[Story] The Exact Beginning
He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he started eating so much. At first, he was sure it was the day donuts were on sale. But that was one box, which was nothing. Maybe it was the day he ordered an extra meal to eat later, and instead ate them both at once and had to cook dinner anyway. Maybe he was ignoring deep emotional needs. Maybe he was just bored.
Sometime after the beginning, he tripped over the scale in his bathroom at midnight. Unwilling to let the inconvenience go to waste, he weighed himself: 170 lbs. That wasn’t right, of course. He weighed 150 or 160 lbs, depending on the time of year. But no, the scale would not recant, and 170 lbs it was. He shrugged and went back to bed.
A week later, the remembrance of his midnight weigh-in rose in his consciousness and he weighed himself again. Now he weighed 175 lbs, but that of course wasn’t right. People don’t just put on 5 lbs in a week. But he had. He looked at himself in the mirror. His stomach wasn’t as flat as he recalled, but he still looked thin enough clothed, so he just cursed his wayward diet and resolved to exercise more.
But instead he got into the habit of keeping a box of donuts on retainer. They were a great supplement to the coffee he had after breakfast, and dammit, he wanted to enjoy himself. He walked around the block now and then, but perhaps he did just as much walking in the grocery store picking up new flavors and old favorites to spice up the long, colorless days.
Single course meals weren’t nearly interesting enough, of course, so he experimented with two courses, or three. It took a week of four course meals before he realized he was eating nearly three times as much as he would have before.
When he was bored, he ate. When he was reading, he ate. When he went out with friends, he ate. And when he woke up in the wee hours of the night to relieve himself, he grabbed a pastry or a slice of pie to keep his stomach from growling as he dozed off again. He knew eating like this wasn’t what adults were supposed to do, especially not one so dangerously close to thirty as he. He told himself the weight would slide off when the stress of work returned, and each time he told himself this, he ate.
It was a month after 170 lbs that he pulled on some jeans and found them uncomfortably snug. Perhaps I ate too much last night, he thought. But the smaller layer of fat that pushed against the waistline of the pants described what he knew had actually happened. He stepped on the scale again: 190 lbs. Surely not. He observed himself in the mirror. Under his t-shirt he could see the bit of a belly he had been trying to ignore, and the shadow of pectorals that could not have derived from regular lifting. He lifted his shirt and poked at the soft middle he was developing. He was more curious than horrified, truth be told. He had always been thin, having never reached 165 lbs, let alone 190 lbs. And to tell another truth, he liked eating. He felt energetic after he napped off the effects of large meals, and putting his extra money toward food was more rewarding than trips to the casino with friends. He refused to acknowledge, however, that he was spending far more on food than he ever had on gambling.
He decided dinner would be smaller that night. He’d ease back to smaller portions, and everything would be fine. But he had steak ready to go—and mashed potatoes, and a line up of three desserts. Tomorrow would be just as good of a day to stop eating so much.
As the days passed in a haze of delicious food and bloated naps, he began to realize that “tomorrow” wasn’t coming. None of his clothes fit. His pants wouldn’t close no matter how much he struggled, and his shirts made him look like a sausage. Buying bigger clothes helped. He looked bigger yes, but it was a natural and unassuming largeness. He couldn’t just drop 20 lbs in a day, now could he? Relieved at this temporary solution, he went back to eating.
He put on an old shirt by mistake. His belly, rather than pushing at the blue fabric, actually hung out of it. He looked at his figure, and realized that the small belly he had been ignoring had grown into an unmistakable gut. The scale read 217 lbs. This should be a wakeup call, he told himself. I need to get my shit together, or I’ll won’t be able to slim down again.
He gave his belly a pat and watched it jiggle delicately, like a freshly prepared dish of gelatin. His mind wandered as he realized there was gelatin he could make for dessert. Before he could switch to a new shirt, he was in the kitchen preparing gelatin, his belly hanging out and swaying with the smooth, familiar motions of meal preparation that were becoming the rhythm of his existence.
The doorbell rang.
He didn’t realize until he was opening the door he hadn’t changed his shirt. But it was too late. His visitor wasn’t a delivery man or a neighbor. It was Will, an ex-boyfriend. He was a fit, handsome fellow whom he had dated before his dream job moved him a few states away. Will’s face was surprised, but pleasant.
“I was in town, and I thought I’d stop by. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer.”
