Whatever The Cost (Mutual WG)

[Jentera]

I got a little burned out working on my other story (as usual, I went a bit too high concept without enough planning), so here's something completely different - a bit of a slow burn slice of life type thing.

The first part focuses a little heavier on the male weight gain, since that's the catalyst for the couple meeting, but things will balance out later on :)

Hope you enjoy!

Part 1 (Read on DeviantArt)

You could tell when Sam had something on his mind - his cheeks would flush slightly, and he’d avoid eye contact, looking at the walls and floor as if the answer would be written there for him. As I straddled him and began to slowly lift his too-tight t-shirt, he finally blurted out his thoughts.

 

“Jess, are you sure you’re just a feeder?”

 

I snorted dismissively, running my hands down his sides to grip each hard-earned love handle. “Well, these didn’t appear by magic, did they?” I said, giving them a playful squeeze.

 

“No, ma’am,” he chuckled. 

 

Looking at him, it was strange to think back to when we’d met. In high school, he’d been the archetypal skinny kid, always looking like his oversized uniform was about to swallow him up. I’d liked him well enough - god knows how many times he saved my ass in group projects - but he wasn’t exactly on my radar as far as dating went. No, I was too busy slowly going insane, as half of our classmates’ junk food habits got the better of them and my teenage hormones went into overdrive.

 

So the way we’d eventually reconnected had come as quite a shock - not on Facebook, not through a dating site, but at a mixer for would-be feeders and feedees. When our eyes met across the crowded room, his face turned a luminous shade of red, and it looked for a moment like he was about to bolt out the door, or jump out the nearest window. But thankfully, his confidence had grown at least a little since his school years, and he’d managed to hold his ground. Before long, we were merrily chatting away, just like old times.

 

After dancing around the subject all night, it was me that finally broached the topic of our shared interests, naively asking how long he’d known he was a feeder. It took a couple of moments of flustered stuttering for him to admit the truth. Sam - skinny little Sam, who looked like a gentle breeze could carry him away - had always wanted to get fat.

 

And so, here we were a few months later. His metabolism had put up a valiant fight against my ever-growing onslaught of overindulgent dates. But, slowly but surely, I’d started to notice a change. You probably wouldn’t call him fat if you saw him in the street, but to my well-trained eye, it was obvious; the way his shirts had started to cling to his stomach, the way he’d try to unbutton his skinny jeans when I wasn’t looking, the way I’d catch him double taking at his own reflection as if he didn’t quite recognize the person in it. And every time I’d smile and think to myself - just you wait.

 

“So, what’s the problem?” I said, absent-mindedly tracing the stretch marks I hoped would soon be forming on his middle.

 

“It’s just…” he said, pausing for a second to choose his words carefully. “I think I might be rubbing off on you a little.”

 

I felt my stomach muscles tense up involuntarily. I wasn’t blind, and clearly neither was Sam - there had definitely been some collateral damage to my waistline since the two of us had started dating. Not that that came as any surprise - my apartment was constantly filled with food to satisfy Sam’s growing appetite, and gym visits had fallen by the wayside so that I could take on a few extra shifts at work. The end result was the disappearance of my abs, a constant companion since my days on the track team, replaced by a small, unfamiliar pooch of a belly. It couldn’t be more than a few pounds, but it was a constant distraction. At the same time, though, it was a price I was more than willing to pay for us to finally live out this fantasy. Just so long as I could keep the price from rising any higher.

 

“You know, I wouldn’t be so mouthy in your position,” I deflected, giving his stomach a pinch just hard enough to sting. “Besides, if I’ve gotten a little chunky, it’s your fault for setting such a bad example. So stop complaining.”

 

He swatted my hand away with a laugh, gut gently jiggling in a way it never used to. “Ow! No, I’m not complaining. I was just wondering if it was on purpose or not, but I think I can guess the answer now.”

 

“Why, were you hoping it was?”

 

“Nnnnoooo... but I wasn’t not hoping, either,” he shrugged. “I mean, you look great as you are, and I like the contrast. But I think having a gaining buddy could be fun, too. Have you ever thought about it?”

 

“I mean… I’ve thought about it, sure. I think everyone that’s into this stuff has at least considered putting on a few pounds. But I don’t think it’s for me. I mean, even this is starting to feel like too much,” I said, patting my newly developed paunch to illustrate.

 

Sam smiled, that same boyish smile I remembered from school - albeit with some of its sharp edges rounded off. “Wow, then imagine how I feel with this thing,” he said, sitting up so as to press his rounded stomach up against mine. He took advantage of the distraction to dart in for a kiss. “Say no more. At least this way I don’t have to share the food.”

 

I grinned, and forcefully pushed him back down on the bed. “Alright, stop stalling.”

 

---

 

Jessi747: How’s it going? :)

SamSmalls: youre the devil

Jessi474: :) :) :)

 

I gave my phone a megalomaniacal grin, absentmindedly munching through a pack of chips at my desk. Sam was stuck at the other end of the country on a work trip, and much to my despair, it was set to run straight through two of our planned stuffing sessions. By the time he was packing to leave, I’d resigned myself to a boring few weeks alone.

 

That was, until he’d innocently made mention of the all-you-can-eat buffet across the road from his hotel. At that moment, a plan began to crystalize in my mind.

 

SamSmalls: im tapping out

Jessi747: Wimp :D How many plates was that today?

SamSmalls: four and a bit 💪💪💪

Jessi747: Think you can hit five by the end of the trip? ;)

SamSmalls: mercy

 

While I was able to keep up my stern facade in text form, I was almost biting a hole in my lip in real life. One of our early dates had been to a buffet, and he’d struggled to polish off a single plate - while I wouldn’t have dreamed of saying anything, it had made me a little concerned that he might not be cut out for the kind of lifestyle we were aiming for. But just as I was getting up to pay the bill, he’d gripped my arm, looked me dead in the eyes, and said: “Wait.” And with that, he grabbed his plate, and staggered back to the buffet for round two. Admittedly, I ended up having to eat most of that second plate, his eyes still bigger than his stomach - but it was at that point I knew it was only a matter of months before he’d be going back for thirds, and fourths, and fifths. And now, here we were.

 

Or rather, there he was. I was stuck at home on my own.

 

Jessi747: Show me what I’m missing? :)

 

A few agonising minutes later, my phone buzzed and a video popped up on the screen. Sam panned around the room, first showing the buffet, then a few empty beer bottles, and finally each plate one by one, almost as if he were showing off trophies. Then, after a few seconds of rustling and grumbling, the phone swapped across to the other camera, a comforting familiar face filling the screen.

 

“Greetings from paradise,” Sam grinned, leaning back in his chair. He looked surreptitiously from side to side, then lowered the camera down below the table. I bit my knuckle as I watched him lift up his shirt ever so slightly to reveal his belly. It still looked as soft as ever, but there was more tautness to it that I’d ever seen before; a pale, round dome jutting out over his belt. Clearly I’d taught him well. I watched enraptured as he tried and failed to suck it in, the sheer volume of food refusing to be hidden away no matter how hard he tried. I could tell from his shuddery breaths that he was more than a little turned on, and the feeling was absolutely mutual.

 

“Are you ready to pay, sir?” came a voice from above; the shirt was yanked down and the phone clattered violently to the floor, the video coming to an abrupt end.

 

Jessi747: LOL

Jessi747: All okay?

SamSmalls: fml

SamSmalls: my phone is intact but my dignity may not be

Jessi747: Let me make us even ;)

 

Phase two of the plan: as much as Sam had liked my idea of raiding the buffet on company expenses, the suggestion of making it a nightly occurrence had filled him with a little trepidation; and so, I’d offered to sweeten the deal a little bit each time he broke his record. I’d told him I’d only count clean plates, but after seeing how proud he looked of his half-cleared fifth plate, I couldn’t help but feel charitable. I unzipped my hoodie (‘borrowed’ from Sam less than an hour after he’d left the apartment), threw my shirt in a heap on the bed and struck a pose in front of the bedroom mirror, phone in hand.

 

I turned bright red as I noticed how spectacularly bloated I was. While I’d managed to keep my weight steady (give or take) since that awkward last conversion, the combination of boredom and full cupboards that had been brought about by Sam’s absence had given me ample opportunities to stuff my face. And of course, that beautiful fat bastard had hit his milestone at the worst possible moment, while my food baby was in full effect. For a second I considered making an excuse and getting dressed - but after what Sam had just endured, that felt like a bit of a cop out. I snapped the photo and hit send before I could think better of it.

 

Jessi747: There, the most embarrassing photo I’ve ever taken.

Jessi747: Now we’re really even :p

SamSmalls: trying to give me a run for my money? :p

Jessi747: You’re the one who left me high and dry with an apartment full of food!

SamSmalls: fair :p im sorry

SamSmalls: it must be hard trying to eat healthy with me around

SamSmalls: we can slow things down a bit if you need to find your footing?

Jessi747: no

 

I typed the two letters almost on instinct, so fast it almost scared me. Not that he was wrong - trying to strike a balance between my ‘normal’ lifestyle and the hedonistic path I was setting out for my partner was only getting harder by the day. Shared meals and overflowing snack cupboards made it all too easy for me to overindulge, and it was scary to grapple with the fact I didn’t have the self-control I thought I did. But at that moment, when Sam suggested putting his gain on hold - the thing we’d both dreamed about since we were both horny teenagers - all the fear and uncertainty vanished from my mind. I was going to make him huge, consequences be damned.

 

Jessi747: I appreciate the concern, but you don’t need to worry about me.

Jessi747: Focus on doing what you do best.

Jessi747: Eating >:)

SamSmalls: o7

[Batman76]

Damn, this is exceptionally hot. Loving it! 

[wantstofatten92]

Amazing! I can’t wait for more!

[Jentera]

Part 2 (Read on DeviantArt)

“Make sure you leave plenty of time to get here, okay? I’m not serving my future son-in-law cold food!”

 

“Please don’t call him that to his face, Mum. I swear you get a kick out of sending my boyfriends running.“

 

A devious cackle rang out over the speakerphone. That wasn’t a no, I pouted to myself, half-heartedly towelling off my hair. It had been a couple of weeks since Sam had returned from his trip, eager for us to test out his newly buffet-trained appetite; an eagerness I’d been extremely happy to oblige. But, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only person back in town. Alice, the human whirlwind I call my younger sister, had made an impromptu visit to see my parents - because she was a thoughtful daughter and not because she’d had another falling out with her roommate, honest - and my mother had immediately seized upon the opportunity to invite everyone for a good old-fashioned family dinner. Which would be all well and good, if I weren’t a stone heavier than I was for the last one.

 

“Just weeding out the cowards, honey,” Mum laughed. “See you at six ‘o’ clock sharp - love you!”

 

“Love you too,” I said, unable to stop myself from cracking a smile as I tapped the ‘hang up’ button. Peace and quiet restored, I turned my attention back to the outfit laid out on my bed: a long-sleeved top and a skirt, which I had been psyching myself up to try on for about half an hour at this point. At some point I was going to have to bite the bullet, unless I felt like turning up for the meal in my underwear.

 

“Okay, step one…” I muttered to myself, yanking the black top over my still-damp hair. It fit better than I’d expected; a little more figure-hugging than I remembered, but the fabric seemed to have enough give in it that it didn’t look totally ridiculous. The skirt fared less well, though. After a few minutes of hip wiggling and held breath, I managed to get it zipped up, but the outline of my newly developed pooch was unmistakable, especially when I was sat down. I stood in front of the mirror and sucked in my stomach, counting the seconds in my head. Maybe if I was lucky, I could make it to the dinner table before my abs started to ache.

 

My experiment was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door. “How’s it going?” Sam called sheepishly from the hallway.

 

I snorted and accepted my fate, letting it all hang out again. “Not great, but I haven’t got time to change no-”

 

As I opened the door to show Sam the fruits of my labour, my sentence trailed off. Clearly he had found himself in the same dilemma I had, because the band t-shirt he was wearing was stretched taut, soft stomach exposed almost all the way up the navel, plush love handles overflowing his jeans. As if performing a demonstration, he yanked the shirt down and then lifted up his arms, the shirt going up and down like a curtain being raised. He gave a shy smile. “Somehow I don’t think it’s your weight they’re going to be focusing on.”

 

My train of thought was completely derailed. “Fuck,” I said through shaky breath, sliding my hands onto his plump hips and pulling myself close. “Is there any way I can convince you to keep that on tonight? Seriously, name your price.”

 

I felt him tense up with anticipation, but after taking a deep breath, he shook his head. “If we were going anywhere else, I’d be tempted. If only to get you to do the dishes once in a while,” he teased. “This is the first time your family have seen me since high school, though. I’m… kinda nervous about what they’re going to think.”

 

There was a hint of genuine concern to his voice that brought me back down to earth. I released my grip on his spare tyre and gave him a proper hug. “Sorry. Your hoodie is in the lounge, that’ll probably cover it up? As much as that’s a crime.”

 

His face lit up, and he darted in for a kiss. “You’re a genius,” he smiled - before giving a cheeky wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll take it off when we get home.”

 

I grinned. “I’m holding you to that.”

 

—

 

As the two of us cruised down the motorway, I turned to Sam, trying not to giggle at his concentrated driving face. “You know, it’s kinda reassuring to hear that kind of stuff from you,” I said, leaning back and trying to ignore the seat belt digging into my stomach.

 

He cocked his head to the side without taking his eyes off the road, looking a little confused. “What stuff? Me promising to be a slut later? I would have thought that was par for the course by now.”

 

“No,” I laughed, giving him a smack on the arm. “It’s just… you don’t tell me no that often. Sometimes I worry I’m pushing you too hard, so it’s nice to hear you push back a little.”

 

Sam smiled warmly. “I don’t tell you no because I need you to push me. It’s not like I didn’t try gaining when I was single, y’know? It’d always go the same way - I’d put on a couple of pounds, lose them again, and then get discouraged.”

 

“So, what you’re saying is,” I smirked, giving his belly a pat, “you couldn’t have done this without me?”

 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he chuckled, flipping the turn signal.

 

—

 

And so, we found ourselves stood on my parents’ doorstep, like an awkward teenage couple. I intertwined my fingers with Sam’s and gave his hand a squeeze. “Ready?”

 

He nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but before he had a chance, the door swung open.

 

“Hey, sis!” Alice sing-shouted, practically leaping through the door frame into my arms. It took me a moment to realise she was wearing pyjamas - clearly, she’d wasted no time making herself at home. I silently cursed myself for overthinking my outfit. “Thank god you’re here - if I’d had to listen to Dad talk about football for five more seconds I probably would have offed myself right then and there.”

 

“Glad to be of service,” I smirked. “I think that’s half of why Mum asked me to be on time, she didn’t want your blood on her hands.”

 

Loosening her death grip on me, Alice turned to face Sam and gave him a toothy grin. “Nice to see you again, Sam - been a while, huh? Let’s go say hi to my ma - she’s been going on and on about how can’t wait to see you again.”

