Coach's favorite jock
There's a knock on my door. I don't usually get visitors on Saturday evenings, so I'd planned to spend the night working on plays in my office. But when I found Will standing in front of my office, I wasn't surprised.
Will's the best player on our team. He's O-line, so he doesn't get much credit for our wins, but I know how it actually works. I know how important he is. A huge wall of a man, 7 foot tall, 370 lbs at his last weigh-in, and he knows to use that size. Built like a bear and moves like a tiger.
"What'you doing bothering an old man on a Saturday night, Will? Don't you have something more fun to be doing."
"You're not that old," Will says. "And, I thought you'd be proud that I'm not getting wasted at a party."
"Fair point," I concede, letting him in.
Will doesn't usually come here on Saturday nights. But he's still a regular late-night visitor at my office.
"My belly's gotten bigger," Will says, putting a hand his paunch.
"I know," I chuckle. Will's shirt is tight around his gut. Rises up above his belly button. There's a slight overhang over his shorts, telling me it's empty, or at least not near full. Will's belly is big, these days, no two ways around it. It was flat when I first met him 4 years ago, but it certainly isn't now.
"The hungry's getting real intense lately," he says. "Wakes me up at night sometimes."
Will is now rubbing his belly.
"I hope you're not letting it bother your sleep," I say. I offer him a seat on the couch. I keep a large couch in my office, that often doubles as a bed on these late nights.
"I try and keep it under control. You know, coach, I was out with the boys, tonight?"
"And why'd you leave them to go talk to your grumpy old coach?"
"I didn't leave them, we just decided to call it early. They're still tired after last game, and we got kicked out of Tonio's pizza again."
"Again?"
"Yeah. I mean, it was a busy night for him, and Blake looked like he was about to hurl," Will explained, his belly bulging as he sitsback. "How much pizza do you think I had?"
I take a moment. Will's belly is big, as I said, and if my linemen got kicked out for overeating I can't imagine he was holding back, but his belly is obviously not full, nor even at half capacity.
"About 3 large pizzas?"
"4. Downed some leftovers too," he says, with obvious pride as he rubs his belly. "And I'm still not full."
"You're not." Probably not even half full, which is both impressive and scary.
"Don't you think it's crazy, coach? When I was a freshman I remember feeling like the baddest guy ever because I could eat 3 large pizzas, and I wasn't always able to keep it down back then."
"I need my linemen as big as possible, and you can't have a big guy without a big stomach," I say. "Also, I was under the impression you liked the extra capacity. And not just because it helps us win games. The extra size, the extra muscle mass you're able to fuel. And that's not getting into all the times it's given you the edge in challenges I'm better not knowing about."
He smiles. Leans back, flexes his two gigantic arms, then slaps his tank of a belly. I heard a loud slosh, a huge volume of food moving in an even bigger stomach.
"I love it, coach. But I've never forgotten those days when I thought I was big and you taught me how wrong I was. I'll always remember that lesson you taught me. That no matter how good I am at something, I should always aim to be better."
He sits up. I know where this is going.
"I want you to fill me up, coach," Will says, suddenly staring right into my eyes. "I want you to push me to the absolute limit. I want you to stuff my gut until it hurts."
I grin. "Do you?"
"I want it to be just like the old days, coach. I want you to fill me up so hard I'm freaking out and begging you not to burst my belly."
What follows is something we're both familiar with. I keep my office fridge stacked with shakes and milk, and there's a few funnels in my cupboards, like those the fraternity brothers use in their parties. By the time I come back with a few jugs and a funnel, he's already taken off his shirt. Will is very proud of his body and not afraid to show off. I've seen how he acts in the locker rooms. A huge powerful frame, with massive pecs, and of course the infamous belly.
I put a hand on his belly as he grabs the funnel. Each time Will is bigger than last time. A thin layer of blubber on top of powerful unflexed ab muscles, on top of the biggest human stomach I'm aware of.
I've coached many a football player with a big belly in my time, and never have I seen one capable of downing this much. I can feel the 4 large pizzas in there and I can tell they're not coming close to filling him up.
"You've been stretching out your stomach," I comment.
"Yeah. I do so most nights these days. Only way to keep the hungry in check, and I sleep better when it's full. But it's not the same when it's not you doing it."
Will puts the funnel in his mouth, and I pour the first half-gallon jug down. It flows straight down the tube and into his belly, as if I were pouring it down the drain.
"Just a warmup", I say. He nods, as I grab the second half-gallon. Hoes down as easy as the first. His gut slowly edging up and out as he swallows.
There's now a full gallon of shake in his belly, on top of over 4 large pizzas. Somehow, this is just the beginning.
"Ready for the full gallon son?"
"Ready, coach. If anything it's made me even hungrier," he says, catching his breath after the first chug. "I wanna feel full."
And so I grab another half-gallon, and start to pour. Once it has emptied a bit, I put a hand on Will's belly. His gigantic stomach isn't even stretching yet, just filling up like a sac.