“Good to see you; come in. Don’t mind me, I’m just…doing laundry.”
He sat Will down on the couch and ran upstairs to get another shirt. He knew his face was beet-red, but he also felt immensely aroused. Puzzling.
He returned and chatted with Will about the usual inane things. Eventually, Will brought up his weight.
“You been working out?”
“No, but I should. I’ve been indulging a bit lately.”
“You look good.” Will said haltingly. How polite.
“I’ll trim down once work gets busy.”
“Why?” Will asked.
He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Why? It wasn’t obvious?
“You know, to keep slim and all.”
“I mean, why bother if you’re happy?”
This was the insistent Will he remembered.
“I mean, eating whatever you want feels pretty great. Just gotta keep things in control.”
“That makes sense.” Will said. “I’m just not sure what’s worrying you.”
“I—I wasn’t really expecting you.”
“No need to be embarrassed.” Will said. “It’s me! We know each other pretty well.”
“Even though I look a bit...different.” He laughed nervously.
“You’re just a bit more cuddly. Nothing wrong with that. Come here.”
Will made him get up and give him a hug. He tried to hide his erection, but behold, Will was as aroused as he. They stared at each other for a moment. Will was just as handsome as he remembered, his immaculately trimmed beard contrasting with his wild, untamable hair.
He let out a pretend cough and sat back down. Their conversation wandered, but when they said their goodbyes, they hugged again with the same results as before.
Will broke the silence. “I’m glad you’ve been taking good care of yourself.” Will patted his belly and grinned. “You’ll have to send me some recipes.”
“I will.”
They smiled at each other, hugged again, and Will left.
He closed the door and groaned. How could he have been so stupid? He probably looked like a ridiculous slob. Though it was kind of a dick move for Will not to call sooner. Whatever. He returned to dinner and ate until the shock on Will’s face was a fuzzy memory, almost as if it hadn’t happened.
The memory of that shock returned, however, when he realized his friends were giving him the same look when they saw him in anything tighter than normal, which was everything. He felt attractive and confident when he got dressed, but the questioning glances of his friends made him wonder if the feeling was false. Maybe he was crazy.
One evening he met with a friend he hadn’t seen in a few months, before it began. He showed up five minutes early dressed in a skin tight t-shirt and a button-down. He knew he was pushing 250 lbs, but any good friend would look past that, for sure. I mean, his friend wasn’t that thin himself.
They embraced, and his friend exclaimed, “Woah, what happened to you?” He laughed and patted his gut, which wobbled under the unexpected attention.
“What do you mean?” He asked coyly.
“You’re not quite as thin as I remember.”
“I guess I’ve put on a few pounds lately.” He slapped his gut and they laughed.
Throughout the evening his friend mentioned his weight, which in concept should have annoyed him, but each time it came up, he grinned and agreed that he had indeed ballooned. He even freely admitted to being well over 200 lbs.
The eating continued. He knew he should stop, but his love of food was insatiable. His largest shirts grew increasingly tight. Sometimes, he stood in front of the mirror and smiled simply to admire how fat his face had grown, and how deeply his cheeks and chins dimpled with the slightest expression of pleasure. He would lift his belly up and watch it jiggle back into place over his belt, and his smile grew even wider.
He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he started eating so much. The scale told him he was 270 lbs. His belly hung out of everything he wore, and though he could afford new clothes, he preferred spending that money on food instead. His figure, once nearly flat, swelled in every direction. His love handles, faintly dusted with stretch marks, now filled out the sides of any shirt he wore. His legs had blimped into enormous and supple trunks that rubbed together when he walked. His pecs had turned into mounds of fat that rested comfortably on his belly whenever he sat down. His bulging ass knocked things down if he wasn’t careful.
He lumbered down the stairs, his gut bouncing up and down with each step. He was wearing a t-shirt that barely went to his navel, but that didn’t stop him from preparing food with his usual gusto. Now when he spilled anything on himself, there was a chance it just landed on his belly, and he could wipe it off with a finger or napkin.
A crazy thought entered his head. He felt lightheaded when he realized he couldn’t stop himself from doing it—he was going to send a photo of himself to Will. He searched until he found a shirt that went to his belt. He stood in front of the mirror and took a picture. He examined the photo. God, he had gotten fat. His shirt barely disguised the shape of his navel, chest, and love handles.