 

Sam gave me a slightly pleading look, and then marched into the house as if he was being held at gunpoint. My sister set off as if she was about to follow, then paused. She slowly turned to me, a smug smile on her face. “Him too, huh?”

 

“Shut up,” I groaned, barging past.

[wantstofatten92]

Another great chapter

[Batman76]

This being a trend for her is great.

[Zappy]

Fantastic story so far!

[Jentera]

Part 3 (Read on DeviantArt)

Just like Sam had predicted, I wasn’t the focus of attention that night. The second we stepped into the living room, all eyes were on him. I watched my parents’ gaze flick downwards toward the outline of my boyfriend’s spare tire, still clearly visible even through the baggy hoodie, their eyes widening in disbelief. Meanwhile, if they’d noticed my extra pounds, they didn’t give any indication of it. Who am I kidding - I could have sprouted a second head and they’d still have been staring at Sam’s gut.

 

My parents don’t have anything against fat people, to be clear - at least no more so than your average middle-aged couple. Before we were lanky teens, Alice and I were both chubby kids - thanks in no small part due to Mum’s cooking. But they’d never made us feel any less loved for it, and I had no reason to think things would be any different for Sam.

 

They did, however, have a terminal case of tactlessness. The five of us had barely been at the dinner table for five minutes when it began to raise its ugly head.

 

“Janet was so excited when she heard you two had finally gotten together,” my dad guffawed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Remember, Jessie? Why don’t you ask out that nice Sam boy from down the street? Asked you so many times I thought it would have put you off him for life.”

 

Sam, tragically, had picked that moment to take a sip of water, and nearly did a spit take. I couldn’t tell if he was trying not to laugh or trying not to choke, but either way, he wasn’t in any position to bail me out of this conversation right now. Meanwhile, Alice was just grinning and watching, clearly grateful not to be the star of the Yates Family Embarrassment Hour for once. I stared pleadingly at the kitchen door, begging for the food to arrive. That, or for the ground to swallow me up.

 

“Thank you, Dad,” I said through gritted teeth. “Is that why she was always scaring my boyfriends off? All part of her master plan?”

 

Alice snorted. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

 

“Oh, shush,” Mum tutted, reversing through the kitchen door. She was laden down with far more dishes than I thought possible for one woman to carry, yet she was barely breaking a sweat. “I just thought they’d be nice together. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

 

“No arguments here,” Sam smiled, having just about recovered from his near-death experience. “What’s on the menu? Smells good, whatever it is.”

 

“You’re too kind, dear,” my mother beamed, setting down a mountainous plate of risotto in front of my partner with a flourish. ”I hope I’ve not given you too much, I’m terrible with portions.”

 

“Oh, stop worrying, Janet,” Dad said. “He’s a growing lad, I’m sure he’ll manage.”

 

“Alan!”

 

“What, I didn’t mean it like that!”

 

An awkward silence fell across the dining room as Mum stared daggers at her big-mouthed husband. Sam’s face turned crimson in an instant, and from my position to his side, I could see him instinctively suck in his stomach a few inches. I’d played this scenario out in my head more times than I’d like to admit; the reality was a lot more uncomfortable than the fantasy.

 

“We weren’t going to say anything,” said Mum, elbowing Dad in the shoulder. “Your weight is none of our business, as long as you’re happy and healthy. It just came as a bit of a shock, is all…”

 

Sam laughed uncomfortably. “Ha… it does to most people.”

 

“No shame in it,” my dad said, nursing his bruised arm. “I was a skinny lad too, till university. All downhill from there, am I right?”

 

Mum chimed in again before the rest of us could answer. “No, no, I saw his graduation photos on Facebook - remember, I commented how handsome he looked! That’s why I was a little worried - it’s not been that long since then, and you’ve gotten a lot bigger. Have you seen a doctor about it? My friend Karen - you remember Karen, don’t you Jess, she used to babysit you when you were little - she had a problem with her thyroid, and she put on three stone in less than a year!”

 

And back to Dad. “I’m sure it’s nothing like that, dear. You said you worked in an office, right, Sam? It’s hard to keep off the pounds in that kind of environment - you’ve got to keep yourself active. I have a gym referral code I can give you, if you want…”

 

The conversation continued ricocheting back and forth, and I could see Sam becoming more and more uneasy with every comment, well-intentioned though they were. Alice had clearly noticed it as well - she kicked my leg under the table, and tilted her head towards our parents a few times, imploring me to do something. But what could I do? I knew my mum and dad well enough to know that just telling them to drop it wouldn’t be enough - they’d dig in their heels and insist they were only trying to help, and on it would go. What we really needed was a distraction.

 

After a few moments, I realised what I needed to do.

 

“It’s relationship weight,” I sighed. Sam’s face fell, almost as if to say “you too?”, but I paid it no mind; he’d see where I was going with this soon enough. “I’ve put on a ton of weight since we started dating too, look…”

 

I scraped my chair backwards and got to my feet, arching my back and pushing out my stomach as much as I could. Not that it needed much help making itself known through the tightness of my skirt, but still. I turned from front to side a few times like I had in the mirror that morning, making sure that neither of them could ignore the changes to my silhouette. I could feel myself blushing, but I didn’t care. “I look huge, don’t I? I can’t believe I let myself go this much…”

 

“Oh, Jessie, don’t be dramatic. It’s barely noticeable,” my mum sighed. From the way everyone was staring, that was clearly a white lie. “Besides, it’s normal to put on a few pounds when you’re happy.”

 

“Yeah, a few, not twenty,” I said, sitting back down with a roll of the eyes. I saw Sam’s jaw hanging open out of the corner of my eye, clearly caught off guard by that particular statistic. Thankfully, no-one seemed to be focused on him any more - my sudden bout of self-consciousness had taken centre stage.

 

“Don’t focus on the numbers, Jess,” said Dad. “Yates girls are all beanpoles - twenty’s not as much as it sounds when you’re tall.”

 

“I guess… it still feels like a lot, though,” I grimaced. “Can I get that gym code off you? New year’s resolution.”
 

“In June?” he chuckled. “No time like the present, I suppose. Let’s eat first, though - your mother will kill us if we let things go cold. I’ll write down the code before you go.”

 

Success. Before anyone could start up the conversation anew, Sam, Alice and I dug into our food, keeping our eyes firmly fixed on the table. Or at least, I thought that was what we were all doing, unless I felt a buzz in my pocket. I surreptitiously slipped my phone into my lap and grinned as I saw the notification on the screen.

 

SamSmalls: owe u one <3

 

—

 

After dinner, Sam got dragged off to help Mum with the dishes, and my dad immediately fell asleep on the sofa, leaving me and Alice alone in the dining room. I could immediately tell what was coming from the smirk on her face.

 

“Come on, get it over with,” I grumbled.

 

She looked from side to side to make sure no-one was in earshot, and then leaned in close. “I can’t believe he’s into the same freaky shit you are. Sam. Sam!” she said, very nearly dissolving into giggles. “Mum was right, you two were meant to be.”

 

One time. I left my laptop unlocked one time, and that was all it took for my little sister to have ammunition against me for the rest of my life. I cursed my horny teenage self for the millionth time, and slumped down in my chair.

 

“Yes, ha ha, very funny. What makes you so sure? Just cause he’s gotten fat doesn’t mean he’s into it. Maybe I just have that effect on people.”

 

“So you’re saying he’s so much of a simp, he’s letting you do that to him? And that’s less funny, somehow?”

 

I pinched my temples wearily. “Please don’t say anything to him, Alice. I think if he knew you knew he’d actually die from embarrassment.”

 

Alice sniggered, but nodded regardless. “I’m only messing with you. He’s already had to deal with the Spanish inquisition from Mum and Dad tonight, I think that’s plenty.” She dropped the smirk, and gave me a genuine smile for once. “Nice job jumping on the grenade for him, by the way. Though, the ‘oh no, I’m so fat’ act was a bit much - felt like we were back in high school again.”

 

“Thanks… I think? It wasn’t really an act, though,” I said sheepishly, looking down at my middle. If my outfit had been figure-hugging before the meal, it was positively skin-tight at this point - I dared not sit too far forward, for fear of what may happen to the zip running up the front of my dress. “Just some well-timed truth.”

 

“Oh…” my sister said, biting her lip. “I kinda just assumed you’d gotten bigger as part of your… ‘thing’ with Sam. Sorry. I guess I should have bailed you out too, huh?”

 

I shook my head and smiled weakly. “Nah, I needed the perspective. I’ve been whining to Sam all week about how Mum and Dad are going to freak out when they see how fat I’ve got, but this is nothing compared to what I’m asking him to deal with from his friends, his family, his coworkers. And I haven’t asked him once how he’s feeling about it.”

 

“You can’t just take the good parts and leave him to deal with the shit on his own. Even if the shit hits a little too close to home,” Alice said, sternly. After a moment, she let out a snort of laughter, almost as if she couldn’t help herself. “Fuck, listen to me. I’m not good at being the mature one, that’s your job. So get your shit together, okay?”

 

I gave a giggle of my own - there was the Alice I knew and sometimes-loved-sometimes-hated. “Deal.”

 

—

 

“God, I’m so full,” Sam moaned, rubbing circles on his stomach as we walked down the driveway. The hoodie had kept him modest, but only just - I was silently begging for him to stretch, and the silent part was only because we were still in eyeshot of the house. “I see who you get your feeder side off now.”

 

I snorted and gave his arm a slap. “Shut it, Dr. Freud. Don’t ruin this for me.”

 

He mimed pulling a zipper across his lips as we got in the car, but the illusion didn’t last - the second the door was shut, he unbuttoned his jeans and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god for that.”

 

“So, you don’t need this any more, right?” I said with pleading eyes, giving the hem of his jumper a tug. I was taken aback by how little give there was left in the fabric - a size smaller and we would have been in real trouble.

 

“I’m pretty sure my exact words were ‘when we get home’,” he said, with a sly smile. “Buuuut, I guess I do owe you one for earlier.”

 

His head disappeared inside the hoodie as he tried to wriggle it off - but then he paused, and came back the way he came. When he re-emerged, his face was a little flushed.

 

“Dude, this shirt covers nothing. I’m in crop top territory here.”

 

“You’re speaking my language.”

 

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but grin at the same time. “I know, I know, but… this is my old neighbourhood. What if someone sees us driving past?”

 

I opened my mouth to try to argue my case, but the words caught in my throat.

 

You can’t just take the good parts.

 

With a sigh, I tugged the zip on my skirt a tug down an inch, physics doing the rest of the work as my overstuffed belly forced its way free, jutting out into my lap in a way it definitely hadn’t on the ride here. I rolled up my top to ensure my bloated middle was clearly on display, and yanked the seatbelt across myself, ready to go.

 

“If someone sees us driving past,” I said, trying not to think too much about what I just did. “They’ll see two people who are too full to feel shame. Sound good?”

 

The hoodie was in the backseat faster than I could blink.

[Jentera]

Part 4 (Read on DeviantArt)

Abigail Harding: Hey Jess! I’m back in town this week, want to catch up?

 

I stared at my phone in a mixture of horror and disbelief - clearly for longer than I’d thought, because Sam managed to sneak up from behind and start waving a palm in front of my face.

 

“Hello? Earth to Jess?”

 

I gripped the lock button and flipped the phone face down on the kitchen counter. Subtlety had never been my strong suit. “Sorry, you were saying?”

 

“I was saying how you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he grinned, gently scooting me out of his way so he could access the cupboards. “What’s up?”

 

I was more than happy to oblige, gently biting my lip as I watched him stretch for the shelves. Harrowing though it had been, getting through the visit to my parents’ place (relatively) unscathed seemed to have lit a fire under my boyfriend’s ass; his snacking had gone into overdrive over the past month, and it showed.

 

Sam’s gut used to jut out when he stood, soft roundness providing stark contrast to his relatively slight, angular figure. That was always the sticking point when he’d tried to gain in his youth - he didn’t want to look bloated, he wanted to look fat, and pushing through that awkward middle ground alone was too much for his self-esteem to bear.

 

But slowly but surely, the rest of him was starting to catch up. With every passing day, his scrawny arms got a little more plush to the touch; the time it took for him to wiggle himself into his skinny jeans got a few seconds longer; the pile of outgrown clothes to take to the charity shop got a little taller. And best of all, was what I could see before me right now - his little beer belly had graduated into a fully-fledged paunch, hanging ever-so-gently over his waistband. If it had been any other day, I’d probably have jumped him right then and there, but my mind was a little too preoccupied.

 

“Nothing,” I sighed, slipping my arms around his waist. “I just got a message from an old friend, is all.”

 

I heard an ‘aha!’ and Sam emerged with a family-sized pack of cookies - he tore it open and stuffed a couple into his mouth, closing the cupboard without putting the rest back.

“Nnh thas a baa thnng?” he mumbled, barely intelligible through the mouthful of food.

 

“It is when they’re from the track team.”

 

Sam’s eyes widened, and he swallowed heavily so his next words would be clear. “Oh, shit,” he said. “When was the last time you saw her?”

 

“Just after our last regionals, I think? I remember still having the crutches, so it can’t have been that much later…”

 

I cringed at the memory of Abi and I’s final race together. It had been over five years, but I’d never be able to forget the look of panic on her face when she heard a snap and a scream of agony on the final hurdle, or the way she’d come running over at the expense of her own race. That was the beginning of the end for my running career - and, in retrospect, losing that focus was probably the beginning of the end for my waistline, too.

 

“I promised her I’d try my best to get back in race shape when I was healed up. Think I’m doing a good job so far?” I snorted, grabbing a handful of my flabby stomach. Sam wasn’t the old one who had been plumping up in recent weeks; learning how vulnerable he was to a little tit-for-tat had proven to be dangerous knowledge. Convincing someone to eat another plate of food when they’re full is hard - convincing someone to split a plate with you because you’re ‘still hungry’, less so. Every time I told myself it’d be the last time. Every time I saw him with that overstuffed belly, I couldn’t help myself.

 

Sam watched me out of the corner of his eye, and turned slightly pink, clearly well aware who was in part to blame for my extra pounds. “So, uh…” he said, running a hand nervously through his shaggy blonde hair. “Are you going to go see her?”

 

As much as every atom of my body wanted to say no, I resisted. “If you can deal with getting the third degree from my parents, I can deal with one coffee with Abi,” I said, trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to convince him. “I can’t get any bigger before then, though.”

 

“Well, that I can help with,” Sam said with a wide grin. He grabbed the cookies and strolled out of the kitchen. “I’ll just dispose of these…”

 

“...hey, at least save me one!”

 

—

 

“Danish and a venti mocha for, uh… Joss?”

 

Every fucking time, I thought to myself, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the barista as a heavy tray came clattering down onto my table. Taking a sip of over-sweetened coffee, I pulled out my phone, praying I’d be met with something like “sorry, I have to cancel,” or “earthquake warning, evacuate now”. No such luck; just a text saying she was five minutes away. I groaned and stared out of the window, willing time to move faster.