He burps when the jug is done. I could guess he forced it out for show with how not-full his belly felt, but it's the cocky grin that gives it away. So I give the paunch a slap. It sloshes, deeper and more muted than last time.
"Ouch!"
"Your belly still isn't full."
"I know coach! one and a half gallons of shake, 4 large pizzas and scraps, it's crazy, right?"
It is. It absolutely is.
"If your belly isn't full then you should keep chugging. This ain't gonna cut it, son."
I grab another half gallon; and he quickly puts the funnel back. He's used to me talking like this. Harkens back to the old days, when he was just a freshman with not enough mass but lots of potential.
"I need you as big as possible," I say as I start to pour. "This is an arms race we're in. Only way you can beat a 350 lbs guy slamming into you is by being a 400 lbs guy."
Will is easily going to be over 400 lbs once we're done for tonight, though not in playing form. Will sits back once the jug is done, the huge volume inside him making it impossible to lean forward or slouch. But there's a big grin on his face.
"Feels good?"
He nods. I can tell it feels good. The amounts he's consumed would be enough to burst just about anyone, but over the year's we've gotten his belly so big that it just feels comfortably full. The level of fullness that you'd like to have at the end of the day, that's bound to give you a good night's sleep.
"Then it's not enough. None of that feelgood bullshit here, I'm all about winning. And winning is tough. Winning hurts."
The next half gallon isn't as fast as the last few. His huge neck muscles have to work, and his huge belly is slowly but visibly inching up and out. There's now a big shelf under his pecs, and his belly button is about half as deep as when he got here. Giving it a rub, I can tell the huge volume is starting to tug at his stomach.
Once it's chugged, I give it a light slap. No slosh this time, but still some give. Reminds me of a beach ball after you've just inflated it. His belly has the size of a beach ball, too, but it's a lot heavier.
"Coach!" he says, as if suddenly woken up. The sheer weight of his stomach is starting to make him drowsy.
"Your belly can still hold more."
"There's so much shake in there..."
"Yes, there is. But I need there to be even more."
His powerful neck muscles are working hard to force the next gallon down. He's at that level of fullness where gravity alone isn't enough. Every gulp he swallows enters a tackle with the massive volume already inside him, pushing it down and out as it fills the top of his stomach. He shifts his back in the couch as he chugs, to relieve the pressure in his swelling belly.
We sit in silence once the jug is empty, Will panting from the effort. He opens his mouth to burp, but nothing comes out: there's no more gas in there, it's all solid and liquid.
"Coach... My belly... it's so big..."
"It's huge, son. But I don't care if you're big. I need you to be the biggest."
His eyes widen.
"I'm still shooting to get you at a playing weight of 400 lbs. With that size and your moves, you'll be unstoppable. A top draft pick. I want you to become a legend, son. And for that, we're gonna need a bigger belly."
I get up, and grab one last jug from my fridge.
"Please coach," he moans, every word taking considerable effort. "I don't want my belly to burst..."
This time, I do without the funnel. I sit down next to him, and put a hand on his rock hard gut. Slowly rubbing it, using the sweat from the heat of digestion like an oil. Starting at the top, at that huge shelf that juts out at a right angle from under his massive pecs. Moving to his right flank, where his belly has bowed out, like a sack of cement resting against a wall. Inching towards his underbelly, that by now is covering a large part of his tree trunk thighs.
"That should do it," I say.
I bring the jug up to his mouth, and very slowly start to pour. It shouldn't fit. Shouldn't possibly fit. There's three gallons of shake and an unholy amount of pizza in there. No belly was ever meant to hold that much. If it weren't for his powerful build he likely would have burst, and even with all that muscle mass, he shouldn't be able to keep it down. Coaches probably weren't meant to stuff their jocks this hard either. I have former linemen whose stomachs are so stretched out they're never going to be able to feel full after normal sized meals, and I never pushed any of them this far. I shouldn't be able to make anything else fit.
But it fits. I have to constantly rub the base of his paunch, and it takes the full power of all his throat muscles to get just one drop in, but it fits. Each gulp makes his stomach swell by an amount that's too small for the eye to see, but makes the pressure rise tenfold.
The empty jug hits the floor with a dull clunk. Will tilts his head back, resting it against the couch.
"My belly didn't burst."
He's so exhausted and stuffed he can barely talk, but beaming with pride nonetheless.
"I needed you bigger for the team. And I knew you'd be up to the task," I say. It's a shame Will isn't able to get up right now, because I'd be curious to see just how heavy he is right now. Easily over 400.
"I'm proud of you, Will."
I settle next to him, in a position that's comfortable for both of us. Keeping a hand on his paunch as he drifts away.
As with all our sessions, he will only have gained so much once it's all digested, but the stomach stretches add up. As his capacity increases, his appetite and therefore playing weight will naturally trend up. Who knows what unholy amounts his coaches will be able to fit inside him after he gets drafted. He's going to be another team's unsung hero, another coach's favorite jock.
But right now, he's falling asleep in my office, and he's going to need my help digesting all this.