed with every fiber of my being that we’d be able to work through my teeny-tiny crush on him (okay, so maybe it wasn’t the teeniest or the tiniest, and I was a hundred percent head-over-heels in love with him, but I digress). I figured he’d reject me amiably and we could continue our friendship, but unforeseen circumstances had prohibited my confession indefinitely.
We’d been at my house. I had been avoiding coming out to him, as there was always something stopping me. The reasons were always stupid, like the fact there was an X-Men movie marathon coming on TV and we just had to watch it together. Like many high school aged boys, Mason sometimes referred to stuff as gay, in reference to things he considered stupid or slightly feminine. It had gotten way worse since he’d been hanging around his new friends. At one point he said it about some commercial on the TV. I felt that anxious feeling I often got, but this time I didn’t let it stop me.
“Mason, I’m gay,” I’d told him. I blurted it out, really. It wasn’t my finest moment; it wasn’t what I’d practiced a million times in the bathroom mirror.
He looked at me for a while, assessing me, and then he got up and left. With no words of encouragement or disapproval.
October 11, 2008 would forever be ingrained in my mind as the day Mason walked out of my life and never looked back. I’d really thought he was different. I’d really thought that I could tell him about my authentic self. I had never even got to mention the fact that I had a crush on him, which was probably for the best.
He hadn’t been the person I thought he was.
If losing Mason as a friend wasn’t bad enough, I was now still dealing with the repercussions of coming out. It had been three years since then.
Yes, three years of Mason’s new friend group taking every possible opportunity to terrorize me for being gay. They’d beat me up from time to time, throw slurs at me, or make homophobic jokes knowing there was nothing I could do or say to stop them. I didn’t want to make excuses for Mason, because the fact he had been such a terrible friend was inexcusable, but he never directly harassed me like his underlings; he just sort of had dominion over them, which was slightly less awful. Seriously, I think it was worth something that he never beat me up or said anything mean to me (at least not to my face). It was easier to handle his passive attitude in regard to my situation.
Those dumb jocks and future gas station attendants all looked to Mason for approval. He’d become their God—the coolest, the most handsome, the almighty. I bet if he stood up for me at least once, my days at school would go a lot smoother. I hated myself for it, but I just couldn’t let go of my idealized version of him. I told myself he didn’t mean what he did or said. I told myself that there was still good in him. Even though it killed me to hear him laugh when his friends called me a fag or a homo, I believed Mason didn’t really think I was disgusting.
I still thought he was attractive. It wasn’t like I was blind. We might not have been best friends anymore, but I lusted after him just the same as I had before. Mason had an olive complexion and it always seemed like he was glowing, like he was an angel or something. Mason’s parents were Greek, having moved to America before he was born. He had this curly brown hair that he took excellent care of now that he was older (when we were younger it was always messy). His eyes were green. His lips were full. He had the most beautiful smile. It was almost the most attractive thing about him.
The most attractive thing about Mason was his butt. He had the best ass I’d ever seen. It’s what I always looked at when I could take a clandestine glance. I had looked at his butt so frequently, I could probably pick it out of a police lineup.
“Yes Officer,” I’d say. “Butt number three is Mason’s. The sheer size of the cheeks makes it obvious, and the dimples on his lower back are also a dead giveaway.”
He was taller than me, and he definitely had to be over six feet by now. I was 5’9” and weighed only about 160 pounds. Mason on the other hand had really buffed up in our years distanced from one another; I would have to guess he was around 200 pounds. He’d been a pudgy kid, but when he joined the football team freshman year, they worked all of his extra weight into muscle. Seeing him change so much really stung, not having gotten the chance to change along with him.
I had to continuously remind myself that none of these things mattered anymore. He could be extraordinarily hot with the best ass in the entire country, but that didn’t change the fact that he hated me for something I couldn’t control. He abandoned a valuable friendship and allowed others to belittle me. My mom had told me growing up, in a somewhat blunt way I’d grown used to, “Not everybody is your friend. Sometimes people can surprise you in the worst ways possible.” I never, and I mean never, thought my mother’s pessimistic wisdom would apply to my relationship with Mason.
We were about two months into senior year, and today in English IV, the last class of the day, I noticed Mason talking to a troll named Bret Phelps. This guy was possibly the worst of the group. The others just called me names, having grown tired of wasting energy beating me up, but he felt compelled to hunt me down and physically assault me every other day. I made my way to my locker as quickly as I could and made a mad dash for my bike.
Today I was going to make it.
I was trying to be positive, which wasn’t always easy. It was a quality I admired in others, so I tried my best to emulate that positivity. I was determined to hold my head up high and to be optimistic. I knew things would one day get better, even if I had to put up with Mason’s posse until graduation.
Today I wasn’t going to get punched anywhere on my body.
I approached the bike rack quickly, wanting to make it off campus unscathed. The closer I got to where the bikes were housed, the more noticeable was the form of a guy leaning casually on an adjoining pillar.
It was Bret. Damn.
He had to have forgone stopping at his locker. He’d come directly here after the bell rang to wait for me. He must have really been in a sour mood if he wanted to catch me so badly.
I had to be strong. Even if I wanted to whine and cry and beg for him to leave me alone, I couldn’t. I refused to give him or any of his asshole friends the satisfaction of breaking me down. I was immune to this. I just had to accept my beating and he’d move on. At first, I fought hard every single time, but he’d still pummel me. That was when I came to realize that if I didn’t show emotion, he’d give me a swift punch in the gut and go about his day. I wasn’t going to give the sadist the pleasure he oh so desired. It wasn’t fun fighting someone who didn’t react.
“Hello Oliver,” he said, smiling. His front tooth was slightly chipped, and I hoped it was from someone punching him in the mouth. “You were like the first one out of class. I hope you didn’t think you were going to miss me today.” He was shorter than Mason but taller than I was. He was a stocky guy, and if I didn’t hate him so much, I’d be willing to admit that he was almost-maybe-possibly attractive.
“Hey Bret,” I said in an even tone, keeping my head down, not making eye contact. “I really have to get going.”
“This isn’t going to take long.”
He walked towards me. I closed my eyes and tensed my ab muscles waiting for him to sock me in the stomach.
“I’ll handle him today.”
It was Mason’s voice. I opened my eyes slowly, letting out a deep breath and relaxing my abs. Was he going to start beating me up too? I didn’t think I could handle it if he decided he was so disgusted by me that he had to resort to physical violence.
“Yeah, okay Mason,” Bret said, reverting to his beta-male status. “You’ve got to make sure you get him in the gut, just like he likes it.” With that, Bret walked off, glad to be told what to do—but not before punching me in the arm as hard as he could.
“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my arm as I made my way over to my bike. I kneeled down and began putting in the combo for my bike lock.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, like he’d done me the biggest favor.
I looked up at him from the ground, and he looked like a giant. I felt really nostalgic looking up at him. Mason used to fight people for saying that I was gay. He used to defend my honor like I was a high society lady in a Victorian romance novel. But that didn’t matter anymore. He was a regular human being who made stupid human being decisions. I had to stop romanticizing the present with memories of the past.
I stayed silent. I didn’t know how to talk to him anymore. Why was he still standing there? I wanted him to leave so I wouldn’t have to feel so on edge.
“You want a ride home?” he asked.
Was he being for real? He only ever talked to me in class, and that was if it was mandated by the teacher. Now he was offering me a ride home? I wanted to say something biting and sarcastic, but nothing good would come from it. That wasn’t who I was or who I wanted to be. I did my best to push through the bitter feelings.
“No,” I said, my voice flatter than I meant it to be. I didn’t want to sound upset or anything, but I was struggling to temper out my emotions. “I have my bike.”
This was the first time in a long time I was alone with him. It made me think of that day in October three years ago when everything changed. I hated how this was forcing me to recollect our final moments together as best friends.
“We can put it in the back,” he said matter-of-factly. I knew he was talking about his Jeep, but I still pictured his ass.
I was silent again, and he just smiled at me, like he knew I was going to accept his offer. This was how things had been in elementary school, middle school. He’d always been able to charm me into doing whatever he wanted. Even now as he began to saunter off, expecting me to follow, I couldn’t stop myself from bending to his will.
“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his head slightly in the direction of the student parking lot.
“Yeah okay, sure,” I mumbled, internally berating myself for being so easily swayed by him.
I followed him over to his Jeep. It was an older model, some of the burgundy paint peeling off. The inside smelled like he did; I took multiple deep breaths. He still remembered how to get to my house. The trip was for the most part silent, which gave me time to run scenarios, and they all ended badly, with some terrible prank that would awaken my latent telekinetic powers akin to my homegirl Carrie White.
“Casa de Bailey.”
I felt myself jump slightly, having been lost in my Stephen King fantasies.
“Thanks,” I said, hopping out of the passenger’s side.
I put my bag on and walked towards the rear of the Jeep. I didn’t think he’d get out of the car, but he met me at the back and removed my bike for me. As he set it down on the pavement, I took in how strong his arms looked and how the sleeves of his t-shirt were being eaten by their size. He had biceps. He had triceps. If there were any other muscles in the upper arm, he had those too.
“Can I ask you something?” What could he want to ask me? He’d probably request that I transfer schools so he wouldn’t have to look at his loser ex-best friend anymore.
“Sure,” I said, my voice cracking slightly, not knowing where this was going and not really wanting to find out. “You can come inside.” I started around back to put away my bike; he followed. I put my bike in the garage and unlocked the back door. I walked up the three steps into the kitchen and offered him something to drink.
“Milk, if you have it.” I poured him a large glass and he began to gulp it down. He was so white, drinking milk like it was actually good. I used to give him such a hard time about it. “Thanks,” he said, wiping away a milk mustache with his forearm.
“So, what did you want to ask me?” I was curious, seeing as we hadn’t really spoken in years.
“Oh yeah,” he said. I took in his thick eyebrows, which were furrowed in seriousness. I wanted to stroke his brows with my fingers, to feel his face in my hands. I bet his skin was soft. He frowned and it made me a little worried.
“What?” I asked. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” I still cared about him and his well-being. Maybe it was idiotic of me to still be so devoted to a person that ignored my sufferings, and maybe I should have ignored Mason in return, but my gut instinct was to be concerned.
“Here’s the thing,” he started, “I’m kind of failing English and I was wondering if you could help me out. Bret and the other guys are barely passing, and you’re so smart, I figured you’d be the best person to tutor me.” He paused for a moment, glancing at me. “I don’t want anyone to know.”
“That I’m helping you or that you’re failing English?” I asked, to clarify.
“Both,” he blurted out quickly.
We stood in an awkward silence. I felt my face go hot and was slightly embarrassed. He didn’t want people to know he was even interacting with me. It was kind of degrading, and I needed to have some self-worth and tell him that I had more value than that. That was what I should’ve done, but I was weak, and he was hot.
“Okay,” I said like a dope. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll help you out.”
“Thanks dude,” he said, a sound of relief in his voice. “You good to meet here after school?”
“Yeah, like what, Tuesdays and Thursdays?”
“Nah, every day. At least until I get my grade up. My parents lost their shit when they got my progress report.” Every day? That was going to take up a lot of time, and I may not have had much else to do, but I couldn’t believe he just imposed his own tutoring schedule on me.
“Yeah,” I said, even more like a dope. “No problem.”
“Well, I have to go,” he said suddenly. I turned to get the milk, ready to offer him another glass of moo juice, but he was gone out of the back door before I could get the words out.
“See you later,” I said aloud to myself, putting the milk back in the fridge.
If I put my self-respect and righteous anger aside, this was fantastic. I’d get to talk to Mason every day. I’d get to look at his gorgeous face and body every day. I’d get to imagine, even though it was ridiculous, that we were still best friends. He had come to me for help. That just proved that there was still a connection between us. Maybe, in his own odd way, Mason was trying to rekindle our friendship.
I had noticed in the previous weeks that he looked bigger than usual. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but being able to look at him without having to avert my eyes confirmed it.
He was growing.
I’d heard he quit the football team. Everyone had heard he’d quit the team. It was the hottest gossip for the entire first month of school. I knew he still exercised, having heard him mention to Bret he worked out with his uncle every night, trying to get into powerlifting. I didn’t know what that entailed, but it sure sounded like something I wanted to see. I was getting an erection just thinking about Mason possibly getting a bit of a belly to go along with the sheer size he was already putting on.