 

When Abi finally arrived, it didn’t look like she’d aged a day; still as tall and lithe as ever, washboard abs peeking out from underneath her cropped top. If she was surprised by my lack thereof, her face didn’t show it - instead, she just gave a little squeal and a wave, running over to the table. “Jess!” she exclaimed, with a radiant smile. “It’s been forever! How’ve you been?”

 

I felt my nerves fade a little, just as they had on so many race days before. Abi’s personality was clearly as unchanging as her appearance. “I’ve been good,” I said. “How’s things back on the circuit?”

 

“Ah-mazing,” she grinned, clasping her hands together. “I won my last event by over a second! My coach reckons the Olympics might be on the cards next cycle - too soon to say yet, though…”

 

I winced internally - the last season we ran together, our times were a dead heat! Was I an Olympian in some alternate universe? In this one, I could barely make it up the apartment stairwell without getting winded. “That’s amazing,” I smiled, trying not to sound too jealous - I wasn’t entirely successful, judging by the slight drop in Abi’s cheery expression.

 

“Sorry, I’m sure running stuff is the last thing you want to talk about,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

 

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “No, it’s fine, seriously! Just ‘cause I’m a teensy bit bitter about my paper ankles, it doesn’t mean I’m not super happy for you. C’mon, tell me about it!”

 

She let out a relieved giggle. “Honestly, there’s not much more to tell. Only so many ways you can say ‘and then I spent all day running’, right? I’m much more interested in what you’ve been up to.”

 

Plenty of stuff, but not a lot I was willing to admit to in public. God, I really needed a new hobby, if only for the sake of small talk. “Well, uuh… I got a job at a law firm, so that’s pretty cushy. And my boyfriend moved in a few months ago, hence,” - I glanced down at my plump figure - “well, you know.”

 

Abi grinned knowingly. “Been there. I still blame Adrian for that wardrobe malfunction back in freshman year, remember? I was thick that season.”

 

How could I forget - I nearly ran straight through the first hurdle.

 

“Dude was a cheating asshole, but damn he knew how to cook,” she sighed wistfully, oblivious to the flashbacks she’d just given me. “I hope things are going better with Paul?”

 

I had to root around in my memory to remember who the hell Paul was - presumably a boyfriend, circa 2017? One of the many that had been scared off by my effect on their waistline, no doubt - competitive running wasn’t exactly the best place to find prospective feedees. “Oh, uh - I’m not with Paul any more. I actually got together with someone from high school, believe it or not.”

 

“Ooh, how romantic - show me, show me!” she squealed, pointing at my phone. I duly obliged, tapping his name into Facebook. I felt a pang of anxiety as I saw that his profile picture had changed; his old one had been back in the ‘plausible deniability’ phase of his gain, but now there was no hiding how chubby he’d gotten - nor did he seem interested in doing so. I cursed him for getting so damn confident. Abi stared quizzically at the photo for what seemed like an eternity, and then:

 

“Man, I’m jealous,” she grinned.

 

I cocked an eyebrow, wondering if I’d misheard. “Really?” I asked, when it became clear that she’d said what I’d thought she said. “I never pegged you as being into bigger dudes.”

 

She shook her head. “Nah - your guy’s cute, too chunky for my tastes though. That’s not what I meant.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“You’ve got a boyfriend who’s crazy about you, you’ve got a cushy job, and you can eat what you want without worrying about your weight. I have a 1 bed apartment the size of a shoebox and live off protein shakes. I know who’s the winner out of those two!”

 

My jaw nearly hit the table. “But you’re an Olympian!”

 

“Not yet, but thanks for the vote of confidence,” she smirked. “Don’t get me wrong, I love running - it makes all that other stuff worth it. But the grass is always greener. Say you went back in time and stopped yourself from breaking your ankle - would you have met that guy? Would that be worth it?”

 

I shook my head without hesitation.

 

“Then don’t dwell on what could have been! Just ‘cause you’ve found happiness in a different place than you were expecting, doesn’t make it any less real.”

 

“Deal,” I smiled.

 

“Now please, for the love of god, eat that Danish. Making me look at a carb for this long is actually sadistic.”

 

—

 

“I’m home,” I called out, wearily.

 

Ordering the biggest size of coffee when the lifts were broken hadn’t been my smartest move; four floors had felt more like twenty with a bloated, sloshy stomach, and by the time I reached the summit I was huffing and puffing an embarrassing amount.

 

“Hwwd it goh?” replied the snack fiend on the sofa, through a mouthful of potato chips. I took a little bit of satisfaction in knowing he’d been just as greedy even though I wasn’t there. Inversely, I saw a hint of confusion on his face that the same seemed to be true for me, his face turning that faint shade of pink once again.

“Abi’s secretly moonlighting as a motivational speaker, I’ve forgotten how big a Venti is when you’re not sharing it, and you’re officially too fat for my normie friends.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but sounds… good? Mostly?”

 

“Two out of three isn’t bad,” I grinned, and flopped down next to Sam.

 

PING

 

There was a loud noise, almost akin to a silenced gunshot, and I heard something skitter across the floor. I looked in confusion at Sam, but he was no help - he just gawped at me, his face turning an even deeper shade of crimson. I opened my mouth to ask what was up–

 

And then I felt it. An unfamiliar breeze tickling the base of my stomach. A sudden release of pressure around my hips. The faint sound of a zipper slowly descending of its own free will.

 

“Holy shit,” I stammered, daring not to look down. “Did I just… did I just pop a button?”

 

Sam’s silence, and his inability to break eye contact with my midriff, told me everything I needed to know. Sure, there were mitigating factors - I was bloated, the jeans were old and too small, and I’d sat down with a fair bit of force. But all of that was being blotted out of my mind by one solitary thought:

 

I’m actually getting fat, aren’t I? Not just fatter - FAT.

 

I wasn’t even remotely prepared to process that revelation; for now, all I cared about was finding that button so I could at least try and salvage these jeans. “C’mon, stop rubbernecking and help me find where it went,” I groaned, grabbing Sam’s hand and trying to pull him to his feet. He didn’t budge, still clinging to the bowl of snacks in his lap.

 

“W-what’s the rush,” he stammered. “It’s n-not going anywhere, you can go and change if you want.”

 

“Eh, what’s the point,” I shrugged, giving his arm another tug. “These jeans are basically painted on, one button isn’t gonna make them fall down. Let’s just find it before we forget which direction it went.”

 

Sam nervously munched on a handful of snacks. “I…” he said quietly. “I’d really rather wait.”

 

I rolled my eyes, and snatched the bowl away. “Oh come on, you can eat these whenever you-”

 

My sentence tailed off as I saw what he had been hiding underneath the bowl.

 

“...are you seriously pitching a tent right now?!”

[scl04]

I'll be waiting for more!!

[JSSdeletedaccount]

On 1/4/2022 at 3:56 AM, Jentera said:

Part 2 (Read on DeviantArt)

“Make sure you leave plenty of time to get here, okay? I’m not serving my future son-in-law cold food!”

 

 

 

I've just finished part two and wanted to say I'm really liking it so far - you're a skilled writer! @Jentera

[Jentera]

On 2/18/2022 at 5:53 PM, scl04 said:

I'll be waiting for more!!

Hopefully will get around to a part 5 soon! I kinda go through cycles of really wanting to write and then getting busy/losing interest 😅 But I'm really enjoying writing these characters, so hoping to keep this one at least semi-regular.

17 minutes ago, SquishyMissyx said:

I've just finished part two and wanted to say I'm really liking it so far - you're a skilled writer! @Jentera

Thank you! I've not really written any mutual WG stuff before so I wasn't sure if there'd be interest, glad people are enjoying it!

[Jay Rock]

Great work! Looking forward to seeing more.  

[JDubois]

Great work, very nicely done! 

[BilledMeUp]

Still making my way through it, but really like it. My kind of story. I love mutual gaining…a skinny dude getting a flabby belly and an athletic girl letting go. Great stuff and very well written.

Just finished…great stuff…also commented on DA. Will be watching out for more.

[Jentera]

Part 5 (Read on DeviantArt)

“Here,” I sighed, shoving a mug of coffee into Sam’s slightly shaky hands. It had been nearly half an hour since my ‘wardrobe malfunction’ - fifteen minutes of fruitless button-hunting, followed by me storming off to find a more structurally sound outfit - and my boyfriend still looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. You and me both, buddy, I thought to myself as I slumped onto the sofa, sweatpants much more happy to accommodate than my jeans had been. “So, are we going to talk about what just happened?”

 

Sam immediately started babbling. “I’m really sorry! I couldn’t help it, I hope I didn’t make you self-conscious, I-”

 

“Dude, chill. I’m not mad,” I said, giving him a smack on the shoulder that slightly undermined the message. Okay, in truth, I was a little mad at him for popping a boner over one of the most mortifying things that had ever happened to me. But I wasn’t about to start throwing stones in glass houses - after all, how many times had I taken a bit of guilty pleasure from his embarrassment? It wasn’t his fault that he had the worst poker face on the planet. “I’m mostly just surprised, I guess. You’ve never seemed interested in me gaining before.”

 

“It’s… a recent development,” he smiled sheepishly. “I mean, I never disliked the idea of it, but it wasn’t something I was particularly interested in either. And then when you did start to get, uh…”

 

I sighed gently, looking down at the still-unfamiliar body I’d found myself inhabiting. “Fat. You can say it.”

 

“...a little bigger,” he continued, refusing to take the bait. “I didn’t mind that either. You didn’t look any better or worse, just different, y’know? But lately… ugh, I don’t know, it’s like a switch got flipped in my brain! I kept meaning to talk to you about it, but I thought it’d make things weird.”

 

“Like there’s anything about us that isn’t weird.”

 

“You know what I mean. Since day one, you’ve always said you didn’t want to get bigger with me - it feels wrong to be enjoying something that’s making you unhappy.”

 

“Hey, at least one of us is enjoying it, right?” I said, with a weak grin. “There’s nothing wrong with you being into stuff I’m not into. I’m sure there’s plenty of weird shit bouncing around my head that’d send you running.”

 

“...like what?”

 

That solicited another smack on the arm, albeit a slightly more playful one this time. “Oh no, you don’t - we’re still talking about your thing. C’mon, spill - what flipped the switch? Is it how much I’ve put on? How fast?”

 

Sam shook his head pensively. “If people getting really big, really fast was something I was into, I’d have figured that out by now - you know what my office is like.”

 

Oh, did I ever. Sam had told me the story of how he’d found his current job back when we’d  first started dating, and it had barely left my brain ever since.

 

He’d met up with a couple of old friends for coffee; business graduates, or something like that. The finer details hadn’t stuck in my mind; what had, was the fact that one of them showed up twice the size of his college self. Of course, a gain that large couldn’t avoid coming up in conversation, especially with Sam involved. As it turned out, head office for a chain of bakeries was more than a little hazardous to people’s waistlines; a potent combination of sedentary work and free samples able to break all but the most stubborn of metabolisms.

 

Sam has asked for the name of the company (“you know, so I can avoid working for them”) and he’d been a loyal employee ever since. Admittedly, it hadn’t had the desired effect on his weight, but it paid decently well, and it gave him a good cover story for his family when he did eventually start piling on the pounds.

 

All of this is a fairly roundabout way of saying: Sam was no stranger to seeing people get fat, and I wish I’d picked a business degree.

 

“Okay, fair point,” I said, sprawling out on the sofa to give my bloated middle some relief. I saw his eyes dart down to my belly, as if he couldn’t help himself, and I smirked. “Then… is it how I carry the weight?”

 

His face flushed slightly, but he still shook his head. “No! Well, I mean, that’s part of it, but, uh…”

 

“Then what?”

 

 “It’s embarrassing, is what it is,” he groaned, averting his gaze off at the opposite wall. “...why do you want to know so bad, anyway? I can’t imagine it’d change your mind about stuff.”

 

I shook my head. “Nope, you’re right. The second we’re done here, I’m logging on and cashing in that gym voucher my dad gave us. But… that doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand what you’re into? Maybe there’s ways we could satisfy that part of you without me getting bigger. Or maybe not! But I can’t give you that if you won’t just talk to me.”

 

Sam smiled shyly, and held up his hands in mock defeat. “Okay, okay. It’d be easier just to show you, though. Give me your phone?”

 

I cocked my head to the side in confusion, but I obliged nonetheless, unlocking my phone and snorting at the much skinnier couple in the background image. I thought for a second maybe that would be his play; to show me a photo that would somehow illuminate his feelings. But no; he scrolled straight past that page, and clicked on the fitness app for the smart watch I'd gotten a few Christmases back, in an abortive attempt to get my fitness back on track. I gritted my teeth as he pulled up the weight graph, a line slowly squiggling upwards, the curve getting steeper by the month.

 

“What’s this meant to tell me?”

 

He tapped an arrow, scrolling back to last year’s graph. The line hovered around the same number for pretty much the entire width of the screen. 170 pounds - that had been my baseline pretty much ever since I’d stopped running, my athletic physique filling out to something much more average in the months I’d spent on crutches. It had felt like a massive number back then. Not so much now.

 

Sam wasn’t focused on that, though - he pointed at the far right of the screen, where the line slowly began to curve upwards. “What else happened at the end of last year?” he asked, clearly already knowing the answer.

 

“We met in a club full of weirdo fetishists, and you nearly shat your pants.”

 

“Correct,” he grinned, scrolling ahead some more. The graph’s steady incline suddenly flatlined at 185 for a while, before continuing upwards.

 

“May this year?”
 

“Uuuuuh… was that when you went on that work trip? Damn, that felt longer than two weeks at the time.”

 

He nodded again. Tap tap tap. We were back at this month now, and I cringed as I saw the line skyrocketing upwards. I grabbed the phone and clicked the lock button before he could see the exact figure. “Okay, what’s your point? Jeez, if you’ve got some kind of numbers fetish, you can just tell me that.”

 

“No! What I’m getting at is… tell me, what’s the common factor in that line going up?” he asked, looking down awkwardly at the floor.

 

I had to think for a second, but then it hit me like a freight train:

 

“It’s you.”

 

“Tada,” he said weakly, flourishing his hands. “That’s what flipped the switch. Ever since we started dating… it’s like you can’t help yourself. Whenever you’re around me, you get bigger. And sure, I know that kinda comes with the territory of being a feeder, but I thought with how much more I was eating this month, I’d start to widen the gap. But you’re basically matching me pound for pound!”

 

My lips slowly curled into a grin as I put the pieces together in my mind. This, I could work with. “Ooooh, I see. So what you’re saying is…”

 

With a heave, I got up off of the sofa, and spun round to face my flustered partner. With a slow, considered motion, I rolled my shirt up and over my head, letting it fall in a heap on the ground. I stood up straight, resisting the impulse to suck in; instead, I gently placed both hands on my belly and gave it a firm squeeze. “...you’re getting off on the fact that this is all your fault?”