He opened a messenger app and found Will. He typed “Hope you’ve been doing well,” and attached the picture. He stared at the “send” button for a full minute. Was he mad advertising his weight gain so obviously to someone he cared for? Reason told him to wait until he had lost 30 lbs. But losing weight sounded so hard and so ridiculous during this thrilling, erotic moment.
He hit send.
A few minutes later, Will replied.
“I’m doing great. You look so cute and happy. Looks like you’re still putting on weight?”
“Yeah, I’ve gained 50 pounds since we last saw each other.” He felt like he was going to pass out from excitement.
“Good for you. I’ve never seen a guy get big as fast as you and love it so much.”
“Still catches me by surprise when I look in the mirror.”
“Yeah, surprised by how handsome you are. Don’t lose a pound before I can visit again.”
“Judging from how I eat, I’ll be even fatter by then.”
“I look forward to it.”
The smile on his face continued through all of dinner and desert. He was falling in love with his new body, and at least one person seemed to understand.
His weight continued to rise as he continued to gorge himself. 270 lbs gave way to 280 lbs...290 lbs. It was just a little more, and he was having a good time, so why be worried?
He had been chatting with a guy on a dating app for a couple hours before he realized his photos on the app were from before it began. He felt a heavy twinge. What was he going to say? That he had just put on a 100 lbs? He was still the same guy, wasn’t he?
“Hey, I just realized I haven’t updated my photos on here in forever, and I’ve put on some weight since back then. Didn’t want to mislead.”
“Haha, thanks for telling me. How much weight, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not sure exactly, I’ll just send a photo.” He sent the picture he had sent Will, 20 lbs ago, but it was something.
“Oh wow. You’re a cute guy, but you’re a bit bigger than I’m usually into. Sorry, I sound like an ass.”
The words stung, but it was better than he feared. “You have every right to be surprised. It didn’t even cross my mind until just a few minutes ago. I don’t really think of myself as a different guy, if that makes sense.”
“Totally, yeah. Are you working on losing weight?”
He avoided the question. “Just gotta convince myself food doesn’t taste so great, right?”
“Haha. I know what you mean.”
“But seriously, I understand if you don’t want to meet.”
“I still want to. I don’t wanna be shallow or judgy.”
Not a ringing endorsement, but it was still a pleasant surprise.
When the date came, the other guy would sneak glances at his enormous body, as if he hadn’t seen a fat man wear snug clothes so confidently before. Neither of them brought up the topic of his weight, and the date ended amicably.
He went home and weighed himself: 300 lbs. No wonder his date was so mesmerized by his size. He tried to put on a shirt he had worn when he was 150 lbs. It was almost ridiculous how tiny it looked on him. It barely went over his chest, let alone his gut. He looked like he had been pumped full of lard until he swelled like a human blimp. How had this happened to him? It seemed like yesterday his stomach was flat and his pecs firm and muscled. He felt his chest, belly, legs, and arm. All soft and smooth. He was the deluxe model of a man, though he said it himself. He wished Will would visit again.
Things began to change. His head began to ache, his appetite died, and he could barely keep what he did eat down. He wanted to go to the doctor, but he scarcely imagined what a trained professional would say about a man who had just gained over 130 lbs.
He wasn’t sure what day it was. He felt incredibly ill. He ran into the bathroom, gut and ass bouncing uncontrollably. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He almost didn’t recognize himself, his entire body engorged by soft and swaying fat. His face was round and shapely, his eyes shining amid the layers of blubber that he had acquired. He was like a heavy balloon inflated by lard rather than air. He was about to bend over the toilet, when he lost consciousness, and went into a dark sleep.
When he awoke, he was laying in the woods behind his house. He lifted his shirt and stared at his torso. He could almost make out his abs. He was wearing his old clothes, and he was thin again. Uncomfortably, horrifyingly thin. His keys were in his pocket, and he returned to his house. The kitchen was barely stocked. He ran up to his bedroom. All of the bigger clothes he had worn were gone.
He opened his phone. The photo he had sent Will was missing, as were all the photographs he had taken of himself since it began. Was this an elaborate hoax or an unbelievable dream?
He rushed into the bathroom. He was 157 lbs. He tried to recall what he looked like fatter, but his memory returned only the faintest of images. He stared at the mirror. The man looking back at him seemed emaciated and foreign.
He opened his phone and composed a message for Will: “Hey, weird question for you. Have you ever fantasized about a guy getting fat?”
He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and waited for an answer.