I realized I’d been keeping tabs on him without really meaning to. If his name was brought up, I listened. I was still invested in his life, and this new arrangement was going to potentially put me in a dangerous situation.
The fact he’d be coming over again tomorrow got me feeling nervous. I didn’t want things to feel awkward. I wanted to do something nice for him to show I wasn’t holding a grudge or anything (even if I was still a little pissed at him). All hadn’t been forgiven, but maybe this was the start to an important conversation.
I decided to go shopping for some snacks. He’d always been a big eater, and he’d probably need some brain food if we were to be studying. He liked potato chips and submarine sandwiches.
(“You gotta really pack on the ingredients,” he’d told me when we were younger. “I’m talking about a ridiculous amount of meat and cheese. Oil, mayo, mustard, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes.”
I stared in astonishment at the monstrous sandwich he had constructed. It looked big enough to feed three people. This was a sandwich Scooby and Shaggy would excitedly devour.
“You really think you can eat all of that?” I asked.
“You don’t think I can Oli?” he asked, smirking.
“I think you can. You can do anything!”
“That’s right,” he said. “You wanna watch demolish this thing?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling oddly attracted to him in that moment. It was a moment that definitely raised a red flag for me. Why had I been so invested in his display of gluttony?
He finished that entire sub and a bag of family sized chips. His dad came home after a long day of work looking for the ingredients to make himself a sandwich. “Where’s the deli meat?” Mr. Megalos asked in his Greek accent.
“I ate it all, Dad,” Mason replied, not even embarrassed. Mr. Megalos playfully smacked Mason on the back of the head before sending us to the store to buy some more turkey breast. Mason used the change to buy us a package of oatmeal cream pies. Before I even got the chance to have a second one, he’d eaten the rest of them on our walk home.
I was glad that he did.)
The next day at school I really wanted to talk to Mason, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I waited the day out and went to get my bike. Mason, not Bret, was leaning on the pillar near the bike rack.
“Hello,” I said, a little bit uneasy. He probably didn’t want my help anymore. He probably realized he could find someone else to tutor him.
“What’s up, Oli?” he asked, smiling like everything was normal between us. Nobody called me Oli anymore. Just hearing him say my name with a smile on his face was enough to give me the vapors. I felt like flinging myself into his muscled arms, swooning.
“Nothing much.” I smiled back at him nervously. “I’m still meeting you at my house, right?”
“Yeah, definitely.” He looked at me seriously. My heart must have skipped a beat. “I told Bret to back off. If he fucks with you again, just let me know. Got it?”
“Ye—yeah,” I stammered. “Thanks a lot.” He was so hot when he was serious. He furrowed his brow in a way that made him look slightly angry. I bet he’d make a similar face while having sex.
“See you soon,” he said, swaggering off towards where his car was parked. I took in his wide back and beefy behind. He didn’t even carry a bookbag; he just had a folder, a couple of notebooks, and the novel we were reading in class. This was probably why he was failing.
I unlocked my bike, mounted it, and rode off towards home. Relief swept over me at the thought of being Bret-free. I continued to pedal and felt myself come alive. I loved riding my bike; I was pretty fit because of it, with muscular thighs and a firm, round ass. My ass was definitely a first runner up to Mason’s glorious cakes. It was nearing the end of October and when it started to snow, I would have to swap my tires for better traction. I thought about Mason on the ride home and what I wanted to do to him. I hated wanting him so badly, but I loved it at the same time. Crushes were so weird that way. It was starting to consume me, yet I didn’t really mind it.
He was sitting on the front steps when I got there.
“Oli,” he said, standing to meet me at the path to the backyard. He had his hand in his shirt, scratching his tummy. He moved his hand away. “Why don’t you have a car?” His voice was getting to me. I missed hearing his voice more than I realized.
“I can’t afford a nice Jeep like you,” I said a little sarcastically. He laughed, catching my slight insult to the Jeep that had once belonged to Mr. Megalos. It was given to Mason for his birthday last year. I remembered Mr. Megalos driving us to elementary school in that thing, so to see Mason driving it now was kind of funny. “You know it’s just me and my mom.”
“You could get a job,” he suggested. “There are lots of cheap cars. I’d help you look for one.” Mason had always liked cars and that sort of thing. His dad and Uncle Galvin owned an auto shop that Mason helped out in. Galvin was the same uncle he’d been working out with.
“I live like eight blocks from the school and I never go anywhere,” I said, feeling more at ease the longer we were around one another. “But if I ever do start looking for a car, I’d hope the offer would still stand.”
“Of course,” he said. “Consider it payment for your services.” I had put my bike away during our conversation. I opened the back door, and we went inside.
“You can go up to my room,” I said. He knew the way.
I walked over to the fridge and looked at the array of supplies I’d picked up yesterday. I’d gone overboard for sure, but I removed the ingredients and placed them on the counter. I bought provolone cheese, turkey breast, and honey roasted ham. I’d even gone so far as to buy hoagie rolls and herb-seasoned submarine oil. I stuffed those hoagie rolls full of meat and cheese and veggies, just like I knew he liked his sandwiches—at least I knew he liked them this way years ago. I cut them in half and placed them on a plate, pouring some original flavored Ruffles in a bowl. I also put half a sleeve of Oreos on a separate plate and poured two glasses of milk.
I carried the tray carefully as I made my way up the stairs to my room. Entering, I saw he was sitting at my desk, holding a photo of us at the beach when we were in the seventh grade. I walked over to him and set the tray down next to him on my desk.
“You still have this?” he asked, smiling. I looked over at the picture in his hand. His arm was around my shoulder and we both smiled wide at the camera. He had always been taller than I was, and this was before he lost his baby fat.
“Yeah,” I said shakily. I felt lame all of a sudden, still holding on to something he probably considered a piece of junk. “Could you please put it down?”
The frame was even more special than the photograph; Mason had made it for me, painting the phrase “Best Buds” in big, sloppy letters on the bottom, seashells and starfish glued all around the rest of the frame. He had burned his fingers so badly using the hot glue gun he wore bandages for a week. I remember how proud he was of his craftsmanship.
“Sorry,” he said, laughing. He carefully put the picture frame back in its place before picking up a cookie, popping the whole thing in his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you all tense.”
“I’m not tense,” I said, sounding incredibly tense. He chewed, smirking slightly. I needed to get a grip. I was going to ruin everything if I didn’t chill out. I took a deep breath. “I thought a small snack would help you focus better.”
“This is a small snack?” he asked.
“I just—I remembered you had a big appetite.”
“You remembered right,” he said, reaching for one of the sandwich halves and taking a colossal bite. I felt even more embarrassed. Did he remember anything about me? Did he ever think about me at all?
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“You know Oli,” he started, his mouth half full. “I never stopped eating big, but I’ve definitely kicked it into overdrive since quitting football. If I don’t slow down, I’m gonna get fat again like in that photo.” His free hand absent-mindedly rubbed his stomach. It was like he was toying with me. He took another large bite of the sandwich. “I already eat like garbage, but I started a bulking cycle recently, really pushing myself to put on some mass. I think I’ve already put on ten pounds.” Ten pounds was kind of a lot, seeing as he had quit the football team only a little over a month ago.
“You—you carry the weight well,” I said, aroused. “You don’t look fat to me.” He had finished his first half and grabbed another.
“Are you kidding?” he asked, grabbing his slightly protruding paunch and shaking the small bit of belly he was sporting. “I eat way too much Oli.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that,” I said, trying not to discourage a habit I wanted him to continue.
“Get this, I ordered two large pizzas from Domino’s the other weekend and finished both of them. It was one of those deals where you save a ton of money if you get the two larges. I’m a sucker for deals like that.”
“Who isn’t?” I asked, watching him alternate between bites of the sandwich and the potato chips.
“When I got to the last slice, I was pissed. I wasn’t even full.”
“Wow Mason,” I said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “When you put it like that, it does sound like a lot.”
“I was lucky my mom had made two trays of pastitsio the night before.” He lifted his shirt and showed me his belly, feeling the need to prove to me that he was indeed packing on the pounds. He was kind of hairy, and I liked it. He grabbed at his tummy with his strong hands, shaking it again, uncovered. I just wanted to feel his stomach in my own hands. I needed to know what it felt like. “This gut is brought to you by pastitsio, pizza, and protein shakes.”
He left his shirt up as he reached for another portion of the sandwich. I watched from my bed with my legs closed tight, as he bit, chewed, and swallowed, repeating the process until he moved on to the next serving. His large hands made those hefty sandwiches look like dainty finger food at a garden party. He pulled at his t-shirt, covering himself.
“You don’t wanna see that,” he said, laughing, his cheeks reddening slightly. He grabbed a handful of the salty chips and shoved them into his mouth. I imagined his hands grabbing a handful of my ass.
I didn’t know how I was going to be able to get through these tutoring sessions. He was pornographic. I was rock hard, my dick straining against my jeans. I was hoping I’d soften up enough before I had to stand. He kept going and going until he was chugging the glasses of milk. Only a couple of cookies remained on the plate.
“How—uh, how much do you weigh?” I asked.
“I don’t really know. You got a scale?”
“Yeah, it’s in the bathroom,” I said, affirming that I had one.
“Let’s do this,” he said, standing. I wiggled a little before getting up, making sure to minimize the obviousness of the boner in my pants. When I was out of sight, I took the time to tuck my penis into the waistband of my underwear, so it was angled upwards, and the front of my pants was flat. I brought the scale from my bathroom, praying he hadn’t noticed I was still semi-erect.
“How much did you weigh?” I asked.
“207 pounds at the pre-season weigh-in back in August,” he said, walking towards where I placed the scale in the middle of my bedroom. I sat on my knees near where the number would be displayed. He stepped on the scale and I glanced at the reading. “What’s the damage?” he asked, standing perfectly still.
“Well, um—that’s something.”
“How much?”
“Maybe this thing is busted, but it says you weigh 226 pounds.” My dick throbbed as I said it. What was so hot about Mason putting on weight like this? It wasn’t just muscle that turned me on, but also fat. I hoped his bulking cycle never ended.
“Shit,” he said, his tone surprised yet slightly satisfied. “I’m gonna be huge if I don’t start slowing down with all this eating.” I swallowed, hard.
I couldn’t help him study today. I’d get better at putting up with his natural eroticism, but today couldn’t be helped. He needed to leave before I came in my pants. I could feel pre-cum starting to coat the lower half of my stomach.
“I’m not feeling good all of a sudden,” I said. Mason stepped off of the scale. I couldn’t think straight, and I was for sure too turned on to focus.
“Really, why?” he asked.
“Like I just got a headache out of nowhere.” I was going to cum any second. It’d take me five strokes tops with how I was feeling, but I knew I’d want to go again immediately.
“Oh shit,” he said, picking up his stack of materials. “You gonna be okay?”
“I probably just need to take some Tylenol and get a nap in before it gets too late.”
“Okay.” He grabbed the rest of the Oreos. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Did I mind? Of course I didn’t mind. I was apparently some sort of freak who wanted him eating constantly. “No, go ahead,” I said. He smiled at me appreciatively before popping one of the cookies in his mouth. I walked him to the door, and we said our goodbyes.
I ran back upstairs and got undressed. I stepped onto the scale, which was still in the middle of my bedroom floor. I weighed myself: 159 pounds.
Mason was 67 pounds bigger than I was. I ran my hand over the shaft of my penis. I gave it one pump, two pumps. Fuck, I was picturing his gut in his hands. Three pumps, Four pumps. He had eaten everything on that tray. I pictured Mason getting bigger and beefier. That’s what did it; I came in thick spurts all over myself.
Tomorrow was going to be tough.
It didn’t get any easier controlling my sexual compulsions when Mason came by for tutoring. It had been two weeks since he first asked for my assistance, and I helped him with his papers and worksheets. We also spent time reading. He was so damn cute. He’d whisper things to himself about what was happening in whatever he was annotating. I had heard him say “no way” or “what” at least once per chapter.