 

His body reacted in exactly the same way it had to the button disaster earlier, and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. I climbed onto his lap, straddling his thick hips, and leaned into his ear, plump midriffs pressed tightly up against each other.

 

“Then, how are you going to make it up to me?” I whispered.

 

—

 

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking down with bemusement at the way my belly jutted out over my thighs, perilously close to making contact. The disconnect in my mind grated against me - put any other girl in front of me with an extra thirty pounds on her, and I’d say it was an improvement, without hesitation. And yet…

 

“You’re not going to be upset once I lose the weight, right?” I sighed, gently tracing the stretch marks on Sam’s stomach.

 

“O-of course not,” he grinned, still slightly red-faced and breathless. “You were hot when you were skinny, and you still are now. It’s a win-win for me, right?”

 

“If you say so,” I smiled, flopping back down on the bed and cuddling up to him. “If-slash-when my diet goes to shit, I’m taking this as permission to blame you, by the way.”

 

“I’m sure I’ll be devastated.”

 

—

 

Not sure when if/when I'll be able to do another chapter of this (life is busy, and it's hard to justify spending hours writing fat fics :p), but I really didn't want to leave things on a cliffhanger! So here's a semi-finale for Sam and Jess' story I will leave it up to your imaginations whether she would actually stick with losing weight or if she finally has a good enough excuse to let go...

[Jay Rock]

I think we all know which way most of us wants this to go.  

Solid chapter -- hope we get to see more but this is a nice way to leave the characters.

[Number21]

One of the best stories on here!

[Jentera]

Part 6 (Read on DeviantArt)

In the aftermath of the Exploding Jeans Incident, the two of us had to put some ground rules in place.

Number one: no more sharing food, at least in the bedroom. I clearly couldn’t be trusted to ‘just have a taste’ any more, and our spiralling food budget was proving just as dangerous for my finances as it was for my figure. Plus, if nothing else, it was counterproductive - every calorie that ended up in my stomach was one that wasn’t going towards my boyfriend’s gain.

Number two: no more secrets. As much as I enjoyed watching him squirm, I didn’t want Sam to feel like he couldn’t be open about the things he was into. Of course, that wasn’t a promise that I’d reciprocate; knowing he liked how I looked fat was a nice ego boost, but it wasn’t going to magically make me okay with it. Still, it gave me something to work with - the crop tops that had been gathering dust at the back of my closet were finally getting a bit of a workout, and that was only partly due to the summer weather.

Finally, number three: no more excuses.

“Jess, are you kidding? Of course I’ll help!” Abi smiled, clapping her hands together excitedly. She clearly had more enthusiasm for the idea than I did, but I couldn’t deny that it was a little infectious. “I mean, that’s kinda why I got back in touch in the first place! You’re the only girl from the team who hasn’t moved away, and I thought it’d be nice to be workout buddies while I’m in town - y’know, like old times!”

“And then you saw me,” I laughed grimly, taking a sip of my - much smaller, lesson learned - mocha. “Not quite what you were expecting?”

“It’s not like that,” she blushed. “I just thought asking might come across the wrong way.”

I couldn’t blame her for feeling that way - ‘hey, let’s hit the gym’ isn’t exactly a tactful opening line for someone who’s just found out their friend got fat. I probably would have wanted to drown myself in my coffee.

“Well, good thing you waited, then,” I smiled. “Now c’mon! Bestow your wisdom, O goddess of the Olympiad!”

Abi giggled. “I mean, there’s probably not a lot I can tell you that you don’t already know. How’s your diet? You always did have kind of a sweet tooth.”

“I guess I have been… overindulging lately.” I felt my face start to flush as visions of bloated stomachs flooded my mind. That’s as much detail as you’re getting out of me. “But I’ve gotten a handle on that in the last month or so. Doesn’t seem to be doing me much good, though - the scale isn't going up any more, but it’s not going down either.”

She cocked her head to the side inquisitively. “Scary number?”

I exhaled deeply, hesitant to say the number out loud - that always made it feel more real. “...close to one. 198.”

“Ouch,” Abi grimaced. “Well, if you’re eating normally - and I mean regular person normal, not sprinter normal, that’s a classic mistake - then clearly your body’s found a new equilibrium. If you’re gonna shift that, you’re gonna have to break out the elbow grease.”

“Which means?”

“Workout buddies~!” she sing-shouted, punching the air with enough gusto to get a few strange looks from the rest of the cafe. Never change, I thought to myself, racking my brain for a way to let her down gently.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m still not in any fit state to run,” I said with a sigh. “Even without the extra weight, my ankle starts aching after a few metres.”

“The last thing I wanna do right now is more running. How about a swim? Nice way to wake yourself up before work, and nice and easy on the ankles. I’m free tomorrow, if you wanna?”

“...that’s not the worst idea, actually.”

“Ooh, ooh,” Abi said, eyes lighting up as she rapped her fingers on the table. “Why don’t you bring Sam along too? Might be less intimidating that way - plus, I’m dying to meet the guy.”

I froze, conflicting thoughts ricocheting around my brain. She was right - it would be less scary having him with me, and not being the only heavy person there. But at the same time, those little insecure voices were whispering in my ear - what if trying to exercise freaks him out, and he doesn’t want to gain any more? Or worse, what if he likes it, and starts losing weight? Part of me wanted to make excuses why he couldn’t be there; a doctor’s appointment, a work trip, something like that. But I didn’t want to be that kind of person, not any more - I’d been there when I was younger, and it made me cringe to think how many relationships I’d poisoned by being a control freak. With a sigh, I whipped out my phone, and began tapping out a message.

—

Jessi474: Hey, want to hang out with Abi tomorrow? Be warned, there will be exercise involved - her idea, not mine, I promise.

SamSmalls: what is this ‘exercise’ you speak of 😛

SamSmalls: sure, i’m down, what’s the plan

Jessi747: Swimming, tomorrow before work?

SamSmalls: aw ye the triumphant return of the high school swim champion 💪

SamSmalls: place your bets now on how many times she laps me

Jessi747: If it’s not in double digits, she needs to fire her coach 😛

Jessi747: You sure you’re okay with it?

SamSmalls: yeah, it sounds fun

SamSmalls: someone’s bringing donuts tomorrow, gotta build up an appetite 👀

SamSmalls: besides, you’re helping me with my weight goals, only seems fair to help you with yours

SamSmalls: even if it’s just by making you look fitter by comparison 😛

—

“Colour me surprised,” I smiled. “He’s in.”

Abi squealed and clapped her hands together once more, a wide grin spreading across her face. “And the duo becomes a trio!”

And what a trio it was - a would-be Olympic hurdler, and two people who couldn’t even look at a track without getting out of breath. I don’t think Abi quite knew what she was getting into. “Listen, just to warn you in advance… I’m not the only one who’s put on a few pounds lately. Try not to look too shocked, okay?”

“It’s fine - you showed me his picture last time we met up, remember?”

“...I mean, since then.”

You could almost see the gears turning in her head for a few seconds. “Oooooh. Damn, girl, what are you feeding him?”

I took a long sip of my coffee, desperately trying to think unsexy thoughts. Wouldn’t you like to know.

---

Kind of a transitional chapter, apologies for the lack of actual WG stuff :p

[scl04]

I'm really looking forward to more, Jess trying to lose her jelly belly with her athletic friend and Sam being there too will be fun to read! 

[Jentera]

Part 7 (Read on DeviantArt)

In retrospect, maybe I should have asked for a little more time to prepare.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered to myself, throwing stuff out of my closet and into messy heaps on the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam peek his head around the door frame, weighing up whether he’d be better off not knowing what I was up to. As always, his curiosity got the better of him. “...Lost something?”

I slumped backwards into the piles of clothes with a groan. “I have a one-piece swimsuit, right? Please, please tell me I didn’t imagine that.”

His blank expression didn’t inspire much confidence. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in any swimsuit - not since we were kids, at least,” Sam said apologetically. “Oh - what about this?”

Acting on muscle memory, he bent over to pick something up - before immediately meeting with an unexpected level of resistance from his gut. With slightly flushed cheeks, he opted to crouch down instead, legs jittering a little from the unfamiliar strain. Naturally, I was so distracted that I didn’t realise what he’d found - at least, not until he was waving it in my face. It was a polka-dot bikini, from a family holiday a few years ago. Judging by the proud look on Sam’s face, he clearly hadn’t spotted an issue with that, but I certainly had.

“I can’t wear that,” I grimaced, swiping the swimsuit out of my boyfriend’s hands.

“Why not? It’s cute.”

“It isn’t the problem. I just don’t know if I’m ready to… y’know. Let it all hang out. Especially in front of Abi, of all people.”

My face began to burn, as the cogs started turning in Sam’s brain. “Aaaaah. That makes sense,” he said, flopping down onto the floor alongside me. I couldn’t tell if it was a show of solidarity, or if his calf muscles had just given way from crouching for so long, but either way, it was appreciated. “I haven’t done anything like this for years, either.”

“How are you feeling about it?” I asked, resting my head against his shoulder.

He thought for a second, before giving me a bashful smile. “Kinda nervous, but kinda excited too? When I was younger, I used to see bigger people at the pool and wonder what it must feel like to be them - walking around, nowhere to hide, knowing that everyone can see how fat you are. Never thought I’d get to find out for real.”

My stomach fluttered at the thought of all those strangers’ eyes fixed on my boyfriend’s fattened figure. “God, sometimes I forget you were a pervert before you met me,” I snorted, giving his belly a pat. Sitting side by side, it was hard to ignore just how much bigger Sam was, even with my extra pounds factored in. It made the complaints from earlier seem a little ridiculous by comparison. “...I guess it won’t really matter what I’m wearing once I’m in the pool.”

“Exactly!” Sam grinned. “And I’ll be diverting attention most of the time, anyway. You just need to make it through the girls’ changing room in one piece, and that’s the hard part done. Well, the first hard part, at least - we still have to work out for an hour after that…”

I took a deep breath and nodded, fists clenched. “Yeah. Yeah! What’s the worst that could happen?”

—

“Hey, over heeeeere~!”

Abi’s voice rang out across the lobby, cutting through our early morning brain fog like a knife. Once upon a time, I’d been an early riser, but those days were long gone now - it was a miracle that my alarm clock had escaped the morning unscathed, the way I’d slammed my hand on the snooze button. She, on the other hand, was just as energetic as ever, judging by the way she sprinted across the room to meet us.

While Sam and I were both dressed in our (increasingly ill-fitting) office clothes, Abi looked much more the part; a team jacket tied around her waist, and an overstuffed kit bag slung over her arm. We must have looked like a strange trio, but if she was bothered, she was excellent at hiding it. That, or I was just too bleary-eyed to tell. Either way, I gave her a half-hearted wave; that was about as enthusiastic a greeting as I could muster at the moment.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” Abi grinned. “And nice to finally meet you, Sam!”

“Likewise,” my partner said with a fatigued smile. “Thanks for offering to help Jess out with stuff - she appreciates it a lot, as much as she’s too grumpy to show it right now.”

“My pleasure! Just wait, I’ll have the two of you back fighting fit in no time at all.”

Sam gave me a knowing look, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Her, maybe,” he said, placing one hand on his stomach. “I think you might have your work cut out with me, though.”

“Challenge accepted,” she clapped cheerily, clearly still not on the same wavelength. I grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her off in the direction of the womens’ changing rooms, before she had a chance to pry any deeper - and before Sam had a chance to push any more of my buttons.

“So, is he what you were expecting?” I smirked, as I dropped a coin into the locker door.

“He seems nice! But ...okay, you were right, I was a little shocked,” she admitted. “I looked him up on Facebook last night - what happened?”

I’d been asked that question so many times at this point that I barely had to think before rattling off the cover story. “Well, y’know - he’s in his mid-twenties, so his metabolism’s slowing down a bit, and he’s not used to having to watch what he eats. Plus the office job, the wonderful girlfriend - stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

Abi nodded sagely as she started unloading her bag, evidently happy to take my half-truths at face value. “Ugh, tale as old as time. The same thing happens to all the guys in my family - rail-thin till they turn 27, and then boom, here comes the beer gut,” she snorted, miming a large orb in front of her midriff. “And of course, it starts rubbing off on everyone else - every time I go home for Christmas, I swear I come back a stone heavier. I can’t say I’m surprised dating Sam’s made you put on a few as well.”

Ever since we started dating… It's like you can’t help yourself.

Abi’s unfiltered words sent my mind flying back to Sam’s nervous admission a few weeks ago. The way he’d looked me dead in the eyes as he’d said it, a mixture of guilt and lust in his voice; it was so uncharacteristically forward of him that I couldn’t help but find it a little hot, despite the subject matter. How would he react to knowing that other people were starting to notice his effects on me, I wondered? Clearly I wondered for a little too long, because my friend was starting to get concerned.

“Sorry, that was kinda rude,” Abi winced, scratching the back of her head. “Not trying to blame him, or anything - just projecting my family drama, I guess.”

“It’s fine,” I said, jolting out of my stupor. “I think even Sam would admit he’s kind of a bad influence. It takes two to tango though, right?”

She breathed a smile of relief, glad to have not caused offence. “Right. Now c’mon, get changed before I put my foot in my mouth again!”

Deep breaths. “Yeah, sure… I’m gonna use the cubicle - watch my locker for me.”

Trying my best to stay composed, I made my way down to one of the booths at the far end of the room, triple-checking the lock before unzipping my bag. Laid out on the plastic bench, the polka-dot bikini somehow seemed to look much smaller than it had the previous night - I cursed myself for being too lazy to try it on before we’d left.

Part of me wanted to just pack up and leave. It’d be easy to just say that I was feeling ill, or that I’d forgotten my swimming costume. But I knew that was a coward’s way out - after all, Sam was in the men’s changing room right this second, presumably going through the same anxiety I was. And I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to get to see him in trunks after all of this. I gave myself a few slaps on the face to psyche myself up, and then finally started to get changed, stuffing my skirt and blouse into the backpack with no regard to how creased they’d look later.

The results were a mixed bag. Despite how much I’d usually curse my chest for not carrying its fair share of the extra pounds, in this case, it proved to be to my benefit - the bikini top still fit, just about. There were a few extra rolls and bulges that I didn’t remember being there last time I wore it, but I was in no danger of another wardrobe malfunction, at the very least.

The problems started further down than that. While the bottom half was stretchy enough for me to squeeze into, it clearly wasn’t designed with my current figure in mind. Without the high-waisted skirt to hide behind, it was impossible to hide the muffin top I’d developed, two thick love handles and a ** belly oozing over the elastic of the waistband. I tried sucking in, but that only succeeded in moving the gut, not hiding it - I wouldn’t be fooling anyone that way. My thighs, for a small mercy, hadn’t yet crossed the threshold from ‘thick’ to ‘flabby’, but from the faint hint of cellulite beginning to form, I wasn’t far off that point.

