The Life of a True Fatty - Prelude/Part One
Tyler had always known one unshakable truth about himself: he loved food. Not in the casual way most people do, but with a deep, almost reverent hunger that felt like destiny. A lot of his family shared that passion. His father, once a lean high-school quarterback, had ballooned into a soft, imposing 350-pound man whose belly swayed gently when he laughed at the dinner table. His uncle had taken it further—packing on 500 pounds by twenty-five, turning what started as weekend barbecues into a full-time lifestyle of indulgence. In Tyler's world, food was never the enemy, and the size that came with it was never shameful. It was simply what happened when you let yourself enjoy life without apology.
This is the story of one man's spectacular, unapologetic journey into fatness—a path Tyler would follow farther than anyone in his family ever dreamed.
Part One – The First Gains (2019–2020)
At eighteen, Tyler was the kind of guy who turned heads without trying. Six-foot-two, 190 pounds of long-limbed muscle from years of sports, he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who knew he looked good. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, arms thick from lifting, chest defined under fitted tees. His face had that classic, square-jawed Clark Kent appeal—strong brow, bright eyes, a smile that could charm anyone. He joked with his gay friends that he was “prime Ryan Murphy casting material,” the all-American hunk who’d play the heartthrob before the plot twist. A handful of amateur modeling gigs had already landed him a solid Instagram following, where shirtless gym selfies racked up likes and thirsty DMs.
High school had been a whirlwind of athletics—football in fall, wrestling in winter, track in spring. Tyler was the guy coaches fought over, the one teammates wanted on their side because he could outrun, outjump, and outmuscle almost anyone. He wasn’t book-smart, but on the field he was gold. Compliments followed him everywhere: “Big dude,” “You’re a tank,” “Don’t let anyone tackle you.”
But Tyler harbored a secret that never made it onto the field or into group chats. Late at night, when the house was quiet, he scrolled through gainer blogs and forums, mesmerized by the men who’d surrendered to their appetites. Soft bellies spilling over waistbands, thick thighs straining jeans, double chins forming under contented smiles—he couldn’t look away. The thought of his own body softening, rounding out, growing heavy and undeniable made his pulse race. He’d order late-night McDonald’s or a Dairy Queen Blizzard, eat until his stomach ached in the best way, then stroke himself to fantasies of becoming one of those men. He wanted the heft, the jiggle, the way clothes would hug and stretch. He wanted to be BIG.
College was supposed to be his fresh start. Las Vegas in the fall of 2019 felt like paradise for someone with his appetite—an endless buffet of neon-lit restaurants, 24-hour diners, and fast-food joints glowing on every corner. He moved into the UNLV dorms and met his roommate on day one: Christov, “Chris,” a Bulgarian bodybuilder with a thick accent, tree-trunk arms, and the same wide-eyed enthusiasm for life that Tyler had. They clicked instantly—two big, naive guys ready to lift heavy, party harder, and chase whatever felt good.
The semester hit like a freight train. Tyler declared kinesiology as his major (for now), but classes took a backseat to the real education: Vegas nightlife. Parties every weekend, frat houses, strip-club after-parties, bottomless brunches that bled into late lunches. Without a proper kitchen in the dorm, meals came from campus food courts, drive-thrus, and whatever delivery app was trending. Tyler skipped the gym more often than he hit it—why lift when you could shotgun beers and demolish a tower of tacos instead?
Chris noticed. “Bro,” he’d say in his rolling accent, clapping Tyler’s shoulder, “we could make you a mass monster. Come lift with me. You’ve got the frame for it.” Tyler would nod, promise to show up tomorrow, then ghost the rec center for another night of In-N-Out and flirting.
By spring semester, the changes had crept in. Fifteen pounds settled mostly in his midsection—a soft layer where carved abs used to be, a gentle curve of paunch that pushed against his belt when he sat. His jawline, once razor-sharp, had softened under a faint cushion of chub. XL shirts clung a little tighter across the chest and belly, the fabric pulling when he stretched. The freshman fifteen had claimed him.
He felt the embarrassment acutely. Summer break loomed, and he could already hear the comments back home: “College treated you well, huh?” “Someone discovered beer and pizza.” His gay friend group wasn’t subtle either. Rob, scrolling through Tyler’s latest selfie, texted: “Babe, we can’t have you looking chubby like this. Time to cut.” The words stung, but they also lit something else inside him—a quiet thrill at being called chubby, at the proof his body was changing.
By day he flushed with shame. By night he locked his door, scrolled those same gainer pages, and jerked off to the thought of letting go completely. The softness felt good. The way his stomach pressed against his waistband after a big meal, the slight jiggle when he walked—it turned him on more than any six-pack ever had. But he couldn’t admit it. Not yet. So he did what everyone expected: he went on a diet.
Early March, he started strict. Dry chicken breast, overcooked rice, limp steamed veggies from the dining hall. Measured portions, scheduled eating, lifts with Chris after class, nightly jogs around campus. His friends cheered him on—“You’ve got this!” “Looking leaner already!”—and Chris beamed like a proud coach. Tyler hated every second. The food tasted like cardboard. His stomach growled constantly. He craved the greasy comfort of a Caniac Combo, the thick sweetness of an Oreo Blizzard sliding down his throat. How did people live like this?
A week in, he’d dropped two pounds. The scale said progress, but he felt worse—hollow, irritable, deprived. The compliments rang false. Then came the email that changed everything.
UNLV alert: In-person classes cancelled due to pandemic. Rec center and campus facilities closed until further notice.
Tyler stared at the screen, heart pounding. The world was shutting down, fear spreading, but all he could think was: No gym. No schedule. No one watching. It felt like fate. A sign that the diet was over. That it was finally time to eat.
He closed the email, opened DoorDash, and ordered enough for three people: double cheeseburgers, large fries, nuggets, an oreo shake thick enough to chew. When the bags arrived, he spread everything across his desk, the warm smell filling the tiny dorm room. Chris was out—probably panic-buying protein powder or trying to keep track of which girl he was talking to that week —so Tyler was alone.
He ate slowly at first, savoring the forbidden salt and fat. Then faster, greedier. Grease slicked his fingers. His stomach stretched, pressing happily against his waistband. By the time the last fry disappeared, he was stuffed, breathing heavy, a soft dome of fullness rounding his middle. He leaned back, hand drifting under his shirt to rub the taut, warm swell.
For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel guilty.
And he knew he wasn’t stopping anytime soon…