I thought this stuff was all really easy, and I was shocked at how he let his grade fall so low in less than two months of school. He must not have done any type of work for this class until now. I considered the fact that he had a social life and lots of friends to distract him from school. I, on the other hand, spent my free time making flashcards and watching reruns of Chopped and Good Eats. Mason had always been the largest component of my social life, so when he went away, so did any potential high school social plans.
Each study visit I always had a tray with different types of snacks. I kept in mind that Mason was a big eater, and the portions remained hearty and plentiful. It was a Friday study session with an essay due on Monday.
“I’m just going to have to come back tomorrow, maybe even Sunday.” He laughed. “I’m totally hopeless.”
“Don’t say that,” I said, being stereotypically positive. “I think you’re doing great. Did you ask Mr. Gonzalez what your grade was?” He asked every Friday.
“D-plus,” he said with his typical furrowed brow. He sighed and began tossing books into his bag (which I told him he needed to start carrying). I stood silent for a moment, contemplating what I should say. “If he wasn’t such a dick and took late work, I wouldn’t have to stress so hard over this.” I wanted to make him feel like the work he was doing was valuable. I saw that he was improving; I just wished he could see it too.
“You’ve got to think about it like you’re lifting weights, you know? You could barely lift anything at the start, but with hard work and dedication you can lift things you never thought possible. You had a thirty percent two weeks ago, and you’re telling me you’ve been able to get that up over a sixty-five? Just imagine where you’ll be in just one more week, a month from now, even. You’ll have the buffest, strongest grade ever.”
“You think so?” he mused. He sat silently for a moment as he pondered what I had just said. He smiled. “I guess you’re right. Thanks Oliver.”
He lifted his hulking frame out of my desk chair and strode over to where I stood. He wrapped me in his beefy arms and gave me a bear hug. I could feel my entire body tingle in pleasure as I felt Mason for the first time in forever. I didn’t dare ruin it by trying to hug him back. My hands at my side, I could feel his warmth, I could smell the chips he ate and the aftershave he wore. They mixed together in a scent that was uniquely Mason. His arms were so solid, as was his slight gut. It was so brief, but it made me the happiest guy in the world. “You have always been the smartest person I know.”
“Thanks—thanks a lot.” He let me go and grabbed his bag. “Do you think you might want something more substantial to eat tomorrow or just a snack? I could definitely make you a meal if you wanted.”
I was doing way too much. The snacks were one thing, completely hospitable, but now I was offering to make him dinner? Did Bret do things like this for him? His other football friends? I was not being very hetero.
“Really?” he asked, shockingly excited. “Do you remember in sixth grade when you wanted to be a chef?” I spent that entire year working through a kid-friendly cookbook. I even started going off-script, coming up with some of my own recipes (though they were just derivative of other things I’d learned from the cookbook). I doubted Mason knew he was the reason I wanted to learn how to cook.
“Yeah,” I said. “I cooked a different recipe every day for like nine months. You ate dinner at our house every other day before eating the dinner your mom made.” He laughed at the memory.
“I gained like twenty pounds during that,” he started, “but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. You’re the reason I was able to grow up big and strong.” He rubbed his gut absent-mindedly. He was always doing that, and it drove me damn near insane.
“Stop playing,” I said, laughing.
“I’m serious!” he said. We began walking down the stairs towards the front door. We continued planning for the following evening of studying. “I want that chicken and cheese thing you made. Now that was delicious.”
“I could do that.”
“How’s seven for you?” he asked. “I’ve got to help my dad in the shop for a bit and then I’m gonna go lift with Uncle Galvin.”
“That works for me,” I said. “Sounds like you’ll be hungry.”
“Hell yeah,” he replied enthusiastically. “Night Oli.”
“Goodnight Mason,” I said, closing the door behind him.
What was my life? Just like every night after he left, I had to take some time to masturbate. When I finished, I saw it was almost ten. My mom would be back soon. I’d watch whatever was on the Food Network and think about seeing Mason again until she got home.
As happy as I was, I couldn’t help serving myself a much-needed reality check. I wanted to believe that things were going great. We were spending lots of time together and vibing really well. He actually remembered the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special. But we still didn’t speak to one another at school. It was like our relationship existed solely in my bedroom. How well could things be going for me if I was just the gay nerd who overfed him and made sure he didn’t fail English?
I woke up around six the next morning. I was definitely an early bird, getting that worm and whatnot. I took a quick shower and styled my hair. It was thick and black. I used a coconut oil cream to make it curl. It was kind of short, only about three or four inches long, but I thought it looked pretty decent. I had brown eyes and brown skin. My complexion was the color of a caramel hard candy. Both of my parents were black. My dad’s parents were from the South. My mom’s mother was from Jamaica and her dad was from Philadelphia.
I grabbed the basket for my bike and sent my mom a text. She wouldn’t be up until around eleven, and even after that she’d be out of the house running errands before work. I was going to the store for the ingredients in my dish.
It wasn’t that long of a bike ride to the grocery store, and I’d been making the trip more frequently since I decided Mason needed to be catered to with each visit. I shopped for a while, budgeting things out, and choosing other side dishes. I got everything on my list and remembered I wanted to pick up some ice cream for after dinner. I was going to get a pint of Vanilla Fudge Banana Explosion. It used to be Mason’s favorite flavor, and I was willing to bet he still loved it.
I turned back and made my way to the frozen food section. It was near where they kept the eggs and milk and cheese. I noticed Bret with some serious bed head grabbing a gallon of 2%. I snatched the ice cream from the freezer and ran for the checkout, praying he hadn’t seen me. I wanted to hurry the cashier along, but she was a kind older woman who had always been nice to me.
“You sure do grocery shop a lot,” she said, laughing. “You’re such a little thing, but you eat so much. But that’s how young men are. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.”
I conversed with her, trying my best not to appear rude, but I really didn’t need to encounter Bret on the weekend. I paid for my stuff and left the store. I went and unlocked my bike, setting it upright so I could put the groceries in the basket.
Before I could take off, I felt someone grab the hood of my hoodie. I fell backwards, my bike falling to the ground. The food rolled out onto the sidewalk.
I looked up from the pavement at Bret smirking down at me. He had on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a Jackson High football sweatshirt. I normally would have just taken whatever beating he had for me, but I was fed up. Today was supposed to be a good day. I was going to make Mason his food and he’d compliment me, and I could live in my delusions for just a little while longer.
I got to my knees before standing straight up. I pushed him as hard as I could, and he stumbled back slightly. “Leave me the fuck alone!” I shouted, kind of embarrassed by how high my voice got.
“Oh, it’s on, you fag,” Bret spat at me. He set the jug of milk he’d been carrying on the sidewalk. “I’m sick of looking at you and your pink fag bike.”
“My bike is red,” I shouted. I didn’t say anything else, and I had no idea what I should do next. We looked at one another intensely.
“Red,” he said as he drew me closer to his body, yanking on my hoodie. “Or pink,” he continued. Punch in the stomach. “You’re still a fucking homo.” Punch. Punch in the mouth. Punch. Punch in the nose. Punch in the cheekbone. Punch. Another punch in the gut. I was panting as he threw me to the ground. I thought I was going to barf.
“Fuck—you—,” I managed to get out, catching my breath. I had gotten used to my one punch in the stomach a day. This was taking me back to sophomore year when our altercations left me with a new bruise every day. He didn’t seem phased by what I said, just continuing to smirk at me.
“I sure am glad I drank the last of the milk now.” He laughed, stooping to grab his milk, and walked over to his Dodge Charger.
I gathered the scattered items and checked to make sure they were all okay. They were. I put everything back in the basket. I took a few deep breaths before mounting my bike. I rode home and took another shower.
I didn’t want to dwell on the experiences of the morning. I put on some music and spent the rest of the time before I had to start cooking doing laundry and other chores around the house. One beating didn’t mean the world had to stop moving. This was nothing new.
I started cooking around five-thirty, so it would be ready when Mason got here. About five minutes after seven the doorbell rang.
“Hey Mason,” I said, happy to see him. I smiled a little too wide and felt my lip begin to bleed again. It was only a little. I licked the blood away.
“What the fuck Oli?”
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?” I got beat up all the time. This really was not a big deal. After high school I would never have to deal with this sort of thing ever again.
“You look like shit,” he said angrily. “That’s what’s wrong.”
“You’ve seen me like this before. It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me,” he said, eyebrows furious. “Who was it? Who did this? I swear to God if you say Bret after I told him not to touch you anymore.”
“It’s fine, really.” I didn’t want to make this into a whole thing. I had spent the entire day trying to forget about it so that we could have a good time eating and studying together. I wanted him to just leave it alone. I wanted him to stop pretending like he actually cared about what happened. I’d been getting my ass kicked for over three years and he’d never so much as batted an eye.
“Oliver,” he pushed.
“The food is going to get cold, so let’s just go and eat.” I walked away from the front door towards the kitchen, hoping he’d follow. That was when he grabbed my arm. He pulled me close to him. We stood there for a moment. His strong, masculine hands held my upper arms firmly. He looked at my bruised cheek, my busted lip. He brought his mouth to my forehead and kissed it softly. It felt like we were standing there for hours but it couldn’t have been longer than thirty seconds. “Mason—.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said.
He let go of my arms and hesitated a moment before running out to his Jeep and driving off. Had he really just kissed me? I couldn’t believe it. I was pretty sure there was lip to forehead action.
After that Mason never called or texted me, and he didn’t show up to school on Monday. I managed to avoid Bret after school and decided to take Mason his homework. He really hadn’t missed all that much, but I really wanted to see what that kiss was about. I also wondered if he worked on the essay for English class at all. I hadn’t been busting my ass for him to start failing again. It was a longer bike ride, but I made it to his place in about twenty minutes. I rang the doorbell and Mason’s kid sister Agatha answered the door.
“Oliver! Oliver! Oh my God!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down before reaching out for a hug.
“Hey Aggy,” I replied, embracing her. She was thirteen now. I was eighteen, my birthday at the end of September, but Mason was nineteen. His birthday was in July. It was a secret I swore to take to the grave. It was the reason why he never invited classmates to his birthday parties growing up. When he told me about why, it was like something out of a Roald Dahl novel. It was like he was Matilda or something. Mr. and Mrs. Megalos had been remarkably busy helping members of their family immigrate, starting their auto repair business, and welcoming Aggy into the world. They straight up forgot to register him for school. They waited so long that the district said he’d have to wait for the following school year. Mason never told anyone how old he was. He didn’t want people to think he failed a grade. He also didn’t want people to think he had bad parents.
“I missed you so much,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“It’s good to see you too,” I said with a laugh. “We’ll have to catch up soon, but is Mason home?”
“He’s sick,” she said with a pair of air quotes. “I know he’s lying. Sick people don’t eat as much as he does. You can go upstairs.”
“Thanks.”
I made my way upstairs, shocked by how little had changed in their house in three years. I stood outside Mason’s door, nervous about having to discuss what happened on Saturday. What if he didn’t want to talk about it? What if he wanted to pretend it never happened at all? It was now or never. I opened the door to his room. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts I’d forgotten to knock. I shouldn’t have been so careless.
“Ah!” Mason yelped, looking over at me in his doorway.
He was naked, but that wasn’t the most outrageous part. There were a ton of reasons why he could be naked and alone in his room. This was his house after all. But he knelt at the side of his bed, dick in hand and a sex toy in his ass. It was definitely the hottest thing I’d ever seen in person, but still a major shock. His ass was just made to take phallic objects. There was so much of him to take in, from the powerful arms to the beefy ass to the bloated gut. I was frozen, staring at his dick and then the sex toy he’d removed from his asshole. He tossed it in a shoe box and shoved it under his bed.
“Oliver, close the door!” he said hurriedly. I turned around and closed the door quickly. He probably wanted me on the other side of it. “I can’t believe I didn’t lock the door,” he mumbled. “Fuck.”
“Mason, look, I’m really, uh—really sorry,” I said, turning back around and staring at him as he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. All I could think about was how big his butt was. He probably did a ton of squats. His legs were hairy, as were his forearms and chest. I could tell his sessions in the gym were paying off, seeing as everything about him was getting absolutely massive. But man, his gut had really grown. He was getting fat. Fatter than when he showed me his belly the first time. He must have been eating constantly. The after-school snacks I prepared for him couldn’t have been pumping him up this much. I knew he said he was bulking, but did he mean to be getting so large?