There was no denying it any more; not to myself, and not to anyone else. I’d gotten fat, and I knew the second I opened that door, Abi would see just how fat. With another shuddery breath, I picked up my bag, and walked out into the locker room.

I felt three things, in quick succession.

First, an unfamiliar sensation: with every step I took, I could feel my body ripple and bounce like jello. My face flushed - was I just imagining it? Had it always done that and I was just now noticing? Or had my tight clothes been holding everything in place until now? Whatever the answer, once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop focusing on it, every step giving me a new pang of embarrassment.

Second, a somewhat more familiar feeling: Abi’s gaze, fixed upon me. Try as she might, she never was good at hiding her emotions, and I could see her eyes widen in surprise from across the room. Do I really look that much fatter than she was expecting? I thought to myself. In my head, I was moving in slow motion; every step drawing more and more eyes, adding more and more pounds onto my figure. The self-consciousness continued to grow.

And third, something completely unexpected:

I felt really, really turned on.

Before I had a chance to process whatever had just awakened inside my psyche, Abi called out, snapping me out of my trance.

“Oh my god, I love that bikini! You have to tell me where you got it.”

“The… the bikini?” I said, blinking slowly. Was that what she had been staring at the whole time? I was flooded with a mix of emotions I couldn’t even begin to interpret - there was at least a little relief in there, though, so I chose to tunnel in on that. “Oh, I bought it online years ago… I’ll try to find the receipt email at lunch.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” she said, making a praying motion with her hands. “Anyway, c’mon - Sam’s probably bored out of his mind waiting for us!”

It was only at this moment that I properly realised that Abi had already gotten changed, into an athletic-looking black one-piece. Before I had a chance to stew on how long I’d kept her waiting, she grabbed me by the wrist and led me in the direction of the pool - probably for the best, as I was still in too much of a funk to navigate there myself. As we rounded the corner, Sam was standing there, back against the wall, arms folded above his pale white blob of a stomach. Clearly he had found himself in a similar predicament to me with his swimwear, the elastic of his trunks nearly stretched to bursting by his widening hips. I desperately wanted to hear how he was feeling about living out his “fat guy at the pool” fantasy, but that would have to wait until there were less prying eyes and ears.

“How are you feeling?” I whispered, stroking his arm.

He grinned nervously. “Big. How about you?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

---

Whoops, kind of a long one! Hope you enjoy.

Bonus: Here's what I kinda had in mind for how Jess looks in her swimming outfit. Not as fat as she thinks she is, but still getting pretty chunky :)

[Jay Rock]

Great development! Looking forward to reading more.  

[Jentera]

Totally forgot I'd been posting this here! Here's another three parts that had already gone up on DeviantArt and AO3.

Part 8

CW: internalized fatphobia, self fat-shaming

Thankfully, I managed to make it through the morning’s workout without any more confusing feelings bubbling to the surface. I’d love to chalk that up to my own force of will - in reality, I was just too busy trying not to drown. Embarrassing as it was to admit, swimming had never been my forte, even back when I’d been in peak physical condition. Add in the old ankle injury, and the years I’d spent being a couch potato, and it was a wonder the lifeguards didn’t have to fish me out with a net.

Sam, on the other hand, was doing his best to balance things out. He was an ex-swim team captain, after all, and while his pace had been slowed somewhat by the extra sixty pounds of flab he was carrying along for the ride, his technique didn’t seem to have dulled in the slightest. As he glided gracefully to the other end of the pool, you could almost mistake him for his old skinny self. That was, until he flipped over into a backstroke, and his pale gut started poking out of the water like an island, shattering the illusion. As salty as I was at having been so thoroughly beaten, I couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Nor, as it seemed, could our would-be fitness coach.

“Huh,” said Abi, treading water beside me in the shallow end. “I may have underestimated him.”

“Y-you and me both,” I gasped, clinging to the steel ladder as I tried to catch my breath. “H-has… has it been an hour yet?”

“You’ve got fifteen minutes left. Plenty of time to get another lap in.”

“Sadist. Fiend. She-devil.”

“Who was it that asked for my help again?” she grinned. “Look on the bright side - it only gets easier from here!”

 

---

 

She wasn’t wrong: it did get easier. Just not anywhere near as fast as I would have liked. Those first few weeks were absolute torture - not only was I putting my sedentary body through more hard labor than it had experienced in half a decade, I still had to work full days at the office afterwards, trying desperately to keep my bleary eyes open. To my credit, I only actually fell asleep once (going to lunch with the outline of a keyboard imprinted in my forehead wasn’t something I was keen to repeat), but it was enough to make me question if the whole thing was worth it. I could hardly believe that, once upon a time, I’d put myself through this kind of exercise for fun.

Slowly but surely, though, I started being rewarded for my efforts. Three laps of the pool turned into twenty; the office stairwell went from a mortal threat to a minor inconvenience; I could have even sworn I’d lost a few pounds, despite the scale’s insistence to the contrary.

One thing, however, hadn’t been changing.

“Jess?” shouted Abi, voice muffled by the cubicle walls. “Nearly ready?”

I took a few deep breaths, and tried to steady my nerves. Not particularly successfully, but it was worth a try. No turning back now, I thought, then opened the door to the busy changing room. I immediately saw Abi’s eyebrows jolt upwards, her emotions an open book as ever, and my heart began to pound. “I’m feeling good about today,” I lied, doing my best to act like I hadn’t noticed the elephant in the room. “Think I can beat my lap time from last week?”

It took the other woman a few seconds to find the words to respond. “Uh, yeah, sure, if you push yourself,” she said, before gently ushering me back into the dark stall, half closing the door behind us. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay wearing that, though?”

My cheeks started to burn, and I prayed that it was dim enough that Abi wouldn’t notice. “Ugh, I know, right? I think they might have sent me the wrong size - that’s what I get for not trying it on at home, I guess…”

In reality, I knew for a fact that they had sent me the wrong size - because that was exactly what I’d ordered. The thought behind it had started innocently enough (honest, don’t give me that look). After my first embarrassing experience in the changing rooms, I’d finally gone out and bought a swimming costume that fit, but after two months of workouts, that was starting to feel ever so slightly roomy. As always, money was a little tight - Sam’s post-swim appetites being a large contributing factor to that particular issue - and so I had the brilliant idea to order a size lower than I’d originally intended. Sure, it’d be a little tight at first, but with the way things were going, I’d shrink into it before long, right?

As soon as the package arrived, I realized that there were a couple of problems with this plan. First of all, it wasn’t just a ‘little’ tight - I looked like an overstuffed sausage, thick rolls of fat spilling out here, there and everywhere. The bottom half wasn’t intended to be a thong, but the slightest bit of movement on my part made it look for all the world like that was what I was wearing, and I was fairly convinced that if I took too deep a breath the top half would explode, thin fabric barely keeping me contained. It didn’t matter that the size on the label was smaller; actually wearing it made me feel ten times fatter, and all the more so when I considered how easily I would have fit into something half the size even just a year or two ago.

And there - there was the second problem. Because as soon as I started thinking that, the little voice in my head that had awoken on the day of that first workout came back with a vengeance. You should wear this next time, it whispered wordlessly. Show everyone what you’ve done to yourself.

That had sounded like a great idea at the time (and several times later that night, while Sam was doing the dishes and I had the bed to myself), but standing there in the dingy cubicle with my old running partner, her brow furrowed with concern, I was starting to have second thoughts.

“I can run and grab you a one piece from the shop, if you want,” said Abi. “It’ll make you look like a granny, but desperate times and all that.”

“You’d have to get changed again - twice,” I sighed. “Our hour’ll be half gone by the time you’re done. Besides, there’s not a chance in hell they sell stuff in my size here. The girl on reception still looks at me like I’ve gotten lost every time I walk in.”

Abi nodded solemnly. “Okay - do we just call it quits for today, then?”

I bit my lip, and weighed the options in my mind. I could take the mulligan; pretend this whole thing never happened, and come back tomorrow with a swimsuit that didn’t make me feel like I was one stray inhale from indecent exposure. I’d get a day off working out, too; that was a nice little bonus. No matter how you looked at it, that was the sensible option.

And yet, the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. I could almost feel the logical part of my brain being slowly smothered by the horny part; the part that felt faintly excited by the ridiculous situation I’d found myself in; the part that was looking forward to more raised eyebrows and hushed whispers; the part that wanted the whole world to see what a fat mess Abi’s old track rival had turned into. My eyes flitted down at the other woman’s midriff - once a mirror image of my own, give or take a little muscle that she’d always teased me for not being able to match. It was more like a funhouse mirror image now, the way that formerly-flat surface swelled outwards, dangerously close to encroaching Abi’s personal space. Thinking about the contrast almost made my knees buckle; when I was around Sam, I could almost kid myself into thinking I hadn’t gained that much, but being around an actual skinny person brought the changes into sharp relief. And oh god, speaking of Sam, he’d not seen me in this outfit yet - what was he going to think, seeing me walk out like this? The thought of his eyes looking me up and down, his face a complicated mix of lust for my thickened figure, and guilt for his role in destroying my self-control - it’d take all the self-control I had left not to fuck his brains out in the car the second we–

“Hello, earth to Jess?”

It was at this point I realized I’d left Abi hanging for a good twenty seconds. Oops. I had to make a decision - and the devil on my shoulder was winning.

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince her. “As long as I can make it to and from the pool without something popping out, we’re good, right?”

“Well, on your head be it,” smiled Abi. “God, Jess, I never thought I’d see you like this.”

Oh my god, she’s actually trying to kill me. “What - the size of a house? Cause… yeah, me neither.”

The other girl’s eyes widened as she realized how her last sentence had sounded out loud; she shook her head vigorously in denial. “No, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” she said. “I’m talking about your… I don’t know, body confidence, I guess? I remember when we did track together, you used to wear your jacket almost until the second the pistol went off - and the second you crossed the line, you ran almost as fast in the other direction to put it back on.”

She wasn’t wrong; for all that I’d loved running, the tight outfits and exposed stomachs were never something I’d felt entirely comfortable with, at least on myself. The second that jacket came off, my head would fill with doubts - have I put on weight since the last race, how does my body compare with the other girls, are those guys in the crowd actually here for the love of athletics or just to get an eyeful? As the years went by, I got better at pushing the thoughts to the back of my head, but they never totally went away, and I always resented myself a little for not being strong enough to dismiss them entirely. How the hell had I gotten from that, to this?

“Listen, I know you’re not entirely happy with the way you look now,” she continued. “But the fact you’re confident enough to go out and tell the world, ‘Hey, this is where I’m at, deal with it’ - that makes me really happy. Even if I am a little worried that top’s gonna take someone’s eye out.”

A wave of guilt swept my depraved thoughts to one side as I listened to Abi’s innocent praise. Could you really call this confidence? I felt just as embarrassed and ashamed as I had back in my track days; the only difference between now and then was that some wires had gotten crossed with the kinky part of my brain. The compliments felt completely and utterly unearned. “It’s not that big a deal,” I mumbled.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Abi, hands on hips. “Like, can I be totally honest? I almost cancelled our first workout - I was super bloated that day, my skin was breaking out, everything just felt wrong with my body. And then you and Sam came out giving zero fucks, and it made me feel stupid for worrying so much. It’s honestly kind of inspiring.”

Another pang of guilt. In retrospect the signs had been there that she wasn’t feeling her best; the jacket and kit bag carefully placed to cover her middle, the one-piece swimsuit that had never been her style in the past, the way she’d rushed me into the pool before I could get a good look. All things straight out of our high-school playbook - and I’d noticed none of them, because I was too busy getting off on how much fatter than her I was. I’d been treating Abi as this vision of perfection; a measuring stick for how far I’d let myself go; an image of the past self that had slipped away. The thought that she could be having her own body image struggles had never even crossed my mind, and that made me feel like absolute garbage.

“Listen,” I sighed, sitting down on the creaky plastic bench, wincing slightly as the bikini bottoms threatened to slice me in half. “I need to be honest with you about something.”

Part 9

“Oh,” said Abi. “ Ooooooooh. ”

Nearly half an hour had passed, but neither of us had set foot outside the changing room yet. I’d spent most of that time spilling my guts, about how Sam and I had met; about how being with him had made my weight skyrocket; about how even my attempts to get fit had been absorbed by my kink. Everything was finally out in the open - not that it had made me feel much better. “So… yeah,” I sighed, eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “If I’ve been acting kinda weird lately, that’s why, and I’m sorry.”

“I have to ask… was that why you wanted me to work out with you?” asked Abi, a slight tinge of hurt in her voice. “So you could make me a part of… whatever this is?”

I buried my face in my hands and groaned. “No! No. If I’d known I’d be feeling like this, there’s no chance in hell I would have gotten you involved in the first place. I genuinely wanted your help. I still do.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Abi stood deep in thought for a moment, the background noise of the locker room suddenly seeming deafening as I waited for her to pass judgment - or more likely, to storm out and never come back. But she simply shrugged, and plopped herself down on the bench (at least what little space of it remained beside me). “Okay, I believe you,” she said, her expression warming again. “That was the only part that really shocked me, to be honest. The rest of it, I was just kinda like… yeah, that tracks .”

“What?!” I gasped, a little too loudly for the cramped space. “You knew?”

“Not for certain! I just had my suspicions,” she smiled. “Whenever you dated someone back in college, they always looked a little more fluffy by the time you broke it off. A lot more fluffy, in some cases. Remember Greg?”

How could I forget - until I’d met Sam, he was the closest thing I’d had to a genuine feedee. He was a timid little thing straight out of Catholic school, always hiding in the corner of our dorm parties, looking faintly terrified of the excess and debauchery going on around him. Normally, I wouldn’t have given him a second look, but there was something about him that intrigued me - namely, the way he never seemed to be able to take his eyes off the buffet, despite never once taking a plate for himself.

One night, several beers deep, I’d all but collared the poor guy and insisted he eat something before he wasted away. He duly obliged, if only to get the scary ** woman to leave him alone. And then, without prompting, he went back for seconds - then thirds, then fourths and fifths and sixths, an entire upbringing’s worth of repression suddenly finding a release. We had sex in Abi’s bed that night - sorry, Abi - and the whole time, he couldn’t take his eyes off his own distended gut, groaning in a strange mixture of discomfort, pleasure and shame.

Our fling only lasted a couple of months (and a solid thirty pounds) before he broke it off, saying that I, quite frankly, terrified him, and that if we kept dating he’d probably end up on one of those trashy reality shows about people too fat to leave the house. In all my youthful maturity, I told him to go fuck himself sideways, and that he was always going to end up fat, with or without me.

This argument had taken place right in the middle of the college canteen. In front of Abi. And about thirty freshmen. And several professors.

…Maybe I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was.

“Okay, point taken,” I snorted. “For the record, I saw him and his wife on Facebook the other day - hundred pounds of ‘domestic bliss’ on each of them. Vindication!”