Sometime after the beginning, he tripped over the scale in his bathroom at midnight. Unwilling to let the inconvenience go to waste, he weighed himself: 170 lbs. That wasn’t right, of course. He weighed 150 or 160 lbs, depending on the time of year. But no, the scale would not recant, and 170 lbs it was. He shrugged and went back to bed.
A week later, the remembrance of his midnight weigh-in rose in his consciousness and he weighed himself again. Now he weighed 175 lbs, but that of course wasn’t right. People don’t just put on 5 lbs in a week. But he had. He looked at himself in the mirror. His stomach wasn’t as flat as he recalled, but he still looked thin enough clothed, so he just cursed his wayward diet and resolved to exercise more.
But instead he got into the habit of keeping a box of donuts on retainer. They were a great supplement to the coffee he had after breakfast, and dammit, he wanted to enjoy himself. He walked around the block now and then, but perhaps he did just as much walking in the grocery store picking up new flavors and old favorites to spice up the long, colorless days.
Single course meals weren’t nearly interesting enough, of course, so he experimented with two courses, or three. It took a week of four course meals before he realized he was eating nearly three times as much as he would have before.
When he was bored, he ate. When he was reading, he ate. When he went out with friends, he ate. And when he woke up in the wee hours of the night to relieve himself, he grabbed a pastry or a slice of pie to keep his stomach from growling as he dozed off again. He knew eating like this wasn’t what adults were supposed to do, especially not one so dangerously close to thirty as he. He told himself the weight would slide off when the stress of work returned, and each time he told himself this, he ate.
It was a month after 170 lbs that he pulled on some jeans and found them uncomfortably snug. Perhaps I ate too much last night, he thought. But the smaller layer of fat that pushed against the waistline of the pants described what he knew had actually happened. He stepped on the scale again: 190 lbs. Surely not. He observed himself in the mirror. Under his t-shirt he could see the bit of a belly he had been trying to ignore, and the shadow of pectorals that could not have derived from regular lifting. He lifted his shirt and poked at the soft middle he was developing. He was more curious than horrified, truth be told. He had always been thin, having never reached 165 lbs, let alone 190 lbs. And to tell another truth, he liked eating. He felt energetic after he napped off the effects of large meals, and putting his extra money toward food was more rewarding than trips to the casino with friends. He refused to acknowledge, however, that he was spending far more on food than he ever had on gambling.
He decided dinner would be smaller that night. He’d ease back to smaller portions, and everything would be fine. But he had steak ready to go—and mashed potatoes, and a line up of three desserts. Tomorrow would be just as good of a day to stop eating so much.
As the days passed in a haze of delicious food and bloated naps, he began to realize that “tomorrow” wasn’t coming. None of his clothes fit. His pants wouldn’t close no matter how much he struggled, and his shirts made him look like a sausage. Buying bigger clothes helped. He looked bigger yes, but it was a natural and unassuming largeness. He couldn’t just drop 20 lbs in a day, now could he? Relieved at this temporary solution, he went back to eating.
He put on an old shirt by mistake. His belly, rather than pushing at the blue fabric, actually hung out of it. He looked at his figure, and realized that the small belly he had been ignoring had grown into an unmistakable gut. The scale read 217 lbs. This should be a wakeup call, he told himself. I need to get my shit together, or I’ll won’t be able to slim down again.
He gave his belly a pat and watched it jiggle delicately, like a freshly prepared dish of gelatin. His mind wandered as he realized there was gelatin he could make for dessert. Before he could switch to a new shirt, he was in the kitchen preparing gelatin, his belly hanging out and swaying with the smooth, familiar motions of meal preparation that were becoming the rhythm of his existence.
The doorbell rang.
He didn’t realize until he was opening the door he hadn’t changed his shirt. But it was too late. His visitor wasn’t a delivery man or a neighbor. It was Will, an ex-boyfriend. He was a fit, handsome fellow whom he had dated before his dream job moved him a few states away. Will’s face was surprised, but pleasant.
“I was in town, and I thought I’d stop by. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer.”
“Good to see you; come in. Don’t mind me, I’m just…doing laundry.”
He sat Will down on the couch and ran upstairs to get another shirt. He knew his face was beet-red, but he also felt immensely aroused. Puzzling.
He returned and chatted with Will about the usual inane things. Eventually, Will brought up his weight.
“You been working out?”
“No, but I should. I’ve been indulging a bit lately.”