“I brought your homework,” I said. My voice was shaking. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I should probably go.” What was going on? He was into butt stuff? Was he gay? I’d heard that some straight guys were into anal. They’d have their wives and girlfriends peg them with strap-ons. I couldn’t process this right now with him in front of me. I turned to leave.
“Wait,” he called. “Can I have the work?” How was he so calm? I took off my bag and pulled out the folder where I’d put all the materials he’d need. I stood there, folder in hand, unable to walk towards him. He walked over to me, his dick still semi-erect bobbing freely in the basketball shorts. His thighs were like tree trunks. His chest was broad, and his nipples were slightly bigger than I’d seen on other guys, kind of puffy. Overall, he was looking much fleshier. I needed to focus.
“Sorry,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. I handed him the folder with the assignments. He reached out to grab them and I took in his mammoth forearms. Mason was a man. He wasn’t my chubby best friend from elementary school anymore. “I didn’t come in on purpose. I swear.”
He had kissed me on Saturday. I remembered my real reason for coming over. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring up now. I had to let it go. He was just some conflicted straight boy who’d put this and any other gay feelings behind him. He’d marry some girl, have some kids, and she’d peg him well into old age. Me and this whole situation would become a distant memory.
He moved closer to me.
I moved back slightly.
He moved closer to me again.
“Mason, what’re—?” I didn’t know why I came here. I should have just ignored it. He dropped the folder on the ground and pulled me closer to himself.
“I haven’t been honest with myself,” he whispered, looking at me seriously. “Or with you.” I swallowed. He kissed me—on the lips this time. I felt them for the first time on my own lips. This was authentic lip to lip action. I wanted to grab his ass. I wanted to touch his belly. I wanted everything with Mason, but something was stopping me. He pulled away and looked at me again. “I think—I think that I’ve always wanted this.”
He was waiting on me to say something, and I could tell he started to worry. As much as my body ached for him, my mind was conflicted.
“I should go,” I whispered softly, afraid of how’d he’d react to this rejection. It was clear I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. He just took a step back, his lower lip trembling like he was about to cry. I was an idiot. I left his room, closing his door behind me. I was moving pretty quickly now, needing to put as much distance between us as possible so I could clear my head.
“Later Aggy!” I called, opening their front door. I was on my bike and out on the street in a matter of seconds. I pedaled hard, so hard I could feel the burn in my legs.
I made my way home and into my room. I wouldn’t be able to think with the erection I had. I was rock hard the entire bike ride home. I had always been an avid masturbator, but recently it had gotten out of hand.
When I finished, I tried to make sense of the situation. It wasn’t as simple as Mason and I being able to fool around. Where were things going to go now? Would he come out? Would he want to date me? If Mason just wanted to experiment with me, I couldn’t do it, even if part of me wanted to be used by him. I’d spent the last three years allowing myself to be mistreated, and I was not ready to swap one form of degradation for another.
I finished my homework in a daze, not too sure of what I actually completed. I went to bed feeling absolutely miserable.
The next day, I avoided Mason like the plague. I felt wrong, like he really had been sick, and he was making a huge mistake. I went the whole day avoiding him. I didn’t even look in his direction, so I had no idea if he was looking in mine. After school I made my way to my bike. I had to get home. I just needed to be alone to think some more. I set down my bag and started to put in the combo for my bike lock.
I fell forward.
Someone had kicked me in the back as I was kneeling. I turned and saw that it was Bret. Of course it was Bret. He wasn’t alone today. Standing slightly behind him were these other football guys named Bill and Zeke. I wished my eyes were deceiving me, but Mason was there too, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I tried to finish unlocking my bike, but Bret kicked me again and I fell forward once more. I looked up at Mason, the giant I had idealized for so long. He looked away. Bret said something obscene, but I was too intensely focused on Mason to catch exactly what was said. Our eyes met and we stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.
I hated Mason.
I stood up after finally getting my bike unlocked. I mounted it and tried to ride off. I was stopped and pushed over. I wondered why no teachers or staff members tried to intervene. There had to be at least one nearby. I had ripped my jeans when I hit the pavement. I tried to get up. They were all calling me names and laughing. Mason stood silent, their all-powerful leader.
I tried to ride off again and this time I got away. I was crying, but I was too far away from them to see me. I felt like I was nothing, an empty shell peddling home. Mason was—I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t know who he was anymore. We had gone down two completely different paths, and I had thought they were meeting back up. It was stupid of me to believe that. Our paths were only going to continue diverging.
I went around back and put my bike away before going inside to think about Mason some more. The way he looked away when I needed him had me seething. I pulled off my sneakers and the ripped pair of jeans. I hadn’t cut my knee at all, so that was something to be happy about. The doorbell rang. I sat on the sofa hoping they would go away. The bell kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.
They weren’t going away. I was reaching my boiling point. I just needed to be alone, at least for an hour or so. I ran to the door and pulled it open aggressively.
“Can I help you—?” I asked, before registering who had been ringing the doorbell.
“Hey.” It was Mason. “Can I talk to you, please?” He looked down at my legs. I was in nothing but a t-shirt and pair of black briefs. I didn’t even care. I was still livid.
“What?” I asked harshly. “Did you come to beat me up too? I could have sworn you made the first move yesterday. But if you find it appropriate to pin all faggish activity on me I’m willing to carry the burden.”
“I’m so sorry, Oli.” I felt myself weaken. No. I needed to remain strong. His eyebrows were furrowed; his eyes were sad. Those sad, green eyes had gotten their way numerous times when we were younger.
“Okay, I accept your apology.” I began to close the door. “Goodbye.”
“Wait!” he called, using his weight to keep the door open. “I’m not finished. Can I come in?”
“No,” I said, trying my best to stand my ground. “I hope you fail English. I hope I never have to look at your stupid face ever again.”
“Oli,” he pleaded. He looked at me again with those sorrowful eyes. I hesitated for a moment, but then I moved out of the way so he could enter the house. He brought his beefy frame through the door.
“I’ve got to know,” he started, blushing. “Why did you run out yesterday?”
“Huh?”
“Yesterday, when I was, you know—uh masturbating.” I stood silent, unsure of what to say or what he wanted to hear. I really wasn’t too sure what his angle was anymore. Did that incident mean something to him or not? “Is it because you don’t like how I look? I know I’ve gained some weight. I’m just trying to get some more size, and I’ll lose the extra padding eventually. I’ll start losing it right now if that’s what it takes for you to be attracted to me.”
“Your appearance has absolutely nothing to do with why I left yesterday,” I said honestly. He really thought that was the only reason I left? Had he not considered the entire situation? The last three years of our lives?
“It doesn’t?” he asked, taken aback. “Well, I’m not sure but I think I might be—you know, gay. And—and I have all these feelings for you. Hanging out with you again has only helped me confirm what I knew all along. I missed my best friend, Oliver.”
“Mason—,” I started before he cut me off.
“I’m probably not even your type. That’s so fucking pretentious of me to assume you even think I’m attractive.”
“Mason, listen,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I always believed you didn’t mean to hurt me. I held out hope that we could at least one day be friends again. But the thing that happened Saturday, and then walking in on you yesterday. It just made me angry.”
He was still looking at me seriously, taking in everything I was saying, really trying to hear me out.
“Angry that you felt you couldn’t have talked to me sooner. Angry that you thought we could just sort of hook up? I don’t really know what you thought, but it doesn’t feel like you even tried to think about me at all.”
“You’re all I’ve been thinking about,” he said, his eyes watering. “I fucked up. I’m a pussy. I’m sorry Oliver. I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t take it, looking at him with tears streaming down his face. I’d never seen such a big man cry before, and it made me feel like I needed to give him a hug. But if I didn’t stand up for myself now, I’d always be walked all over.
“When you asked me to help you with your English work do you remember what you said to me?” He shook his head no. “You told me that you didn’t want people to know you were associating with me. I felt so worthless, but I did it anyway because—because you’re still one of the most important people in my life.”
“I’ll never make you feel worthless ever again,” he said, his voice serious and honest. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you give me the chance.”
I crossed my arms, considering what he said. I believed him. I was scared that I believed him. What if I trusted him and got hurt even worse than before?
“I want us to be together,” he said, sniffling. “Being with you makes me feel good, and I want to feel good all the time.”
“I—I think that I want to be with you too,” I said, looking away from him, unsure of if it was a good idea to relent so easily.
“Really?” he asked, wiping his eyes.
It was building up inside of me, the love I had for him, the confession that had been left unsaid years ago. I felt it coming out, like word vomit.
“I love everything about you,” I started, still unable to look at him, “the way your eyebrows do that thing and the way you eat and don’t stop. And if you like bulking and powerlifting I don’t mind that. I think you look amazing and—and, I don’t know, Mason, if you gained more weight, I would still be attracted to you. Get as big as you want, really.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, Oliver. You’re probably one of the best-looking guys in school and you’re attracted to me? Girls hate that you’re gay.” He took a deep breath. “I have never felt the same about girls that I do about you. I think about you every day.”
“I’m not kidding,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re hot and—and I would even want you to get bigger. I don’t know how to explain it, but the fact that you’re getting bigger makes me really—you know.” I felt like such a weirdo. So much was happening all at once. “I’ve never thought you’ve looked so good.” It felt like the time I told him I was gay. I wondered if he’d just walk out like he had then.
“You’d be okay with me being bigger? For real?” he asked. I felt a slight amount of relief. He hadn’t walked out.
“Yes,” I said, my body tense with nerves. “I would.”
“I like this, being bigger. I always have,” he said. It was silent for a moment. “I want to be bigger. I want to get stronger. This size is something I would’ve never gotten if I kept playing football.” He laughed nervously.
“What?” I asked.
“You sure you’re okay being seen with some big monster?”
“I don’t think you could ever be a monster.” He walked towards me and kissed me so fast I almost fell over. He was huge, like a big teddy bear, and I loved it. I really did, a hundred percent. He laughed, kissing me through the tears on his face. He held me close to him, my dick pressing against him through my underwear.
“Now what?” I asked.
“I guess you’re my boyfriend,” he said seriously. “If you’re okay with that.”
My whole body felt intensely warm. It was like I was in a dream. Maybe I was. Maybe I’d crashed my bike on my way home and I was in a coma, my consciousness somewhere between earth and the great beyond.
Something weighed heavily on me and I was afraid to bring it up. I wanted to squeal with joy and cry tears of relief, but I had to make sure we were on the same page. I didn’t want to end up hurt and alone.
I was quiet, not sure how to ask Mason what was on my mind. I think he hated when I got all silent like this. He was a much more direct sort of person.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s just—am I, uh—is this a secret?”
“No,” he said, eyebrows serious. “I hate you even had to consider that. You’re never going to be a secret in my life ever again.”
I was his boyfriend.
He was my boyfriend.
We were boyfriend and boyfriend.
The next day in school Mason talked to me in every class. He sat with me at lunch. He stopped at my locker with me. He was trying very hard to prove to me that he was serious. He meant what he said about making it up to me for the last three years.
“Mason, what the fuck is your problem?” Bret asked disgustedly. “This whole day you’ve been acting weird.” Bret looked over at me, obviously insinuating that I was what was weird. English class had just ended, and Mason was going to give me a ride home, and not because he wanted something from me, just because he wanted to be around me. I hadn’t been this happy in a long time.
“What do you mean?” Mason asked, feigning ignorance.
“The fag, Mason. The fag.” Bret spat the word fag like it was a disease.
“I don’t think you should use that word anymore. Don’t be that guy.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to hear you using that word or making jokes or putting your hands on Oliver ever again. You or anybody else, so spread the word.”
“Are you in love with him or something?” Bret asked, trying to get a rise out of Mason.
“I might be, yeah,” Mason replied seriously. Bret’s eyes widened before he began to laugh hysterically. “We’re dating.”
“Mason, you are hilarious.” Mason leaned over towards me. He brought his face incredibly close to mine before he touched my lips softly with his own, kissing me. It was a gentle kiss, nothing too intense, but it made me feel exposed. I’d barely kissed anyone before and never in public. “You’re taking it too far dude. That was gay as hell.”