That got a giggle from Abi, and for a second I could almost forget we were having, quite possibly, the most mortifying conversation of my life. “Are you sure you were right? Or did you just warp that poor kid’s brain for life?”

“Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to. The guy liked being fat, he just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.”

“Kinda like you?”

That brought me crashing back down to earth. “A-absolutely nothing like me,” I spluttered, crossing my arms above my belly, as if hiding it from view would make it go away. “I never asked for any of this!”

“Sure, but clearly part of you likes it,” Abi shrugged. “Why would you be getting so excited by nearly popping out of your bathing suit, otherwise?”

I leaned back, a sharp intake of breath as my back made contact with the cold plastic wall of the cubicle, and gave it some proper thought. What was it about those moments where I felt so exposed, so embarrassed, so huge , that flipped the switch in my brain? It couldn’t just be the shame that was doing it - there was plenty of that back when I was running, and I never felt so much as a tingle.

And it couldn’t just be the extra weight, either - like boiling a frog, I didn’t usually notice how much bigger I’d gotten until something drew it to my attention, and the reaction was pretty much always one of irritation rather than excitement. This was in stark contrast to Sam, who’d told me recently he’d started avoiding the stairs at work - not because of his fitness, but because all the extra jiggling meant that he’d be rock hard by the time he got to his floor. I loved hearing these things from him, of course, but I couldn’t really relate to them; to being constantly horny simply because I was existing in a fat body.

No, whatever it was that was turning me on, it existed in the middle of that venn diagram; a specific blend of being hyper-aware of how fat I’d gotten, and being in a position where it was impossible to hide it, from myself or anyone else. The feeling gave me a slight touch of deja vu, which took me a moment to pinpoint.

“How do I put this…” I started, grasping for the right words to use. “Have you ever had one of those nightmares where you suddenly realize: hey, I’m having a nightmare right now ?”

“All the damn time,” Abi giggled. “I think I punched my coach’s head clean off in the last one.”

“It’s weird, right? Cause like… you’re still in the nightmare, and it’s still fucked up, but suddenly you have control of what’s happening, and somehow, that makes it less scary.”

“Right.”

“ That’s what this is like - I’m living in one of College Jess’s nightmares. I’m trying to exercise, but suddenly I’m fat and out of shape, and none of my gear fits, and everyone’s going to see and judge . I was always convinced that if I ever found myself in this situation, I’d literally just die on the spot. The Athletics Police would show up and shoot me, or the entire fucking world would suddenly explode, or something like that.”

Abi grinned, starting to pick up what I was putting down. “But it didn’t.”

“But it didn’t! So now I just feel like I’m, I don’t know, getting away with something. Like I’ve robbed a bank and walked out the front door. And I keep pushing my luck, thinking - surely this time, I’m going to get punished for it, right? But I don’t, and that feels… kinda exciting.”

“Okay, well, first of all - we are never going to the bank together ever again,” the other girl laughed, giving my shoulder a gentle shove. “I’m not letting you drag me into a Michael Mann film. But honestly, I think you’ve cracked it - you’ve been building up this doomsday scenario in your head, thinking it’d be the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. Now that it’s come true, your brain is going: see, this isn’t so bad, is it? ”

“My brain’s also telling me I look like an absolute hog - don’t know about you, but I’d call that mixed messages.”

“Well, duh. You’ve spent a decade telling yourself that’s how you’re supposed to feel when you put on weight - it’s no wonder you’re all muddled up. Would you tell Sam he looks like a hog?” I pictured the puppy-dog eyes that would result from that, and instinctively recoiled. “What?! No, of course not. Unless he asked me to, I guess, but I don’t think that’s his thing.”

“Right. If I got fat, would you say I looked like a hog?”

That sent my mind tumbling back to Abi’s ‘thick season’, as she’d put it, when she’d seemingly manifested an hourglass figure out of thin air. The less I dwelled on that, the better. “Okay, okay, I get it,” I groaned. “Look, I know it’s a double standard - but it’s just different when you’re the one getting fat. Are you telling me you’d be totally fine if you woke up tomorrow looking like me?”

“Hell no, I’d freak out,” Abi laughed. “And I think my coach would have a heart attack. But that doesn’t make any of what I’m saying wrong. You gotta show your own body the same kindness you show other peoples’, Jess. If I woke up fat tomorrow, I hope you’d be telling me the same thing.”

I sighed, not really having a rebuttal to that. It was true; take any part of this body and put it on another person, and I’d have found it perfectly acceptable - attractive, even. Why was it so hard to see myself through those same eyes? I almost found myself envying Sam a little; for all that he worried about how other people would see him, he never seemed to have an unkind word about himself, having long since shed any doubts about whether being fat was right for him.

“Okay. For as long as I’m like this, I’ll try not to beat myself up about it,” I said, quietly. “Thanks, Abi. Thought I was getting a personal trainer, not a therapist.”

“I am a woman of many talents, I’ll have you know,” she smiled, bouncing to her feet. “You can pay me back by working your ass off for what little’s left of this session. And by buying a swimsuit that doesn’t need psycho-analyzing for the next one.”

“Deal,” I grinned, heaving myself upright.

 

—

 

As the two of us strolled out to the pool - very slowly, very carefully, to avoid any wardrobe malfunctions - I spotted Sam in the water. Clearly, he spotted me too, as he immediately lost his rhythm, nearly sinking beneath the surface. I squatted down at the end of his lane as he doggy paddled his way to meet me.

“Wondered what was taking you so long,” he said, shoving his goggles up onto his forehead. “Was it, uh… the, uh…”

“The swimsuit?” I snorted, looking down at myself as if I’d only just noticed it. “Yeah, it took a team of forty men to load me into it.”

“Lucky guys.”

I playfully bonked him on the head with one fist, then leaned in closer to whisper in his ear. “Listen, uh… don’t get mad, but… I kinda had to tell Abi about, y’know. Us.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he sunk down into the water a bit, as if to hide. “Oh,” he grimaced. “Did the, uh, thing happen again?”

“Dude, look at what I’m wearing. It’s the worst it’s ever been.”

“Is she… cool with it? With us?”

Suddenly, we were both hit with a splash as Abi leapt into the water beside us, nearly making me fall head first into the water. “Yes, I’m cool with it,” she said, grinning as she surfaced. “You do you, man - I’ve heard weirder. Hell, I’ve dated weirder.”

My boyfriend’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he tried to process the sensory overload that he was currently being subjected to. It was an expression I’d seen a million times before, but in the current context, I couldn’t help but feel it made him look like some kind of very fat fish. I made a mental note to tease him for that, when the dust settled a little. When the gears finally stopped turning in his brain, he settled on: “Thank… you?"

She gave him a cheerful nod. “I’m guessing you’ve only been coming to keep up appearances, right? Don’t force yourself; I know this is probably, y’know, counterproductive .”

“...That was the reason, at first,” said Sam, bashfully. “But it actually kinda made me realize how much I missed swimming. Nice to do it for fun, for once. I will skip a few laps, though, if you’re offering me an out!”

“I think you’ve earned it,” she smiled - before spinning round to face me, her smile suddenly appearing slightly shark-like. “You, on the other hand, need to make up for lost time. Chop chop, in you get!”

“Ugh, there’s only five minutes left! Can’t we just call this one a bust!”

“Sam, grab a leg and help me drag her in.”

Part 10

In the weeks following our little impromptu therapy session, Abi’s curiosity was unleashed. She’d always been the nosy sort, and after a decade of harbored suspicions about me being a kinky weirdo, this was her golden opportunity to finally pepper me with questions. How long had I known I was into it; how did I find out Sam was the same; had any of my old boyfriends been into it; and so on, and so forth. At first, it was a little annoying - not least due to the fact her texts seemed to invariably pop up at the worst possible moment, leaving me scrambling to swipe the notification away before someone like my boss could see. But there was something comforting about the way she’d react to my answers, always so genuine and non-judgemental, no matter how bizarre they’d felt to type. It sort of made me wish I’d opened up to her about it years earlier, if only so she could have saved me from some of the awful relationship decisions I’d made back in college.

 

Abigail Harding: Okay, stop me if you’ve heard this one before

Jessica Yates: Ha! Like anyone could stop you once you’ve gone Columbo mode.

Abigail Harding: Fine, don’t then 😛

Abigail Harding: How does you and Sam’s thing like… work?

Abigail Harding: Like, does he have a goal, or something?

 

A simple question, with a much less simple answer. Sam did have a goal, but it wasn’t a number on the scale; in fact, he hadn’t stepped on one for months, a few discouraging backslides early in his gain having convinced him to just go by feel instead of stressing about statistics. Nowadays, our bathroom scales lived in the closet, only coming out when I wanted to check on my own gym progress - or lack thereof, as the case often was. That being said, Sam still wanted something to work towards, a goal to keep him motivated through his sisyphean task.

And that was where The Shirt came in.

The Shirt was an old relic from Sam’s halcyon days as swim team captain. The last year before graduation, they’d attended a meet in France, his first time overseas, and waiting for them at the hotel were cute little goody bags, filled with cheap mementos. A few weeks prior, the coach had gotten them all to note down their sizes for the gift’s centerpiece, a shirt with the event’s logo and the names of the schools involved; Sam had begrudgingly wrote down the letters ‘XS’, dreaming of a day when the thought of him wearing something so small would seem comical.

He never did find out whether he’d made a Freudian slip while writing, or if there had been a mistake in the order, but the end result was the same: raucous laughter from his teammates as he pulled out an extra large. It looked more like a poncho when he tried it on; not a bad thing, as if the hem hadn’t hung so low, it would have been obvious just how turned on he was by the thought of filling the shirt out, letting his slender figure expand until it was skin-tight and bursting at the seams. He told everyone he was headed back to his room to change - not a lie, but definitely not the only reason he was trying to find some privacy. A few minutes later, flushed pink and more than a little embarrassed now he’d come to his senses, he’d stuffed the shirt into his suitcase, telling himself he’d swap it after the trip.

Of course, he never did. Either out of nostalgia or out of laziness, it had sat in his closet for years, moth bitten and forgotten. It wasn’t until years later, when we moved in together and did a bit of spring cleaning, that the shirt saw the light of day once more. Sam had chuckled as he told the story, then moved to place it in the box of clothes for charity. I stopped him, the kernel of an idea beginning to form in my mind. It was then that the shirt finally became The Shirt - a physical reminder of what it was that the two of us were aiming towards. Someday, I promised him, it’d fit like a glove; and then, if he still wasn’t satisfied, we’d make it not fit, in an entirely different way to how he remembered.

 

Abigail Harding: That’s kinda romantic, tbh

Jessica Yates: Aha! Am I finally converting you to the one true path 😛

Abigail Harding: Kinda wish I was into chubby guys, it’d make dating easier

Abigail Harding: But nope - gimme dat beefcake

 

I snorted, recalling how many of Abi’s college ‘beefcakes’ were now firmly in the dad-bod zone, now that they didn’t have track to keep them disciplined.

 

Jessica Yates: One day you will see the light

Abigail Harding: Yeah, yeah

Abigail Harding: So how’s he getting on? With the shirt

Jessica Yates: You mean The Shirt, thank you very much

Jessica Yates: And I will have an answer for you in three hours and twenty two minutes

Jessica Yates: Not that I’m counting

 

I placed my phone down on the desk, and went back to watching the office clock tick. It was the first of October, almost a year to the day since I’d reconnected with Sam. We didn’t actually count our anniversary until November, when we’d both agreed we meant more to each other than ex-classmates-with-benefits; but still, it was a milestone, and we’d made plans to see how his progress was coming along that evening. Last time we’d checked, he’d been oh-so-tantalizingly close, the shirt merely looking loose, rather than baggy, around his increasingly large figure. With Abi finally allowing him some respite from working out, while his eating had stayed the same (read: ravenous), I was almost certain today would be the day it would finally fit.

It was exciting, but also a little nerve-wracking. Like dogs chasing a car, I wasn’t entirely sure what we’d do when we achieved our goal. He was already bigger than any guy I’d dated before, but in all honesty, I didn’t want him to stop there - far from hitting diminishing returns, every inch he grew seemed to make me want him even more, and every fiber of my being wanted to keep pushing to see where the line was. I’d tried to keep these thoughts to myself, though. After all, it was his body, and with him rediscovering his love for swimming, I’d started bracing myself for the point where he’d decide he’d hit his limit; where the cons would start to outweigh the pros; where I’d have to accept that this was the fattest I’d ever see him.

I should have realized I didn’t need to worry. After all, if there was one person on earth who liked seeing Sam grow more than I did, it was the man himself.

When I arrived home from work, The Shirt was already on, and there couldn’t have been a single crease in the damn thing - it was like a second skin, perfectly following the contours of his body without looking overstretched or constrictive. If I hadn’t watched him spend the last ten months filling it out, I could have easily been convinced he’d gone and bought it that very morning. Despite this, he didn’t look quite as excited as I’d expected.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking pensively in the mirror. “Like, I’m happy - really happy. I just thought I’d feel… bigger, y’know?”

I grinned over his shoulder, and gave his belly a bounce with my palms. “Oh? This isn’t big enough for you?”

He really was looking fat these days. For the longest time, he’d managed to cling on to the look of ‘a skinny guy that gained weight’, every pound being stashed away in his growing beer gut to the point where if he really sucked in, he could almost pass for average (a tactic he’d used to great effect every time his family were in town). But lately, he seemed to have crossed some invisible threshold, and everything was getting fatter. His love handles, already plenty soft and grabbable, had suddenly exploded, fusing with the sides of his belly to create a flabby spare tyre. This in itself had immediately made him look wider and rounder, but the effect had been further enhanced by his limbs, toned thighs and arms starting to lose their definition as they thickened. Even his chest had started to get a little more plush, two little mounds of fat beginning to pool atop his still-dominant stomach, and the faintest hint of a double chin was beginning to form below his jawline.

I had enjoyed the early stages of his gain - the way his little belly blobbed out felt like a trick we’d played on his body; like if we let our guard down for a second, it’d get wise and the pounds would melt away. But this was on a whole other level - his body had given up the fight, and he seemed to be metamorphosing from that scrawny high school kid I’d known all those years back into a genuine fatty, right before our very eyes, like a chubby butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. I didn’t want it to stop, and the relief I felt that Sam was in agreement was incredible.

“Tell me then,” I purred in his ear, finally feeling free to be as greedy as I wanted with him. “How big do you want me to make you?”

He shivered slightly and looked down at the floor, unable to hold eye contact with me in the mirror. “H-honestly, I don’t know,” he said bashfully. “Every time I set a goal, it never ends up being enough. I don’t think I’ll know what ‘enough’ even is until I reach it, so maybe we just… keep going. Until it gets too much.”

I started tracing larger and larger arcs in the air in front of his gut. “Even if you get this big? Or this big? What if it’s never too much?”