“You look good.” Will said haltingly. How polite.
“I’ll trim down once work gets busy.”
“Why?” Will asked.
He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Why? It wasn’t obvious?
“You know, to keep slim and all.”
“I mean, why bother if you’re happy?”
This was the insistent Will he remembered.
“I mean, eating whatever you want feels pretty great. Just gotta keep things in control.”
“That makes sense.” Will said. “I’m just not sure what’s worrying you.”
“I—I wasn’t really expecting you.”
“No need to be embarrassed.” Will said. “It’s me! We know each other pretty well.”
“Even though I look a bit...different.” He laughed nervously.
“You’re just a bit more cuddly. Nothing wrong with that. Come here.”
Will made him get up and give him a hug. He tried to hide his erection, but behold, Will was as aroused as he. They stared at each other for a moment. Will was just as handsome as he remembered, his immaculately trimmed beard contrasting with his wild, untamable hair.
He let out a pretend cough and sat back down. Their conversation wandered, but when they said their goodbyes, they hugged again with the same results as before.
Will broke the silence. “I’m glad you’ve been taking good care of yourself.” Will patted his belly and grinned. “You’ll have to send me some recipes.”
“I will.”
They smiled at each other, hugged again, and Will left.
He closed the door and groaned. How could he have been so stupid? He probably looked like a ridiculous slob. Though it was kind of a dick move for Will not to call sooner. Whatever. He returned to dinner and ate until the shock on Will’s face was a fuzzy memory, almost as if it hadn’t happened.
The memory of that shock returned, however, when he realized his friends were giving him the same look when they saw him in anything tighter than normal, which was everything. He felt attractive and confident when he got dressed, but the questioning glances of his friends made him wonder if the feeling was false. Maybe he was crazy.
One evening he met with a friend he hadn’t seen in a few months, before it began. He showed up five minutes early dressed in a skin tight t-shirt and a button-down. He knew he was pushing 250 lbs, but any good friend would look past that, for sure. I mean, his friend wasn’t that thin himself.
They embraced, and his friend exclaimed, “Woah, what happened to you?” He laughed and patted his gut, which wobbled under the unexpected attention.
“What do you mean?” He asked coyly.
“You’re not quite as thin as I remember.”
“I guess I’ve put on a few pounds lately.” He slapped his gut and they laughed.
Throughout the evening his friend mentioned his weight, which in concept should have annoyed him, but each time it came up, he grinned and agreed that he had indeed ballooned. He even freely admitted to being well over 200 lbs.
The eating continued. He knew he should stop, but his love of food was insatiable. His largest shirts grew increasingly tight. Sometimes, he stood in front of the mirror and smiled simply to admire how fat his face had grown, and how deeply his cheeks and chins dimpled with the slightest expression of pleasure. He would lift his belly up and watch it jiggle back into place over his belt, and his smile grew even wider.
He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he started eating so much. The scale told him he was 270 lbs. His belly hung out of everything he wore, and though he could afford new clothes, he preferred spending that money on food instead. His figure, once nearly flat, swelled in every direction. His love handles, faintly dusted with stretch marks, now filled out the sides of any shirt he wore. His legs had blimped into enormous and supple trunks that rubbed together when he walked. His pecs had turned into mounds of fat that rested comfortably on his belly whenever he sat down. His bulging ass knocked things down if he wasn’t careful.
He lumbered down the stairs, his gut bouncing up and down with each step. He was wearing a t-shirt that barely went to his navel, but that didn’t stop him from preparing food with his usual gusto. Now when he spilled anything on himself, there was a chance it just landed on his belly, and he could wipe it off with a finger or napkin.
A crazy thought entered his head. He felt lightheaded when he realized he couldn’t stop himself from doing it—he was going to send a photo of himself to Will. He searched until he found a shirt that went to his belt. He stood in front of the mirror and took a picture. He examined the photo. God, he had gotten fat. His shirt barely disguised the shape of his navel, chest, and love handles.
He opened a messenger app and found Will. He typed “Hope you’ve been doing well,” and attached the picture. He stared at the “send” button for a full minute. Was he mad advertising his weight gain so obviously to someone he cared for? Reason told him to wait until he had lost 30 lbs. But losing weight sounded so hard and so ridiculous during this thrilling, erotic moment.
He hit send.
A few minutes later, Will replied.