“Probably because I’m gay.”
“You’re—you’re not joking? You’re a fag too?”
“Yep,” Mason said, wrapping his beefy arm around me. “And watch your language, dude. There’s only so many times I’m going to tell you.”
Bret ran off, probably to go tell someone. By tomorrow every single person in the school would know. I wondered what people would say. I hoped Mason would be all right. Maybe that hadn’t been the smartest decision.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said, still thinking about him kissing me in front of Bret.
“It’s not like you’re my secret boyfriend.” He smiled and I melted.
He took me home and we went inside. We were going to study and hang out for a while. He told me that he wanted to spend so much time together that I’d get sick of him. I told him that’d never happen. And he said that meant we’d just be stuck with each other. We were in the second week of November, and the weather had cooled considerably. I volunteered to make hot chocolate and he happily accepted my offer. I also provided a plate of chocolate chip cookies I’d made the night before.
“Thanks,” he said as I handed him the drink. He sipped it carefully, making sure to collect the mini marshmallows. He must’ve gotten too excited because some of it spilled onto his lap. He stood quickly.
“Aw shit,” he said.
“Are you okay?” I asked, rushing to grab some paper towels.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said. “But I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of pissed I wasted some of my hot chocolate.” I laughed at his serious expression, telling him that I was more than willing to make him another mugful. We sopped up the bulk of the liquid with the paper towels, but he let me know he didn’t like the moist feeling.
“I don’t want it to soak into my underwear.”
He popped open the button of his jeans with a sigh of relief. He pulled them down and stood in my kitchen in a pair of navy boxer briefs. “I’ve got to get some new jeans.” He sure wasn’t modest. I was getting hard looking at his big hairy thighs. He could crush someone’s skull with those things. I kind of wanted my skull crushed.
“I don’t think I have anything that’ll fit you,” I said, still staring at his legs. “Maybe a pair of basketball shorts.”
“I’m good like this if you don’t mind,” he said, standing before me like a Grecian statue.
“No way. I don’t think I can control myself looking at you with your legs out like that.” He laughed, jokingly telling me that I was weird.
“They’re just legs,” he said, grinning at me. He’d always loved showing off, and I had always been a willing observer. “And who says you need to control yourself?”
“It’s not just your legs,” I said, getting excited. “It’s your ass. I’ve been looking at your butt for years.”
He turned, looking over his shoulder back at me. The fabric of his underwear separated each cheek, making his ass look even juicier. I wanted to take a bite out of it, my mouth watering at the sight of how much weight he was carrying back there. “If you’ve been checking it out for years, how’s it looking nowadays?”
“Phenomenal,” I said, zoning out. I was completely mesmerized. There was nothing that could break me out of this trance.
“You can grab it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, like he didn’t know if what he said was okay. Was he testing my attraction to him? Who wouldn’t want to squeeze his meaty ass? I walked closer to where he stood, my hands cupping the ass I’d only ever dreamed of touching since I knew I liked men. I jiggled it slightly, impressed by how I could still feel the muscle underneath its fatty outer layer.
“It definitely feels bigger than I thought it would,” I said, still touching him.
“I do a lot of squats,” he said, laughing apprehensively. “I think it’s gotten bigger these last couple of weeks. Working out with my uncle and eating like I do has changed my body faster than I thought it would.”
He turned around, and I noticed he was hard. He looked down at his penis straining against his boxer briefs and then away from me, biting his lower lip nervously. I bet his muscle-gut blocked some of his lower half from sight. How long would it be before he wouldn’t be able to see his dick when he looked down?
It was nice that he physically reacted to me feeling him up, but was he expecting something more? Would he want to bottom? Was he prepared for that today? I had wondered when things would become more sexual between us. We’d known each other for so long, but not as sexual beings with lots of sexual urges.
I turned away from him, walking towards the freezer. I couldn’t take the awkwardness. I grabbed the ice cream from a few weeks ago that he never got to eat.
“Vanilla Fudge Banana Explosion,” he exclaimed gleefully.
“Yeah, I thought you might like it.” I grabbed a spoon, handing it to him along with the pint of ice cream. The little container in his large hand was really cute. He peeled off the lid and dug into the dessert greedily. This probably wasn’t enough ice cream to satiate him. He walked casually over towards a counter, pressing his butt up against it. He leaned back and ate spoonful after spoonful. He licked the spoon slowly after each mouthful.
Was he putting on a show for me? Like when we were younger?
“That was good,” he said after less than ten minutes of eating. A now empty container sat on the counter next to him. He gave a satisfied belch and put his hands on his slightly bloated middle.
“You really know how to eat,” I observed.
“It’s probably weird,” he started, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, making sure not to meet my gaze, “but it kind of turns me on sometimes.”
“It’s not weird.”
I made my way to where he stood against the counter, reaching out and placing my hands on the sides of his middle. We both stood there, silently aroused. I could hear his breathing—in and out, in and out. I lifted his t-shirt. He rested his hand on my shoulder as I massaged his gut. He gave a satisfied moan that made my dick twitch.
“This feels really good.”
“It does?” I asked. I was on cloud nine, finally getting my hands on his gut after fixating over it for weeks. I could see he was getting hard, and I couldn’t believe he happened to be on the same wavelength as I was. I knew he said he liked being bigger, but I didn’t realize he liked it in this way.
“Don’t—don’t stop,” he whispered breathily, closing his eyes. He leaned his head back and grinned, unable to suppress the expression.
I was feeling bold, wanting to take further control of his pleasure. He could be in charge of everything else in our lives, but in this moment, I knew I was the one who could call the shots. I slid one of my hands down under his gut, sliding it into the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Is this okay?” I asked, wanting to get his consent before I continued.
He just moaned again, whimpering as my hand wrapped around his erection.
“Tell me you want me to do this,” I commanded.
“I want it, Oliver,” he whispered. “Please don’t stop.”
He slid his thumbs into his waistband and pulled down his boxer briefs, so I had easier access to his penis. It was above average size and thick, but I was bigger and for some reason that really turned me on. I stroked him gently, enjoying how it pulsated in my hand. I noticed he relaxed his stomach muscles and his gut pushed forward some more. I looked up at his face and he looked back, his eyes glazed over. Fuck, was that a hot expression.
I stopped for a second, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling out my own dick. I stroked us both off, moving nice and slow. With both of my hands now occupied elsewhere, Mason took it upon himself to massage his stomach.
“That belly is looking real good,” I said, watching his expression carefully. He looked—pleased! His eyes were closed, but he got that grin on his face again. He grabbed his gut by the sides and gave it a shake.
He was close and I could tell. Seeing him so aroused was turning me on more than I thought possible. I was going to push him over the edge.
“Fuck Mason, I can only imagine how big your gut is gonna be a few months from now.”
It was a risk, but it paid off. He shot a huge stream of cum across the kitchen floor. He looked at me now, his eyes still had that glazed-over look and he fell to his knees. He grabbed at my jeans, pulling them down along with my underwear.
“Whoa, Mason, what’re—?”
He licked the head of my penis holding the shaft in his somewhat rough hand. His mouth was warm, and he worked my dick with unexpected finesse. Looking down at the top of his head, I took in his curly brown hair. I couldn’t believe this huge beefy guy was on his knees giving me head. I also couldn’t believe this huge beefy guy was Mason of all people.
“Mase, I’m coming.” He removed my dick from his mouth, and I felt cum erupt from inside of me so forcefully I got lightheaded. It wasn’t until I was completely finished that I was able to take in what had occurred. Mason was still on his knees, his face covered in my cum. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t seem like everything was okay. He got off of his knees, pulling up his underwear. We cleaned up in silence. He got my cum off his face, and I got his cum off the floor. He was the one who broke the silence. “That was weird.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, kind of,” he said, looking down at the kitchen tiles. “What was with that stuff you were saying?”
“Did you not like that?” I asked, feeling less confident than I had been during our sexual encounter. Things were shifting back into their regular alignment. Me being awkward. Mason being intimidating.
“I just—when we talked about me being bigger, you didn’t just mean muscles, did you?”
“I—I, uh, there’s nothing wrong with being bigger.”
“Were you just saying that because you figured out that’s what I’m into?” he asked. “You don’t have to, like, force yourself to be attracted to me like this.”
“Mason,” I started, “I think it’s more than obvious we like the same thing. I don’t know how we lucked out like this, but that gut you’ve got is definitely sexy.” He just laughed.
“Oli, c’mon,” he said. “You’re legit gorgeous. You could be an underwear model or something, I mean, damn, your quads are amazing.” I laughed. He reached out, grabbing my arm, and pulled me forward. He rested his masculine hands on my ass, like I had always wanted. “And this bubble butt is something else.”
“I’ve got to know Mason. When did you start thinking you might be gay?”
“The day you told me,” he said. I pushed myself away from his solid body.
“What?”
“Yeah, you coming out to me was really confusing. And I figured I should avoid you for a little while to figure things out—I didn’t think it’d be three years though, sorry.”
I just laughed. We’d missed out on years together. There really was nothing to do but find the humor in the situation, because otherwise it would be too sad to think about.
“I started watching gay porn freshman year and I bought that sex toy about a year ago.”
“You’re something else,” I said. “I guess that’s why I like you so much.”
He smiled and it just felt like it got easier to breathe. I ended up making him another mug of hot chocolate before throwing his jeans in the washing machine. Being domestic with him was turning me on, but then again, anything involving Mason was a turn on. I was starting to feel more peaceful. Mason and I would keep talking and figuring things out about this relationship. We had time. We finally had time.
Christmas break came after what felt like an eternity. Of course, people were talking about me and Mason. We could hear their not-so-whispered remarks every single day. He ignored it and held my hand through it all, which really meant a lot to me. He was an incredible person.
Mason had been so liked by everyone, that it was odd to see his old friends ignore him or mumble fucked-up things under their breath when he was nearby. I didn’t know how he could take it, falling so far from the graces of the popular crowd. I had always been on the outskirts, so I couldn’t really understand what he was going through.
We’d made it through Thanksgiving unscathed. It was a little sad we couldn’t spend the holiday together, but Mason hadn’t come out to his family and I hadn’t told my mom we were dating. He’d pushed himself incredibly hard these last couple of weeks, so if he wanted to ease into telling his parents, I wasn’t going to complain.
But that tranquility Mason was experiencing at home was short lived. If the entire high school knew Mason was gay, there was only a matter of time before word got back to people’s parents. Those parents talked to other parents, and those parents talked to Mason’s parents.
The first night of break, Mason was confronted by his father about what he’d heard from a customer in his auto shop. I hated the look on Mason’s face when he told me this story. It was heartbreaking. It felt like it was all my fault.
Mason’s dad threw him out. Mr. Megalos took him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him out the front door. Well, he grabbed his collar, yes, and likely pulled him by it, but I doubted he could actually lift Mason to throw him anywhere. His mom let him back in of course, but he packed a bag and left. He’d shown up on my doorstep a little before midnight. It was obvious he’d been crying.
“They found out,” he said. And I knew. I knew his heart was probably in a million pieces.
“Oliver, who is at the door?” My mother walked into the foyer, wrapping herself in a fluffy robe. She’d gotten in from work about an hour ago and had just finished with some self-care. I was glad she’d just taken a bath, because I needed her to be in a good mood.
“Mom, it’s Mason,” I said.
“Well look at that,” she said, taking him in for the first time in three years. “What has Katerina been feeding you?” Mason gave a half-hearted laugh, and I grabbed his arm, pulling him into the house.
“It’s, uh, good to see you Ms. Bailey.”
“Mason, you can go up to my room while I talk to my mom.”
My mom raised her eyebrows at this, watching as Mason walked towards the rear of the house where the stairs were. That was when the begging began. She had me on my knees.
“You know he can’t stay here Oliver.”
“Mom,” I pleaded, my voice somewhat whiny. “He needs this. He’s my best friend. Please.” She laughed, and I knew it was because she didn’t consider Mason to be my best friend anymore. I hadn’t mentioned him in years; the last time she’d brought him up, I blew up at her.