“Then we better start saving for a bigger apartment,” he grinned, before pausing for a second to compose himself. “Full disclosure, though,” Sam said, voice a little more serious. “There will be a ‘too much’ at some point. I still wanna get around, do stuff, y’know? I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, idiot,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. I was surprised at how easily the words came after my earlier worries. As fun as it was to think of him endlessly growing, my very own fat blob, the thought of a Sam that wasn’t this joyous about the idea of gaining made the mental image curdle. “This is only fun if you’re having fun.”

He gave my hand an appreciative squeeze. “Tons of it. And tons more to come. Just… probably not literally.”

I nodded, before turning around and flopping onto the bed, grimacing as the overtaxed bed frame creaked in protest. That was another expense looming on the horizon, if I didn’t start offsetting some of Sam’s gains with more losses of my own. “Right,” I grunted, whipping out my phone and trying to pay the specter of furniture bills no mind. “What are we going to do to celebrate? Even if we’re saying no more goals, I still owe you for this one. Buy you dinner?”

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, trying not to do any more damage. “Maybe let’s mix it up a bit,” he said, giving his belly a pat, the shirt rapidly starting to creep up of its own accord. “I literally haven’t stopped eating all week - didn’t want to slack off just before the finish line…”

That ‘literally’ was an embellishment, but not a big one - with the anniversary coming up, Sam had stepped his eating up into overdrive. Every evening, I’d come home to a stuffed boyfriend on the couch, sleeping off a food coma. Then he’d get up and eat dinner too, trying to act casual as he forced each bite down. I watched as the shirt rode up further to reveal the increasingly angry stretch marks on his hips, and laughed: “You, turning down food. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“You and me both,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans and exhaling with relief as he laid back beside me.

I scrolled around the map of the city, searching for inspiration. A smile spread across my lips as a pin popped up labeled “Rick’s” - the bar where we’d had that fateful meeting, almost a year to the day ago. “We could get drinks? I know a spot.”

 

—

 

The taxi’s rear axle jolted slightly as we shuffled out onto the street. The drop in temperature nearly knocked the wind out of my lungs; it was a cold autumn night, not helped in the slightest by my choice of outfit, a blue and white spotted dress that exposed my arms, shoulders, and a not-insignificant-by-my-standards amount of cleavage. I could see Sam taking a peek out of the corner of my eye as I paid the driver, who was also trying desperately to keep his eyes elsewhere.

“Eyes are up here,” I smirked at Sam as the car drove away. He turned on his heel and started walking towards the club, whistling innocently.

It felt nice to actually hit the town for once, like I had many a time back in college (admittedly, the less said about those nights, the better). I racked my brains for when the last time had been - not counting all the obligatory work socials, where I’d had to stand around and pretend to have things in common with my middle-aged colleagues. I could only think of one or two since Sam and I had met; none in anything close to recent months.

A big part of that was down to my ever-dwindling wardrobe. I’d always been the sort of person to resist sizing up, as far back as my teens - even aside from the expense, it felt like an admission of defeat; an acceptance that the extra weight was here to stay. The thought of buying a bigger dress would have been enough to give me palpitations back then, when the most I had to deal with was a few pounds of holiday weight - now, I was nearly fifty up from my ‘normal’, only just having stepped back from the precipice of two hundred, and I was wearing something that, if all went to plan, wouldn’t fit me in a month. I had Abi to thank for that particular change of heart; when she’d heard my philosophy on clothes sizes, she’d given me a smack upside the head and dragged me straight out to the mall.

“What did I say about being kind to yourself?” she’d said, rummaging through the racks. “You’d be less stressed about your size if you weren’t stuffing yourself into stuff that barely fits.”

She wasn’t wrong; it was liberating to be able to breathe without being at risk of popping a seam, the outfit flattering my curves instead of trying to compress them, and it felt a little easier to accept, or at least ignore, the parts of myself I was less keen on - the chunky calves, the bulging belly outline, the flabby face - when everything else was wrapped up in such a nice package. The cleavage was a nice bonus too, if only for how easy it made teasing Sam - those particular assets were probably the only ones I’d be sad to lose when I finally got back down to my normal size.

As the two of us got in line for the club, me in my dress, Sam in a much more weather-appropriate sweater, I craned my neck to get an idea of how long we’d be standing in the cold. Quite a while, by the looks of it; I pressed myself up against my boyfriend’s back to try and leech some of his heat.

“Chilly, ain’t it…”

I poked my head out from behind Sam, looking in the direction of the voice. It was the woman one spot ahead of us in the queue that had spoken, a somewhat gothic-looking girl with piercing eyes and flowing, coral-tinted hair - which would have been the most eye-catching things about her, if not for the fact she was about the size of me and Sam combined. Her strappy black crop-top exposed one of two enormous belly rolls, the second of which was tightly tucked away within the waistband of her equally-dark coloured jeans, the oval outline clearly visible through the overstretched fabric. As she leaned against the wall and sparked up a cigarette, my eyes traced the patchwork tattoos that covered every inch of her pillowy arms; some fresh and vibrant, others faded and stretched. There was something about her that was familiar, her presence triggering a faint hint of deja vu in my mind, but I couldn’t place it.

“Yeah,” I shivered, wrapping my arms tightly around my chest. “I was gonna complain I was underdressed but… think you got me beat.”

The enormous woman gave me a toothy grin, clearly used to hearing that. “I’ll take this over sweating like a pig when I get inside. This body ain’t built for heat,” she said, giving her tanker of a gut a pat. Her candor about her size caught me off guard somewhat, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “This your first time?”

I cocked an eyebrow, unsure what she meant. “At Rick’s?” I asked. “Nah, we’ve been here before - just the once, though.”

“Uh, no,” she said, slowly. “I mean the meetup. You… are here for that, right?”

“The what ?”

Sam and I both leaned around the stranger’s wide silhouette to observe the rest of the queue, and suddenly noticed how disproportionately heavy the club’s clientele was tonight. The gears started to turn in my brain. I’d meant for our evening to be nostalgic, but I’d apparently outdone myself, stumbling ass-backwards into the exact same event where we’d first met. That was what I got for not checking the website, I guess, too eager to go get my drink on.

The green-haired goth grimaced as she watched me rubbernecking. “Sorry, I just assumed, since you’re both… Y’know what, never mind. You’d be better off finding another spot for your date though, unless you wanna make some interesting friends.”

I looked at Sam and grinned. “Interesting is right.”

[Jentera]

Part 11

As we stepped into the relative warmth of the bar, Cara - the woman from the queue, and our new friend, whether we liked it or not - let out a long sigh of relief. “Fuckin’ finally,” she said, giving her chubby hands a shake to get the blood flowing again. “Swear those bouncers get slower every time. They’re gonna be sliding me through the door in a block of ice next month.”

I wasn’t doing much better, massaging my frozen arms to try to get some semblance of heat back into them; this was the one part of my college nights out that I hadn’t remotely missed. Well, that and the hangovers, but that was Future Jess’ problem, not mine. The only one of us who didn’t seem phased was Sam, in his irritatingly cozy-looking sweater. I’d have to try to convince him to slut it up with me next time; break out a crop top or some short shorts - it was only fair, y’know?

“So,” said the goth, clapping her now slightly less numb palms together as if to call us to attention. “Plans for the evening? Happy to fuck off if I’m third-wheeling.”

I shrugged noncommittally. “I mean, this was meant to be an ‘us’ night, but it feels like a waste to be at a mixer and not… y’know, mix.”

I looked to Sam, not wanting to speak for him - after all, the entire reason we’d come out was to celebrate his milestone, so it only felt right that the final say was his. A little smile told me we were on the same page. “Yeah, why not,” he said cheerily. “I barely made it through the door before you cornered me last time. Kinda forgot there were other people in the room after that.”

Cara gave us a Cheshire cat grin; as much as she’d said she was happy to leave us alone, it was obvious this was the response she’d been hoping for. “In which case,” she said, pointing over her shoulder with one thumb. “Let me introduce you to Zoe - trust me, you’re gonna love her.”

Something about the name ‘Zoe’ rang a bell, the same vague feeling of deja vu filling my brain as when I’d first bumped into Cara - but before I could ask her about it, she’d already started striding off into the crowd. And with some speed, too; for such a ** woman, she was deceptively agile, bobbing and weaving through the sea of people as if it were barely there. Even with the extra fitness Sam and I had built up in the pool, we were fighting to keep up; if I’d still been in the state I had been before Abi’s intervention, I’d have been left in the dust.

After traversing what felt like it must have been the entire length of the club, Cara suddenly stopped in her tracks, suddenly enough to nearly make me run into her (and, milliseconds later, for me to feel Sam bump gut-first into the small of my back, still not quite accustomed to how much space he took up). For a moment, I thought our leader had finally encountered a mass of people that even she couldn’t navigate her way through, but as I looked to either side of her wide frame, I realized the obstacle wasn’t human this time - there was a velvet rope spanning the width of the room, penning us and the rest of the guests in. Or out, as the case may be - on the other side, there were several tables and booths, much like the ones we’d passed to get here, but with significantly more breathing room for the people sitting around them.

 

That was just as well, as some of those people were truly gigantic, even with Cara’s respectable size for comparison. To the left, I could see a woman with frizzy red curls, balanced precariously atop two separate barstools, a single seat not providing enough width to support her freight train of a backside. To the right, a loud man with a bushy black beard had commandeered an entire side of a booth to himself, a massive spread of bar snacks separating him from his friends; judging by the manner in which the table was slicing into his bulging beer belly, those friends would likely be helping extract him at the end of the night. If it wasn’t for the fact that there were plenty of skinny people sitting in the forbidden zone too, I could have sworn that they’d just gone out of their way to corral the heaviest attendees into the one place. As a bartender ran over and unhooked part of the rope to let us pass, I tapped Cara on the shoulder, curiosity finally getting the better of me.

“What exactly is this?” I asked, as we shuffled forward. “Some sort of VIP area?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Cara shouted over the chatter and pumping music. “Zoe always gets them to corner this part off for her friends.”

There was that name again, and the same familiar ring to it. There had to be something I was missing. “Sorry, but… who exactly is this Zoe?”

Rather than answering aloud, Cara simply stepped to one side, revealing the corner booth behind her. Sat behind the table was - you guessed it - yet another impressively-sized woman, this one with tanned skin, flowing blonde hair, and an outfit so pink it almost hurt to look at. To my eye, she had to be at least 400 pounds; her garishly-coloured minidress clinging tightly to each of her rippling rolls; exposed thighs covered in a thick layer of cellulite; the shape of her knees and elbows barely distinct beneath so much fat. When she spotted her black-clad friend approaching, she beamed widely, leaning forward to wave. In the process, her bosom came perilously close to spilling free, the garment clearly ten or twenty pounds past its sell-by date. I felt my face beginning to flush, reminded for the first time in a little while just how not-entirely-straight I was. It was almost as if I was coming face to face with one of the models that had graced my laptop screen as a horny teenager, and my brain didn’t quite know how to react.

Wait.

Oh my god.

No fucking way.

It finally clicked into place why the name of this woman had sounded so familiar - and judging by the way that Sam’s eyes had suddenly bugged out of his head, he’d put the pieces together too.

“It is my pleasure,” said Cara, sitting down to one side of her friend, “to introduce you to the organizer of this little shindig - Zoe, aka BigGirlZo! I would ask if you were fans of hers, but judging by your faces, I think I can probably guess the answer.”

Zoe reached over, balled her hand into a fist, and gave the goth a dead-arm. “Car, you know I love meeting your friends, but you gotta stop springing me on them like this - you’re gonna give someone a heart attack,” she sighed, before turning back to us. “Sorry - hope she’s not been giving you too much trouble. It’s nice to meet you both!”

Cara pouted, rubbing her shoulder. “I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.”

I was grateful that the other woman chipped in with a sarcastic comment, as it took about that long for me to remember who the hell I was or how to speak English. “U-uh, likewise,” I stammered, standing statue-still in front of the table. “I’m Jess. This is Sam. We’re big fans of your, uh… work.”

Wait, is it weird to tell someone who makes fetish porn you’re a ‘fan’? Oh god, it probably is, isn’t it?

I looked to Sam for a lifeline, but he looked like his soul had completely left his body - all he could manage was a half-hearted wave. Thankfully, it seemed like Zoe was used to people being a little starstruck; she just giggled, and gestured at the empty seats.

“Come, sit with us!”

 

—

 

“Oh my god, that was you , Sam?” cackled Cara. It had been half an hour since she’d ambushed us with her famous friend, and now that we were all a few cocktails deep, Sam and I had finally relaxed enough to make conversation. He was halfway through sharing the story of how he’d re-met me, mere meters away from where we were currently sitting. As it turned out, he’d made a bit of an impression back then. “We were up on the balcony that night - we saw you walk in, and then you just… froze . Like a damn statue. Zoe and I had a bet going on whether you’d got the wrong address.”

“Oh, how nice of you to remind me,” said Zoe, tilting her head to one side as she turned to face her friend. “So that means the next round is on you, right?”

The goth pushed the other woman away, and continued on as if she hadn’t heard anything. “We did come to ask if you were okay, but by the time I got downstairs, you’d gone. Honestly, I figured you just ran straight back out the way you came.”

“I nearly did,” Sam laughed sheepishly. “Especially when Jess started sprinting towards me like the Terminator.”

I grinned at the memory - that was probably the fastest I’d moved since I left the track team. “You had your chance to escape, dude,” I said, reaching over and proudly patting him on the gut. “No way you can out-run me now.”

It felt weird to be so open about my kink in front of total strangers; to basically say “ hey look, I made this guy fat, and it’s fucking hot, right? ” I’d spent a lifetime training myself to not let those kinds of things slip, to the point where it had been a struggle to even open up to Abi about it - and this was the same Abi who knew every one of my other darkest secrets; the same Abi who had seen me make a fool of myself in just about every conceivable way possible back in college. But there was something different about being in this room. I knew for a fact that every single person in this room got it, in a way that my ‘normal’ friends never would, and that felt… liberating. It made me wish I’d come back here sooner; that I’d treated it as a place to make friends, rather than just a place to find people to feed and fuck.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam’s legs fidget in his seat; he tugged at the hem of his sweater, taking precautions against the effect that my touch had had on him. “And what a shame that is,” he said, with a bashful smile. “So, yeah - that’s how Jess and I started dating. I guess I have you to thank for that, Zoe, huh?”

The enormous woman flapped her hands. “Oh, stop, you’re gonna make me blush,” she said. “We wouldn’t say no to a wedding invite, though.”

“W-wedding?”

Zoe just winked at him, making not-so-subtle gestures in my general direction as my boyfriend turned a deep shade of pink. Part of me wanted to leave him swinging in the breeze a little longer, but I decided to show mercy. “So, how about you two?” I asked the big women. “Did you become friends through the meetups?”