“I’m doing great. You look so cute and happy. Looks like you’re still putting on weight?”
“Yeah, I’ve gained 50 pounds since we last saw each other.” He felt like he was going to pass out from excitement.
“Good for you. I’ve never seen a guy get big as fast as you and love it so much.”
“Still catches me by surprise when I look in the mirror.”
“Yeah, surprised by how handsome you are. Don’t lose a pound before I can visit again.”
“Judging from how I eat, I’ll be even fatter by then.”
“I look forward to it.”
The smile on his face continued through all of dinner and desert. He was falling in love with his new body, and at least one person seemed to understand.
His weight continued to rise as he continued to gorge himself. 270 lbs gave way to 280 lbs...290 lbs. It was just a little more, and he was having a good time, so why be worried?
He had been chatting with a guy on a dating app for a couple hours before he realized his photos on the app were from before it began. He felt a heavy twinge. What was he going to say? That he had just put on a 100 lbs? He was still the same guy, wasn’t he?
“Hey, I just realized I haven’t updated my photos on here in forever, and I’ve put on some weight since back then. Didn’t want to mislead.”
“Haha, thanks for telling me. How much weight, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not sure exactly, I’ll just send a photo.” He sent the picture he had sent Will, 20 lbs ago, but it was something.
“Oh wow. You’re a cute guy, but you’re a bit bigger than I’m usually into. Sorry, I sound like an ass.”
The words stung, but it was better than he feared. “You have every right to be surprised. It didn’t even cross my mind until just a few minutes ago. I don’t really think of myself as a different guy, if that makes sense.”
“Totally, yeah. Are you working on losing weight?”
He avoided the question. “Just gotta convince myself food doesn’t taste so great, right?”
“Haha. I know what you mean.”
“But seriously, I understand if you don’t want to meet.”
“I still want to. I don’t wanna be shallow or judgy.”
Not a ringing endorsement, but it was still a pleasant surprise.
When the date came, the other guy would sneak glances at his enormous body, as if he hadn’t seen a fat man wear snug clothes so confidently before. Neither of them brought up the topic of his weight, and the date ended amicably.
He went home and weighed himself: 300 lbs. No wonder his date was so mesmerized by his size. He tried to put on a shirt he had worn when he was 150 lbs. It was almost ridiculous how tiny it looked on him. It barely went over his chest, let alone his gut. He looked like he had been pumped full of lard until he swelled like a human blimp. How had this happened to him? It seemed like yesterday his stomach was flat and his pecs firm and muscled. He felt his chest, belly, legs, and arm. All soft and smooth. He was the deluxe model of a man, though he said it himself. He wished Will would visit again.
Things began to change. His head began to ache, his appetite died, and he could barely keep what he did eat down. He wanted to go to the doctor, but he scarcely imagined what a trained professional would say about a man who had just gained over 130 lbs.
He wasn’t sure what day it was. He felt incredibly ill. He ran into the bathroom, gut and ass bouncing uncontrollably. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He almost didn’t recognize himself, his entire body engorged by soft and swaying fat. His face was round and shapely, his eyes shining amid the layers of blubber that he had acquired. He was like a heavy balloon inflated by lard rather than air. He was about to bend over the toilet, when he lost consciousness, and went into a dark sleep.
When he awoke, he was laying in the woods behind his house. He lifted his shirt and stared at his torso. He could almost make out his abs. He was wearing his old clothes, and he was thin again. Uncomfortably, horrifyingly thin. His keys were in his pocket, and he returned to his house. The kitchen was barely stocked. He ran up to his bedroom. All of the bigger clothes he had worn were gone.
He opened his phone. The photo he had sent Will was missing, as were all the photographs he had taken of himself since it began. Was this an elaborate hoax or an unbelievable dream?
He rushed into the bathroom. He was 157 lbs. He tried to recall what he looked like fatter, but his memory returned only the faintest of images. He stared at the mirror. The man looking back at him seemed emaciated and foreign.
He opened his phone and composed a message for Will: “Hey, weird question for you. Have you ever fantasized about a guy getting fat?”
He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and waited for an answer.
I found this story wildly erotic. While I am mature, muscular, and filled out (5'7, 200), I have never dared to let go and get fat (say 250). This story made me realize I am always going to want to scratch that itch for sexual pleasure. Damn, I am a gainer. In honor of you and your story I am going to butter a couple pieces of pound cake and get high eating.
ReplyDelete