(“Oliver, sweetheart, you don’t want to invite Mason to celebrate your birthday with us?” I was turning sixteen and I hadn’t talked to Mason in nearly eleven months.
She knew something had been off between us, as Mason hadn’t been to our house since I came out to him.
“It’s just another day,” I replied, feeling especially mopey. “He’s probably busy anyway.”
“I could call Katerina,” she suggested. “If you boys had a falling out, we can get things back on track. He’s been your best friend since first grade.” I was embarrassed. I didn’t know how to navigate how I was feeling. There was just so much shame and sadness that I hadn’t really taken the time to unpack.
“Can you just shut up?” I demanded. “We aren’t friends anymore, okay? It was my fault. There’s no way to fix it, so can you please just drop it?” I stormed off to my bedroom after that. I spent the rest of my sixteenth birthday alone crying in my bedroom. It was definitely a low. I knew the only reason my mom didn’t come after me was because it was my birthday. If it were any other day and I spoke to her like that, I’d probably be dead.)
“Oliver, we just can’t. You need to let his family work out whatever problem they’re dealing with.”
“Mom, if—if he can’t stay, I’ll leave with him,” I said, being dramatic.
“No, you won’t,” she replied, laughing. She was calling my bluff.
“I will,” I said, trying my best to win her over. “We’ll wander the streets, sleep in his Jeep. I might even have to become a prostitute to scrape by. We’ll drop out of high school. Do some drugs. Is that what you want Mom? I really don’t think it is.” I sounded like I was describing the plot of some made-for-TV movie.
“Oliver,” my mother said with a theatrical groan, massaging her temples. She obviously wanted to laugh at my monologue, which I knew would play into my favor. “If Katerina and Adrian come to take him home, we aren’t going to fight them on it, do you understand?”
She smiled at me gently. She was legit the best mother in the entire world. She probably only relented because she had just gotten in from work (and she’d had her bubble bath and a glass of wine). She worked as a nurse during a shift that went from three until ten-thirty, and that was when the hospital didn’t ask her to come in early or stay late.
“Yes, thank you!” I actually jumped for joy, clasping my hands together in gratitude. “You won’t even notice that he’s here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied. “He needs to sleep in your room because I don’t want him on my sofa. We just got that thing last year and the way he’s looking, it’d be sunken in within the month.”
I just laughed, promising Mason would not be allowed anywhere near her sofa. She likely assumed Mason was not gay. I knew right away that Mason had been outed to his family, but I didn’t make that information privy to my mother. When explaining why he needed to stay with us, I just sort of said his dad was mad about him quitting the football team and putting on some weight. I had been planning on telling her we were dating, but it was probably a good thing I hadn’t mentioned it.
“Okay, that’s fine. I’m sure he won’t mind the floor for a little while.”
“Goodnight Oliver,” she said, walking towards where her bedroom was on the first floor. The second floor was an addition, and the only thing up there was my bedroom and a bathroom. “Mommy is tired. They want me to come in early tomorrow, so you kids need to keep it down.”
“Yes, of course,” I replied. “Goodnight best mom in the entire universe.”
“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes, chuckling under her breath. “Tell Mason it was nice seeing him again.”
I made my way to the rear of the house and ran up the stairs to my room. I closed the door quietly.
“She said you could stay here until you’re able to work things out with your family.” I was smiling at him, but that excitement was short-lived. This wasn’t some slumber party. He was here because he couldn’t be at home.
“Thank God,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“She said you have to sleep in here,” I said in mock-apology. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll have to share a bed.”
“Well damn it,” he replied. “I guess if there’re no other alternatives.” He got off of my bed and walked towards me. He put his arms around me slowly and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him—which had gotten considerably more difficult post-Thanksgiving. I kissed him a little bit longer before pushing him away.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, trying to cull my arousal. We could not have sex right now. I felt weird about doing things like that with my mom in the house. I totally wouldn’t be able to focus.
“Yeah, I don’t really want to think about it,” he answered. “I’d rather make out with my boyfriend—among other things.”
“We have to wait until tomorrow, or my mom will hear and freak out,” I said seriously.
We’d masturbated together a few more times since the first experience in the kitchen. He’d given me head a few more times, and I reciprocated that as well. But we hadn’t done the actual deed. With him living here for an unknown amount of time, especially during winter break, we were likely going to go all the way.
“We can be quiet,” he whined. I was so turned on by the fact he enjoyed being intimate with me. Hearing him beg for it almost had me relenting.
“It will be better tomorrow,” I said, walking over to my laundry basket and throwing my shirt into it.
“Fine,” he pouted before smiling. “But don’t expect me to let go of you all night.”
We got into the bed and he kept his promise. At least for this night, the first time we ever were going to sleep together in the same bed, he had me pulled closely into his beefy body. My full-sized bed was just right, but at the rate Mason was growing, I didn’t think it would be just right for long.
I knew he didn’t want to talk about what happened with his dad, at least not yet, so we enjoyed one another in silence. Before long, I could hear him gently snoring behind me. He was very warm and that made me feel so calm, that before long, I was also fast asleep.
I was awake a little after six and immediately got up to take a shower. Mason was still sleeping even after I finished my shower, so I went to make him breakfast. I had made hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. He was still sleeping when I finished around nine.
I ate with my mom and she let me know she was going to spend the morning shopping with my grandmother. She would be home this afternoon to take a nap and get ready for work. After she left, I went to wake up Mason.
He sat up quickly when I mentioned there was breakfast waiting for him downstairs. He got out of bed. He was wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs and a white undershirt. His thighs were huge and strong looking. His ass was barely contained by the ash-colored fabric. His belly pushed the small shirt up a bit, around his belly button. His arms looked massive, and I wanted to grab ahold of them and never let go.
Breakfast. Breakfast. Breakfast.
“You can use the bathroom and come down for breakfast,” I said finally, regaining focus.
“Okay,” he said, sleepy eyed, scratching his tummy. He went off to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I heard the flush of the toilet, then the sink turning on and off, and about five minutes later he exited the bathroom, face scrubbed, and teeth brushed. We made our way downstairs.
Looking at the table, there was a ridiculous amount of food for one person. Even with what my mother and I ate, there was way too much for Mason. I’d used almost an entire bag of potatoes for the hash browns. I’d have to get another carton of eggs, having used the ten that we had in the fridge. The toast was buttered, and the bacon was crisp. I’d definitely been excited while cooking, thinking with my dick and not my head.
“I realize now this is an excessive amount of food.”
“I didn’t get to eat dinner last night,” he said. “I’m starving.”
He wasn’t kidding. He really was.
Mason tackled the spread like a competitive eater. He took a piece of toast and carefully folded it in half before adding some of the other ingredients, making a sort of taco. He did this until the eight pieces of toast were gone. He then ate what was left of the eggs and hash browns with hot sauce. He drank two big glasses of milk too. I didn’t realize how much he could eat. I was sitting at the table across from him.
It was after breakfast. My mom wasn’t home. We could finally have at it.
“You ate all of it,” I said, touching my boner underneath the table. I was wearing a pair of running shorts that came about halfway up my thigh. I was easily able to access my dick.
“Yeah,” he said, his face going red. “I didn’t have dinner and I was really hungry and it tasted so good.” He placed his hands on his belly.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, tugging at the hem of his shirt, failing to keep it down. Majority of his clothes had begun to fit this way. “I guess you were wrong about the whole me getting fatter thing.”
“I was not wrong,” I said, standing. He took in my massive erection and smiled, relief showing on his face.
“We really are a pair of sexual deviants, huh?” I walked to his side of the table and grabbed his hand. He stood up, looking down at me for a moment. He scooped me up and held me in his powerful arms. We looked at one another for a moment. His eyebrows were so serious it made me laugh. He joined in and we laughed hard for a few moments.
“I got excited,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re so excited. It means it’s not just me.” Still in his arms, he made his way towards the stairs and ran us up to my room.
In a flurry, our clothing items flew off our bodies. His t-shirt, my shorts. My sweatshirt, his boxer briefs. We stood completely naked in the middle of my bedroom, and it was all sort of surreal.
“Oli, you’ve got a body like a porn star.”
“You may not be as defined as I am, but I’d much rather see you in a porno.” He laughed.
“We could be in one together,” he said, joking. “It’d be the only video I’d ever need for the rest of my life.”
I smiled at him, my hands on his waist. I enjoyed how he’d begun to spread out. His gut hadn’t been like this back in October. He was developing love handles, with little stretch marks around where his torso met his hips.
My hands moved to his biceps and he flexed them for me. My dick jumped at how solid his arms were, craving his body. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
He nodded.
I grabbed a condom and lube from a box in my closet. I didn’t think I’d ever get to use these things, and here I was about to use them with Mason. He moved onto the bed and he put his ass out for me.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.
“No, but I’ve seen a lot of porn,” I said truthfully, almost half-regretting my honesty. “Have you ever had sex before?”
“No,” he said. “I hadn’t even kissed anyone before I kissed you.” I had made out with some guys before, but I didn’t want to spoil how sweet that was. Something about this whole situation was kind of empowering.
“I’ll be gentle,” I said, trying to be suave. Sure, I had seen my fair share of pornography, but seeing something and executing something were two very different things. I didn’t want to be bad at it. I was always the passive, quiet one and I had to admit, I enjoyed the idea of being the dominant one in the bedroom.
I lubed up my penis as well as his asshole. I slapped his butt, enjoying the sound it made. I did it again and he gasped softly. He arched his back a little, accentuating the size of his ass.
I entered his beautiful ass slowly. I started with just the head, not wanting to hurt him. He was breathing loudly, but it didn’t sound like he was in pain. I moved slightly, pushing a little more of myself into him, and felt a tingle go throughout my whole body. Mason continued gasping and whimpering and breathing loudly as I slowly pushed more and more of my dick inside of him.
“Christ!” he yelped. I stopped moving.
“Do you need me to stop?” I asked.
“Fuck, Oli,” he said, panting. “It’s starting to feel good. Keep going.” I did as I was told and bucked my hips back and forth, the sound of my upper thighs slamming against his fat ass creating a sort of beat. About halfway through he started tugging at his dick, moaning loudly as he came. That did it for me, and after a few more strokes, I filled the condom with my cum.
I was sure if someone were watching it would have looked awkward, but I didn’t care at all. I had never felt closer to a person. I had never felt closer to Mason.
Actual sex was way better than masturbating.
“Are you okay?” I asked, removing the condom and throwing it in my trashcan.
“That felt really good.” Mason was still panting. I walked over to the bed where he was laying down and laid next to him. “I was worried there for a second, but little Oli sure knows what he’s doing.” I laughed.
“That was possibly the best experience of my life,” I said. He rolled over on top of me, straddling me, and covered my face with kisses. I loved it.
“How much do you weigh now?” I inquired, feeling his weight pressing me down.
“Get the scale,” he said, swinging himself from on top of me. I got off of the mattress and made my way to the bathroom. I got the scale and set it in the center of my bedroom. He placed his large feet on the scale, and I read the number.
“283 pounds.” In less than three months, Mason had gained nearly sixty pounds. I was getting hard again just thinking about where he’d be three months, six months, a year from now. I stepped on the scale next, also getting off on how much more he weighed than I did. It read 160 pounds and a little extra. 123 pounds. Mason was 123 pounds bigger than me.
“You’re fucking tiny,” he said in disbelief, looking down at the number displayed on the monitor. “I never realized how little you are." I turned my naked body to face him and gestured to my flaccid cock, which admittedly, was still pretty big.
“I wasn't talking about that,” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t weighed 160 pounds since the fifth grade.”
“Do you not like me being skinny?”
“I find your skinniness to be quite the turn on.” He kissed me, grabbing my ass. “And if we’re being honest, you store all your weight in just the right places.” I didn’t know why that made me so flustered, but it did. I felt my face go hot. I liked that he thought I had a nice ass.
“I’d have to say the same goes for you,” I said.
“I hope to get much bigger,” he said, stepping back from me. He flexed his arms and I felt myself getting hard again. He knew what he was doing, turning me on. He turned around, so I could look at his wide back and juicy butt. He was damn near a wall. He turned back around and looked at me with extreme intensity.
“What’s with that look all of a sudden?”