“No, actually,” smiled Zoe, a nostalgic twinkle in her eye. “It was way before that - and ‘friends’ might be selling it a little short.”

It took me a second to figure out what she meant by that. “Oh. Oh! So you’re…”

“Big fat lesbians in luuurve ,” Cara hollered, wrapping one chunky arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder. It wasn’t clear if she meant for those adjectives to be in reference to their size, or just the magnitude of their feelings for one another. “Five years, and counting. That’s why she’s got wedding bells in her head.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “God, you’re never going to let that go, are you? It was an innocent question…”

The goth grinned; clearly this was a button she’d gotten used to pressing. “You wanna tell the story? Or shall I?”

“Eh, you tell it better. Plus you’ll just butt in every five seconds if I try to do it.”

 

—

 

Before we even got to the story of their meeting, Cara insisted, we had to understand how their paths had come to cross in the first place. And to do that, we had to go back to her high school years.

(“Here we go,” snorted Zoe. “I hope you haven’t got anywhere to be - we’re gonna be here all night.”)

As it turned out, Cara’s prodigious size wasn’t entirely down to her kink. Even before she’d discovered that side of herself, she’d been a fat country girl from an equally fat family, and had never been even remotely interested in changing that. Why should she? Her parents were the kindest, gentlest people she’d ever met, so clearly there wasn’t anything ‘wrong’ with being on the heavier side. If anything, she looked at her increasingly soft body as a point of pride; it meant she was more like them, and there was no way that could be a bad thing.

In fact, that stubborn confidence had been what had set her on the path of the goth in the first place. When her friends finally started to shed their puppy fat, she suddenly found herself the odd one out; still getting wider while everyone else seemed to be getting taller; being called names by people she’d known since she was a baby; finding herself all alone every lunch break.

But did the thought of dieting cross her mind? No, she just fell in with the rest of the misfits instead, a group of metalheads from the year above taking her under their wing. While she cringed to admit it now, the extent of her musical taste back then was mass-produced pop sung by skinny starlets; her new friends opened her eyes to an entirely different world. Who knew there were girls in metal bands? Better still, girls that looked like her, and still had the crowd eating out of the palm of their hand?

Fast forward a decade, and Cara - twenty six years old, and her weight easily ten times that in pounds - had moved to the city, graduating from going to gigs to promoting them herself. Damn good at it too, she hastened to mention; local bands spoke about her with reverence, her ability to fill a room unmatched.

It was at one of those small shows that Zoe finally entered the story. One of the Roxy’s bar staff, she was a fellow fat girl (by most people’s standards, at least - Cara had at least 15 pounds on her, and stacked up against the Zoe of the present day, she would have looked downright skinny). This, she’d said, was entirely down to her university meal plan; she’d noticed her jeans feeling tight by the end of her induction week, she’d had to replace her entire wardrobe at the end of her first semester, and at the rate things were going, she was pretty sure they’d have to roll her onto the stage for graduation. If you looked closely enough, you could see the signs of how quickly her body had changed, too; tiger stripes creeping up from under her arms when she reached for bottles behind the counter, faded bruises on her hips from misjudging distances.

But the similarities started and ended with their bodies. In just about every other regard, the two of them were total opposites; Zoe’s hair was bleached blonde, her clothes invariably some variation on bubblegum pink, she didn’t seem to have a cynical bone in her body, and she absolutely, truly, could not stand the racket that Cara brought to her place of employment. By all rights, they shouldn’t have gotten along. But there was something about the bartender’s chirpy demeanor that always seemed to calm Cara’s pre-show jitters. Without really realizing it, shooting the shit with Zoe became part of her routine - and then something to look forward to in and of itself.

The tipping point came when she arrived at the Roxy for a show, only to find some random spotty teenager staring back at her from behind the bar. For a second, she assumed the worst; that Zoe had been fired, or had quit without saying goodbye. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything quite so drastic - just a day off. But still, it was the first time their schedules hadn’t aligned, and Cara was a little shocked at how much that bummed her out. With a sigh, she resigned herself to her old pre-gig routine of pacing outside the green room - then she felt a tap on her shoulder, turning to find a beacon of bright pink amongst the black-clad crowd. Zoe had bought a ticket to the show, despite her total disinterest in whatever bands were playing that night.

Clearly that disinterest was infectious, as they both missed the headliner, making out in a bathroom stall barely big enough to fit the two of them.

(“Did you have to tell them that part?” groaned Zoe.)

It was Zoe that introduced Cara to feedism, not long after they started dating. Her sudden explosion in size wasn’t quite as accidental as she’d made it sound; like Sam, gaining weight was something she’d fantasized about her entire life, waiting for the day she’d finally be free from her fatphobic parents. She was impressively well prepared for that day, too - locked away on the laptop she’d brought with her from home, she had everything from spreadsheets of calorie goals to recipes for gainer shakes. Her goal had been to double in size by the end of the first year; she’d hit that milestone and blown right past it, to the point where she’d actually had to force herself to slow down slightly, her body needing time to re-acclimatize to its new bulk. By the time she explained this all to Cara, their positions had flipped - now Zoe was the fat one, over three hundred pounds and loving every ounce of it.

But getting that big didn’t come cheap. Pouring drinks at the Roxy had been one side hustle she’d taken up to fund her ever-increasing food bills - less temporary than she’d originally intended, thanks to her burgeoning crush - but there was no way she’d have been able to meet her ambitious goals on tips alone.

Enter: BigGirlZo, her online alter-ego.

Using the DSLR camera her parents had bought her for Christmas one year (back when she’d been insistent that she wanted to be a photographer), Zoe started documenting her gain in video form - and as it turned out, there was an eager audience willing to pay to watch her grow.

Cara had scrolled through the videos on her profile page, and it was striking how different she had been at the start - a perfectly average girl with mousy brown hair, doing her best to push out her stomach so that it looked like there was more than a micron of fat covering it, her nervous mumbling barely audible unless you cranked the volume to the max. But with every click of the ‘next’ button, that girl began to transform. There was one video where she showed off her newly dyed hair, and a pink dress that clung to a perky ** belly, giggling shyly at how she’d never have gotten away with wearing it at home. In another, she was in a bikini a size too small, tracing the raw red stretch marks that had begun to cover her thickening thighs. As her confidence - and her body - grew, the videos became more professional, more elaborate, with Zoe acting out scenarios that her customers had requested; she woke up a hundred pounds fatter than when she went to sleep; she giddily described her parents’ horrified reaction to her sudden gain; she even met up with other models, trying on each others clothes to compare their sizes.

For the second time, Cara found herself exposed to a world she’d had no idea existed, and for the second time, it intrigued her. She’d always been okay with gaining weight, viewing it almost as an inevitability, given her genetics. But watching her girlfriend luxuriate in it; take pleasure in every added inch; thrive on the attention her fattening body attained - it was like Cara had been searching for a missing puzzle piece her entire life, and Zoe had effortlessly dug it out from between the sofa cushions. They’d filmed their first video together that night, camera strategically angled to keep Cara’s face out of frame. The two of them glutted themselves on cake till they could barely move, then strained to release the overtaxed buttons on their jeans, allowing their bellies, one tanned, one ghostly pale, to spill forth.

From that day forward, there was no going back for either of them.

 

—

 

At this point in the story, Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, I bought that video back in high school,” he blurted out. After a second, he realized what he’d just admitted to - nobody was buying those things for the cinematography - and looked slightly embarrassed.

Zoe burst into giggles. “Ooh, we have a connoisseur among us,” she said, clapping her hands. “Aah, man, it’s a shame you didn’t do more clips with me, Car - seriously, people loved you.”

“Eh, I’d rather be behind the camera,” Cara grimaced. “The stuff we did was fun, but it felt weird having to… I don’t know, act sexy . It ain’t me. Kinda risky with the tattoos, too.”

The model nodded sagely, wrapping her pillowy arms reassuringly around her partner. “That’s fine - means I get you all to myself, right?”

That was another mystery solved. It wasn’t last year’s meetup I’d recognized our new goth friend from; I’d been active on feedist forums for about as long as I’d had internet and a computer, and I was almost positive I’d seen Cara’s headless body - including her distinctively decorated arms - pop up on the homepage several times. Unlike Sam, I hadn’t watched any of those videos myself, though. I was too in denial about my sexuality back then, and by the time I felt comfortable admitting to myself that I liked fat girls as well as fat guys, all traces of Cara’s presence had been wiped from the site. Honestly, that was just as well - it was weird enough having one person across the table that I’d jacked off to, let alone two.

“Hey, Jess,” mused Zoe, picking the absolute worst moment to address me directly. “Have you ever considered doing that kinda thing? Taking pics, making videos?”

The color drained from my face as I processed what I’d just been asked. “Wh-what? Me?” I said, tripping over my words. “No chance. I’m not even a gainer, really. This is just… uh…”

“Collateral damage?” said Cara, with a smirk. She gave the roll of flab that was bulging out over her jeans a knowing squeeze. “I feel that.”

Zoe just shrugged. “So? Plenty of models don’t actually gain - it’s the fantasy you’re selling. Take me, for example! I’m taking a fitness break at the minute. Well, trying to. Somebody keeps buying me sweets,” she said, as her girlfriend whistled innocently to herself.

“Still…” I mumbled, looking down at the adipose orb sitting in my lap, distorting the polka-dot pattern of my dress. I hadn’t noticed until that moment just how much of an impact the last hour of drinks had had - there was about an inch more leg on show than when I’d arrived, the outfit riding upwards to make room for my bloated middle. “I don’t think anyone wants to see… this,” I said, gesturing at everything south of my neck. “You two look like you’re meant to be fat - I look like a skinny girl that’s been blown up with a bike pump.”

“I demand a second opinion,” said Cara - before spinning around to Sam, who had been doing his best to stay out of her eye line. “What does Mr. Wilson think about Jess’ new figure?”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish as he tried to organize his thoughts. “You don’t have to say anything,” I said, putting my hand on his and giving it a squeeze. Silence fell upon the table for a few moments, and then:

“I love it,” Sam finally admitted, eliciting drunken cheers from the other two women. “I never know if I should say anything, cause I know you don’t love it, and I wanna support you with losing weight. But… you’re too hard on yourself, I think. Skinny Jess was hot, but so is Big Jess - it’s just a different kind of hot.”

I felt my cheeks starting to flush, but before I could tell him to shush, Zoe entered the fray. “Elaborate, elaborate,” she sing-shouted, clapping her hands.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled. “It’s like… it’s her, but turned up to eleven. Everything’s bigger, everything’s softer, everything’s just more . It sets off the unga-bunga caveman part of my brain, I think - like looking at one of those fertility idols you see in museums. Is that weird to say?”

By this point, I was completely bright red, and Cara was wheezing with laughter. “I don’t know, maybe?” she said. “Weird or not, I kinda see it. It’s the hips, isn’t it?”

He nodded, before turning to me with a cheeky smile. He placed his other hand on top of mine, and said, “You say no-one would want to see you like this, but I promise you - if you’d been making videos when I was younger, I’d have defaulted on my student loan by now.”

That finally got a laugh out of me, despite my near-fatal embarrassment. “Dude, you nearly do that every other month anyway. That’s why I gotta bring home the bacon.”

He shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts.”

As the other three started to go off on a tangent about Sam’s finances, I sat quietly thinking over what they’d said to me. As nice as it was to know that my boyfriend was just as into me as he had been sixty pounds ago, it didn’t change the fact that when I looked down, the body I saw simply didn’t feel like mine . In my mind, I wasn’t a fat woman, despite the fact I’d been closing in on two hundred pounds for nearly a year - no, I was a skinny woman who had fat, the ‘real’ me still waiting to reemerge from beneath the costume. It was this disconnect that had caused me such internal turmoil at the pool with Abi, being forced to confront the fact that I really had changed, in ways that I never thought I would. It manifested in other ways, too; the countless times I’d swatted Sam’s hand away from my softer parts in bed, moving them to something that was mine ; the refusal to buy new clothes or throw away ones I’d outgrown; the fact that in the happiest year of my life, I’d avoided having my picture taken even once. I was living my entire life pretending that I didn’t exist; that I was just here to keep the real Jess’ seat warm until she came back.

“I’ll do it,” I suddenly shouted, interrupting the conversation a little more vigorously than I intended.

The other three turned to me, caught off guard by my outburst. “Do what?” Sam asked.

It took a moment for me to get the words to come out of my mouth, having to force myself not to lose my nerve. “I wanna try… making a video. Or taking some photos, or something.”

Zoe rubbed her hands together excitedly, clearly having been hoping I’d come around to the idea. “Ohoho? And why the sudden change of heart?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I guess I just… want to see myself through someone else’s eyes, for once. Figure it might give me an ego boost.”

The model nodded knowingly. “Honestly that’s kinda why I started doing the videos, too,” she said. “I didn’t expect to make any money off them - I just wanted to hear people say ‘ yes, this is a good thing you’re doing’ , y’know? Drown out my parents’ voices from my head.”

“Clearly it worked,” I snorted.

“Eventually, yeah! But the first few months were rough. I wasn’t selling anything, the weight wasn’t going where I wanted it to - I came really close to giving up on the whole thing. Even though it had been my dream since I was like, god, five or something.”

I was a little thrown off - that aspect hadn’t come across at all in Cara’s telling of the story. “How did you get your confidence back?”

“I faked it,” she grinned. “Just kept trying to make the videos better, even though my brain was screaming at me that they were trash and I looked awful. It felt shitty, but every now and again, I’d get a notification saying someone had bought something, and they’d left a comment saying how great my belly looked, or how much they were looking forward to my next clip, and that’d give me a boost to keep going. And then one day I woke up, and I realized that hey - that fake confidence wasn’t fake any more!”

“Huh. Fake it till you make it, I guess.”

Her face turned a little more serious, and for a second it felt like I was sat across from Abi - albeit a version of her that was about four times the size. “Seriously - that’s the only way,” she said, wagging a chubby finger at me. “If you keep telling yourself you’re disgusting and worthless, you’re never gonna stop believing it’s true. Sometimes you just gotta lie to yourself and say: hey, I’m cool, and smart, and I have a great ass. C’mon, say it with me.”

I laughed for a second - then realized she wasn’t even slightly joking. “I get it, I get it,” I said, shaking my head, but her glare continued to pierce straight through me. And then the peer-pressure began – Cara started pounding her fists on the table, gently at first, before building to a crescendo. “Say it, say it, say it!” the goth chanted over and over. Before long, Zoe had joined in too - as had my boyfriend, much to the other couple’s amusement. Et tu, Sam? I thought to myself, exhaling deeply. And then, finally, I mumbled:

“i’mcooli’msmartandihaveagreatass.”

“What was that?” Zoe said, cupping one hand to her ear.

“I’m cool, I’m smart, and I have a great ass!” I yelled - just as the DJ decided to switch records. A sea of heads suddenly turned in my direction, and the rest of my table collapsed into laughter.

I take it all back - I’m never coming here again.