“I want to be able to keep you safe, Oli. I’m going to be big enough to protect you from everything.” I was so turned on again. He was adorable.
“Thanks Mason,” I said, reaching out to embrace him. We stood together for a few minutes before we took a shower and got dressed. Throughout the day Mason ate all the snacks we had in the house. We went shopping and stockpiled food in my bedroom. He didn’t want to let my mother know he was constantly inhaling food. We did have to keep all the milk he got in the fridge. I wondered what my mom would say about it. Two weeks of him eating this way and he’d get huge.
Holiday break could only last the two weeks; I knew it could only be two weeks, and yet the morning classes were to resume, I was an anxious mess. Mason’s constant eating slapped another ten pounds onto his beefy frame, putting him at 293 pounds. Everyone was going to notice. He was gigantic. He was still incredibly muscular underneath his recent gain though, only making him appear even wider.
The only time Mason was away from me was when he’d go to meet with his uncle to lift weights. Galvin told Mason he didn’t care that he was gay, and that Mason’s dad would come around soon. It meant a lot to Mason that his uncle still supported him.
Mason’s arms were big and strong, and his thighs were probably so large to hold up his massive bubble butt. His belly pushed up all his shirts and buttoning pants was just a waste of time, so he wore sweatpants and the biggest sweatshirt he could find. I felt bad. This day was going to be bad. He looked good to me of course, but everyone was going to stir up trouble. I didn’t want to go to school.
He drove us to school that morning and things were fairly similar to the way they were before break. That’s not to say people weren’t making comments, but there was nothing too out of the ordinary. Things were actually bearable until lunch.
We sat together, eating lunch amidst the stares of our nosy classmates. I had a fruit salad, some fries, a grilled chicken sandwich, and a banana. Mason had bought three slices of pizza, fries, chicken tenders, and three milks. It was like he didn't care about what was happening at all—all the stares, all the names, the comments, and dirty looks.
“How are you doing this?” I asked, eating a few fries, but not really feeling all that hungry. My stomach was in knots. He was already on his second slice of pizza.
“Well, I mean you kind of move your mouth in a gnawing motion after placing food in there. Like this—,” he said, taking a colossal bite and chewing theatrically. I laughed loudly. He was so dumb sometimes, able to make a joke that could distract me from my negative feelings. He smiled at me and started on his chicken tenders.
“I meant all of the people,” I said, clarifying what I was sure he knew I was originally referring to.
“I just don’t care,” he said seriously. “I wasted three years of my life caring about what other people thought. It’s 2012. Being gay shouldn’t be this big of an issue. I let other people tell me being gay was wrong. I don’t see anything wrong with it.” He gulped down his second milk, nibbling at his remaining fries. His sweatshirt exposed a bit of belly as it set in his lap. “I love you, Oli. I just think about that and I don’t even notice everybody else.”
He loved me? I knew I loved him too, but we hadn’t said it before.
“I think I’ll try that,” I said. “Thinking about how much I love you.” I thought I was supposed to be the one thinking positive? I was proud to call Mason my boyfriend.
I opened my banana and heard an increase in laughter. I looked over at Bret pointing at me.
“You thinking about Mason’s dick?” he called, causing his table to erupt in laughter again. I forgot not to get a banana. I hadn’t eaten a banana at school since freshman year. I moved the banana away from my lips, visibly distraught. It was so embarrassing being made fun of in front of Mason.
“Can I have that?” Mason asked as he smiled at me. I handed him the banana. “Thanks.” He put it in and out of his mouth suggestively, making a ridiculous face as well. He then shoved the whole thing in greedily. He had me doubled over in laughter again. He was so absurd sometimes. He chewed and drank the last milk.
“Mase, you’re so goofy.”
“Thanks. That was so good,” he said loudly, for Bret and his cronies to hear. He smiled again, his eyes sparkling. Was I falling even more in love with him? He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “I’m still hungry. I think I got too used to you keeping me well-fed. I’m going to get a cookie.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a bite out of my sandwich. I felt better. Better than ever. I was almost done with my sandwich when Bret came over. That positive feeling didn’t stand a chance.
“What’s up faggot?”
“I don’t care what you call me.” I stood, looking to find Mason so we could spend the rest of the lunch period in the library. We could study for English. Anything would be better than having to stay around Bret for an extended period of time. Bret placed his hand on my shoulder and forced me back into my seat.
“I don’t give a fuck what you care about.” I looked up at him from my seat. He narrowed his blue eyes at me, making him look like a rat. This guy really hated me. I stood up again and turned to walk away, kind of afraid of what he was going to do to me. “I hate what you are. You did something to Mason.”
“Like what?” I asked, turning to face him. Did he think I was blackmailing Mason? Threatening him with violence? Casting love spells?
“I don’t know.” He took a cupcake from a tray on a neighboring table. He looked down at it for a moment, likely pausing for dramatic effect, before he slammed it into my face. “But I don’t like it.”
I’d spent years dealing with this sort of treatment from Bret, but for some reason this was actually getting to me. We were in the middle of the cafeteria and nearly everyone was looking at us now. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to take Mason’s words to heart. But he hadn’t experienced just how awful I’d been treated. I warily scrapped some of the frosting from around my eyes.
“Oh shit,” one of the girls nearby mumbled to the friend she was sitting with.
I turned, watching as Mason made his way over to where Bret and I stood. I saw his eyes travel from my face to Bret’s. Mason calmly set his cookies on the table next to me and pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The whole cafeteria was silent. It was like every sound had been magically muted.
“Mason,” I said nervously, trying to pull him away from Bret. “We need to go study for the Spanish quiz. We have to go now.” Bret was no match for Mason, and everyone else was still too afraid to even try and fight him. Mason was going to get in trouble. He used to get into fights all the time. He had never hit me, but I’d seen him pummel other assholes.
Mason yanked his arm from my grasp easily. Everything happened so fast, but I don’t think Bret landed a single blow on Mason. After about three minutes, I saw Bret was all purple and bloody.
“Fucking bitch!” Mason spat, his voice intense like the roar of a grizzly. The school security officers were coming. “You lay a hand on my boyfriend again and you’re dead.”
“Come on!” I pulled his sweatshirt and he finally stormed out.
“I should have killed him,” he said angrily, nostrils flared. He was breathing heavily.
“Okay, so yeah, Bret’s the worst,” I started, picking cupcake out of my eyebrows, “but I don’t think life in prison is going to solve anything. It’s not worth it.”
“I know, you’re right,” he said, his breathing slowing. “I just don’t want you to get hurt by him anymore.”
“By a cupcake?” I asked jokingly, trying to calm him down further.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
He leaned against a row of lockers. This wasn’t going to go unchecked by the school. They’d call his parents over this. He might even get suspended.
“I forgot my fucking cookies!” he exclaimed angrily.
“I could totally make you some!” This side of Mason was really hot, but I knew he wasn’t feeling great about the whole situation. As sexy as angry-Mason was, I still preferred when he was happy.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh?” I asked, trotting behind him. He was making his way towards the exit. We ditched Spanish and English. I had never ditched a class before, and I felt like a fugitive.
He pulled up outside of my house.
“I’ll be back,” he said. I nodded and got out of the Jeep. He drove off. I had never seen Mason so upset. I was pretty sure it had a lot to do with what Bret represented. Bret was a past that Mason wanted to forget. I knew Mason still struggled with guilt about how things had been between us the last three years, and I tried to assure him I had let that stuff go, but I knew he thought about it a lot. I didn’t know how to emphasize to him I wanted to just move on. High school would be over soon, and I would get to start the important years of my life. He had read an article about teen suicide in the LGBTQ+ community a few weeks ago. He looked sick after he finished it. I remember he looked at me seriously and said, “You could’ve killed yourself.”
Mason returned. He had gone to the gym. I looked at him and saw his huge arms and thighs looked pumped. He went to my bathroom and took a shower. I sat on the bed waiting. He exited the bathroom in a towel. His belly hung over the pink fabric. He dropped the towel revealing a beautiful ass. He looked so huge. Bret hadn’t stood a chance this afternoon.
I was always semi-erect around Mason but looking at him naked in front of me had me fully hard. He walked over to me and sat next to me on the bed. He leaned his body against mine. I could hear him breathing. I felt him press into me bit by bit. He was kind of whimpering, like a big Mastiff puppy.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver,” he said.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” I placed my hand on his monstrous thigh, squeezing it gently. “You stood up for me today, and I’m still hard thinking about how hot it was.” He grabbed me, pulling me close and passionately kissing me.
He ended up on his back in the bed and I ended up giving him head. It was the least I could do for how he stood up for me. And Mason couldn’t help himself, so I ended up getting head in return. But then I couldn’t help myself and found myself with his dick in my mouth again. It was a cycle that I didn’t really want to see broken.
That fight with Bret didn’t go unchecked by school administration. Mason’s parents had to come have a meeting with the principal and the dean. Both he and Bret were let off with warnings, but the school made it very clear that they could not protect Mason from the law next time, considering he was nineteen and Bret was only seventeen.
He moved back home after that, which was honestly kind of sad. We’d only gotten to live with one another for less than a month. He and his father did finally start talking again, but Mason told me it was strained conversation.
Nobody messed with us again until Valentine’s Day. In our school there was a fundraiser where a person could purchase a flower to send to a friend or crush or romantic partner. Of course, I had never gotten one, but Mason used to get tons of them every year. I went to buy one and I wrote a card for it. I wrote: Mason, I love you. Yours forever, Oliver.
I thought it looked sophisticated and mature. I paid the two dollars, took the carbon copy receipt, and went to class. I wondered if he even thought about those stupid flowers. Then I wondered if he got me one. I was getting all excited thinking about it, but I knew to keep my expectations in check.
I met him before first period. We were working when the flowers were delivered. I didn’t expect one this period. They measured out the number of flowers a person was to receive and equally distributed them throughout the day. If a person were to receive only one rose, they’d get it during their last period of the day. But I got one anyway, in first period, which meant I had more coming. There was no name. It was a card with one word: Faggot.
Mason looked at me to see who it was from, but I quickly put it in my pocket. “I hope you’re not cheating on me,” he joked, smiling at me.
“Of course not!”
“Well, why can’t I see the card?”
“It’s mine,” I said. This was likely Bret fucking with me again. I could not let Mason know about this. He might actually kill Bret this time, and I didn’t very much think orange was Mason’s color. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not,” he replied sternly, his eyebrows furrowed. He was mad. Throughout the day I got the flowers with the same card. With each one, Mason got more and more unnerved. I thought he was going to beat the shit out of me. At lunch he didn’t say a word. He ate a lot extra so he wouldn’t have to talk to me. I didn’t want him to see them. We couldn’t afford another incident like when he beat Bret to a pulp over a cupcake. He’d go berserk if he knew what was happening.
We walked to Spanish in silence. I got another card, and it said the same thing, but with a name—Bret. Surprise, surprise. I knew it was him. Nobody else would go so far to harass someone. Mason gave me a look of death and I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. I just wanted to go home. English came and I got my first nice flower all day. It said: I think you’re the best boyfriend in the world. Love, Mason.
I put that one in a separate pocket. Mason had gotten his first flower, which I was assuming was the one I purchased for him. He scanned it over and over. I hoped he liked it. Maybe it would make up for not showing him the Bret cards. I looked up at him and smiled. He stood up and stormed out; I followed. I heard Bret laughing as I entered the hallway.
“Mason! Wait up, what’s wrong? Mason!” He turned to face me. I saw he was trying to think about what to do. He pushed me into a locker, and it felt like he was getting ready to punch me.
“You—,” he started. He pulled out the card and read. “‘It’s over, Mason. I’ve gotten you back for three years of absolute torment. Did you really think I’d ever want to be with you, especially now? You’re a joke.’” Mason hadn’t stopped growing since moving back home. He was up another ten pounds, putting him at 303 pounds. I loved every ounce of him. I would never send that. I hoped he’d be smart enough to realize that.
“Please don’t hit me,” I exclaimed, flinching. He didn’t. Thank Jesus; he could have given me internal bleeding or something.
“I’d never put my hands on you,” he said angrily. Now he was mad and offended.
“I would never send that,” I said, pulling out the carbon copy receipt. “Look.” I handed him the card and he read it, looking relieved.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he groaned. He was getting worked up. I had a bad feeling. “I knew you didn’t send this, and it still got me emotional. I’m so sorry for pushing you. I’d never hit you. I swear I wouldn’t. But those cards you’ve been getting all day have really fucked with my head.” I reached into my pocket and handed him the cards. I hadn’t wanted him to see them, but at this point I had to be honest.
“These are the cards I’ve been getting all day, okay?” He read them and really went insane, heading for the exit.
“Mason, we’re going home, yeah?”
“Hell no. We are waiting for Bret and this is going to end today. Oliver, I’m going to kill him. I swear to God, I might just kill him.”
“You’ll get in trouble,” I said immediately. “No way.”
“Not if it’s after school.” That was ridiculous. He’d so still get in trouble. We passed through the doors leading outside as the afternoon announcements came on.
“You can’t do this Mason,” I said, trying my best to calm him down. “You’ve got to let this go.” The bell finally rang and two minutes later kids surged out of the building. He ran right at Bret who had been describing what he had done to two of his own beta-males. Bret was knocked to the ground.
Bret looked up at Mason from the ground. Mason was in a t-shirt alone. We hadn’t stopped at our lockers. The sleeves in the underarm area ripped with the advanced movement of his huge arms. Mason leaned over and punched him, harder and harder.
He stood straight up, hovering over Bret who was still laying on the pavement. “You ever fuck with us again, you’ll get your ass kicked worse than this.” There was a group around us, which formed a circle. Mason then spoke to them, turning every so often. It was almost like we were in the Colosseum, Mason a gladiator orating to the spectators.
“I like men,” Mason began. “But don’t let that confuse you. I can still fuck up anybody who steps to me or my boyfriend.” People were hanging on his every word. It was amazing.
“And this bitch over here,” Mason continued, gesturing towards Bret, “Has the weirdest fucking obsession with us. He went out of his way to send my boyfriend flowers all day today. I guess you could say he has a little crush.” This had people laughing now. “Babe, you should thank him for the flowers, but do let him down easy.”
“Uh, thanks for the flowers,” I said, uneasy having been put on the spot, but excited to be standing up to Bret in front of everyone for the first time. “But I’ve already got a boyfriend, so maybe you could find someone else.” The circle erupted in a resounding ‘Ohhhh!’ and lots of laughter.
“So who started this?” Mason asked the bloodthirsty spectators.
“Bret!” the crowd shouted. “Bret! Bret! Bret!” Mason started to walk off and I followed close behind him. The crowd parted so we could pass. I had never wanted to fuck him more than now. We could still hear people chanting and laughing as we made it to his Jeep.
Once inside, he drove towards my house, eyes focused intently on the road. His stomach growled loudly. There was a slight pause after the growling ceased, and then we both laughed loudly.
“Now I’m starving,” he said. I knew exactly what I wanted to make him.
As soon as we made it to my house, I started cooking. Mason went off to take a shower, saying something about needing to cool off. The whole situation with Bret still had him slightly heated. I was definitely still wound up from that encounter too, but not in the same way as Mason. Just thinking about how he’d stood up for the both of us had me soaking through my briefs. I’d been hard for some time now, ever since Mason’s whole ‘Are you not entertained?’ bit.
I cooked and cooked and cooked until I ended up making much more food than I thought we needed. It was just the two of us, but I’d made enough for five. I just couldn’t control myself when cooking for Mason. I loved seeing how much he could put away, how pleased his face would be when he ate an excessive amount of food.
I made the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special. It was a dumb concept that I came up with back in middle school during the early days of my culinary exploration. The main component was a mozzarella-stuffed chicken breast that I would deep fry. I served it with macaroni and cheese. And, even though I knew it was overkill, broccoli covered in a cheese sauce (I’d even made a dozen rolls, and no, they weren’t cheese stuffed). It was a lactose-intolerant person’s worst nightmare, but Mason had never had any problems with dairy. He probably couldn’t go on living without it. I made five of those chicken breasts, a huge serving dish worth of broccoli, and enough mac and cheese for a family of four.
About an hour later he came lumbering down the stairs. I’d just finished plating the food, with parsley and everything. He sat at the table, shirtless, and I took in his quarter-sized nipples. His pecs were still firm but had a nice layer of fat over them. My mouth didn’t water when I thought about dinner, but Mason’s tits had me almost drooling all over myself. I never would have thought he would be this big. I set his plate and silverware in front of him, and then the basket of rolls.
“I made too much,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” he said, smiling up at me from his seat at the table, “especially since you made the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special.” I felt my face go hot. It meant a lot to me that Mason remembered the name of this meal, but I needed to come up with a new one. Something that wasn’t so embarrassing. I wasn’t twelve anymore.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” I said, walking towards the fridge and pouring him a glass of milk.
“Thanks.” He didn’t waste time getting started. He didn’t even use silverware to eat the chicken breast, simply picking it up and taking a large bite, pulling the meat away from his mouth causing an impressive cheese pull.
In this moment, watching him happily eat, I realized that Mason hadn’t really changed all that much since we were younger. Yeah, he was over a hundred pounds bigger and six inches taller, but he was still the same silly, considerate, sometimes hot-headed guy I’d always had a crush on.
I must’ve been staring, because he looked up from his plate, catching my gaze. He stopped racing through the food on his plate, eating more slowly.
“What’re you staring at?” he asked, chewing, stabbing a broccoli floret with his fork. “You haven’t even started eating yet.”
“I just really love you,” I said honestly. “I can’t help staring.”
“C’mon Oli,” he said, his face reddening, “You’re just trying to embarrass me.”
“I’m not!”
“Well, I love you too,” he said, his face still flushed. “I’m really lucky, you know? Who’d ever think a guy like you would be interested in me.”
Whoa—Mason was always surprising me. My initial assessment wasn’t completely fair to him. Mason had changed. In a way that was really significant.
He’d become more courageous.
He was brave enough to come out, to date me, to change his body in a way that wasn’t considered conventionally attractive. Even if all the things I loved about him from our youth were the same, I was fortunate enough to be able to love the man he was becoming as well.
I stood, going to refill his plate. He ate this serving just like the first, like if he didn’t get it all down fast enough someone might come and take it away. I sat down and watched, picking at the portion I’d set aside for myself. I wasn’t even hungry. I had no idea how he ate so much. He’d eat a roll every so often. I was able to refill his plate once more, and he ate that with the same amount of gusto. He got up the excess cheese that remained on the plate with the last roll.
“Fuck, that was just as good as I remembered.” He leaned back, placing his hands on his belly, rubbing it gently.
“Can—uh, can I do that?” I asked. He grinned.
“You don’t gotta ask,” he said, turning in the chair away from the table. He spread his legs, waiting for me. I went to the other side of the table as he pushed away from it. I knelt on the ground and rubbed his bloated gut, my hands traveling to his sides so I could squeeze the love handles pushed up by his underwear.
I moved toward his broad chest, squeezing the flesh there as well. Fuck, there was just so much of him. He was only wearing underwear, so I saw he was getting hard. I leaned forward, and began to kiss his belly, licking around his navel. His stomach tensed and relaxed.
“You like this gut?” he asked, his eyes closed.
“I love this gut,” I replied. His dick jumped in his underwear.
He stood, pushing me back slightly. I looked up from beneath his belly, and it made me think about that day at the bike racks a few months ago. I’d thought of him as a giant then, but compared to what I was looking at now, that version of Mason was minuscule.
Mason removed his dick from his boxers, and I leaned forward, resting my mouth at the base of his penis above his balls. I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of his skin after a shower. I licked his shaft slowly, raising a hand to feel the heft of his belly above me. It didn’t need my support, as it was a solid sphere that hadn’t gotten large enough yet to droop. I thought about that phrasing and it sent me to another level of arousal. Large enough yet. Mason would likely be bigger than this soon. 300 pounds was the point where most guys would fight to get their waistlines in check, but I knew Mason didn’t care about that. He’d want more, and I wanted to help him.
I heard him moaning above me, one of his hands grabbing my hair, the other on the side of his gut. “Fuck, Oli,” he grunted. “You’re gonna make me cum.”
I stopped and stood up.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said.
He agreed to head up to my room, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing me ravenously first. He loved kissing, and I definitely wasn’t against it, but we hadn’t moved yet. Mason was still kissing me. On my neck. My forehead. My cheeks. He reached for his penis, but I stopped him.
“Upstairs,” I reiterated.
He nodded. His eyes had that glazed over look again. He followed me to the staircase, and as I ascended, I heard the stairs creaking loudly as he heavily padded up after me.
I wanted to fuck him with all I had. Each time I wanted more and more to have the best sex ever, and each time it was the best sex ever. I didn’t know if it was because we were getting better at it or the fact that our relationship was becoming so much more serious, but whatever it was, I hoped it continued.
He pulled off his boxers and leaned over my desk, his beefy forearms resting on top. His strong legs were spread apart, and his knees were slightly bent. In this position, his stomach seemed more noticeable. It hung down, round and bloated. I wanted to cradle it in my hands from behind.
I slid on a condom and carried the lube over to where he was waiting for me. I covered my dick in the slick substance before gently massaging his hole. “I’m ready,” he breathed. “I want it, Oliver.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I grabbed onto one of his love handles as I led my member inside of him. This ass was everything. I’m pretty sure he worked it out extra hard because he knew I loved it so much. Seeing my hands cradling his meaty cheeks was unreal. I didn’t have abnormally large hands, but he had such a massive ass, they looked almost feminine. I pushed my entire dick inside of him, thrusting back and forth more forcefully than I had before. He moaned and moaned—saying my name, telling me how good it felt. I felt the tingle I came to expect wash over me. I wasn’t sure if it was endorphins or what, but I was close to finishing and feeling amazing.
He took a sharp intake of breath, shooting cum across the front drawers of my desk. I pushed hard a few more times. I’d never felt so good before. I came loads, my legs turning to jelly for a few moments, almost causing me to lose my balance. “Aw, fuck,” I managed to get out, grabbing his hips gently.
We moved over to the bed and laid back. His belly moved up and down.
“That gets better and better,” he panted.
“I was thinking the same thing.” He rolled over on top of me. I loved that, the weight of his fat body pressing into me. It was incredible. He just laid there, kissing my face and neck until I had to tap out. He rolled back over, smiling.
The next thing I remember was waking up. We’d fallen asleep. It was now around eight. I tried to shake him awake.
“Mason,” I said. “Mason wake up.”
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled almost inaudibly.
“Mason,” I laughed, “You can’t stay here. Your parents will wonder where you are.”
“I don’t wanna get up,” he said into a pillow. “Let them wonder.”
“But our homework,” I said half-heartedly, also not in the mood to complete any schoolwork or send him on his way. I got up and checked my assignment book. Nothing was due tomorrow. I locked my door and got back in bed. He turned so I could place my head on his chest. He had his arm wrapped around me. I could have stayed like that forever.
Mason dozed back off almost immediately, but I laid awake thinking.
We only had a couple of months left in senior year. I’d gotten into my first-choice university and all of my safety schools, but there was definitely something that had me reconsidering going away to a four-year university. I didn’t really have any idea of what I wanted to major in. Nothing in the traditional sense was appealing to me. I didn’t want to be a teacher or a lawyer or a nurse.
Being with Mason reignited a passion that had laid dormant for years. I loved being in the kitchen and perfecting different recipes. Attending culinary school might be what I want to do post-graduation. It might have been youthful optimism, but I could see myself one day owning a restaurant.
Mason was going to the college thirty minutes from where we lived. I knew there was a program near him that was accredited and offered lots of opportunities for growth. I could feel myself getting excited by this idea. I hadn’t even been this excited opening up my college acceptance letters. This passion had to mean something. It just had to.
I could do it. I would do it! I’d always longed for a life outside of high school, and now I was starting to see that life more clearly. Even if the future was a mixed bag of possibilities, I knew one thing for certain.
I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Mason.
The End!
Fictional Characters that Need a Fattening Up
(Add your own)
Sir Walter from Fable 3
Most main characters in Legend of Zelda
Arthur Morgan from Red Dead 2
Bumi 2 from Legend of Korra
