Accidental Gains

I poked him in his hard, hairy bloat. "That's cultural appropriation, Jer."

He poked my stomach. "You're cultural appropriation."

It didn't make sense, but we both laughed. Pretty soon, I had my shirt hiked up and we were comparing which of our stomachs was rounder. (It was a tie.)

Just as he pulled back his hand to slap my belly, Oliver charged into the room. He was pissed. "Can you two stop that?"

Jerry slapped me anyway. I felt the leftover pizza jostle around. "Stop what?"

"Stop making fun of fat people!"

I immediately felt terrible. That's not what we were doing at all, but poor Oliver thought we were making fun of guys like him. And he wasn't even all that fat! Yeah, he had moobs and his belly bunched up when he sat, but I barely even noticed that he was bigger and softer than us.

Unlike a lot of my gay friends, I never check out straight guys. What's the point? The fact that Jerry was objectively hot while Oliver was... well, he had a handsome face... it didn't matter to me. My brain registered them as friends, and that's all I saw.

Anyway, I apologized to Oliver and told him we'd stop. Jerry, on the other hand, tried to explain that we didn't do anything wrong, that Oliver was acting paranoid. They started shouting at each other, and I was caught in the middle.

It felt like such a minor thing, but my two roommates both stormed into their rooms. That was our first real fight.

I promised myself that I wouldn't mention bellies again. Once my beer bloat shrank, things would go back to normal and (hopefully) Jerry would show some restraint.

Except... The bloat never shrank. Days passed and my stomach was still round and solid. And Jerry (who still walked around the apartment shirtless) kept his belly, too.

I noticed him scratching it a lot, but I wasn't sure if he was aware that his body had permanently changed. I wanted to talk to him about it, but I didn't want to bring up the sore subject around Oliver.

Over time, it stopped being a big deal. This was just our new normal. Jerry and I were thicker than our college days, and that was that. Didn't affect his dating life. (He hooked up a lot.) And since I was single and still recovering from my breakup, I didn't feel the need to hit the gym or anything.

In fact, the only time I was reminded of our sort-of dad bods was when I caught Oliver glaring at my stomach. After the argument, he was moodier than usual. It's hard to describe his expression. It was like he was angry that we accepted our (very minor) weight gain without getting all angsty like him.

Then one evening, the three of us were eating dinner at the table. Jerry was talking a mile a minute (I don't remember the topic) when there was a loud clink under the table. Jerry froze, looked down in his lap, and burst out laughing.

"What happened?"

"Dude!" he said. He jumped to his feet and showed me his half-open zipper. His button had shot off. "Look at this! I popped my pants!"

He wasn't proud or anything. Just bemused. As he smiled at me, he grabbed his belly and jiggled. It hadn't gotten any bigger in the last few months, but it was definitely softer. He never used to jiggle before.

I looked at Oliver, who had his head turned away and his jaw clenched. I could tell he was angry again.

"Sit down," I told Jerry. If he made any more of a scene, Oliver would freak out.

Jerry didn't listen. "Damn. That fucker was tight." He rubbed the skin just below his belly curve. There was a red line from his tight waistband.

"Sit down," I said again.

He laughed. "I wonder where the button went."

Oliver looked like he was ready to explode.

"Just. Sit. Down," I told him. "I'll get the stupid button." I got out of my chair and dropped to the floor. The button had landed between Oliver's pudgy bare feet.

I got on my hands and knees. And that's when I heard a riiiiip.

I froze. Slowly, I reached for my ass and felt the wide tear in my pants. I wasn't wearing underwear, so my fingers poked into my soft cheek.

I gave up on grabbing the button and slowly climbed into my chair. My heart was pounding and I prayed that they didn't hear the rip.

Well, they did. Oliver's eyes were wide and Jerry looked at me like I said the funniest joke in the world.

"Thanks for makin' me feel better about myself," he said.

"I didn't..."

Jerry waddled over (holding his pants up) and tried to see my backside. "Looks like we should go shopping tomorrow!"

I twisted around to hide my rip.

Oliver slammed his hands against the table. "Jesus!" That's all he said before he stormed out of the room.

"What's his problem?" Jerry asked, loud enough for Oliver to hear.

"We offended him," I whispered.

"Why? 'Cause we're chunking out? He's one to talk."

I was about to argue. That came across pretty mean, especially for Jerry. But... he was right. We weren't being hurtful or anything. We were just gaining weight.

Jerry wiggled his eyebrows. "So? Can I see?"

"Uh. Fine." I stood up and showed him my sliver of exposed ass.

He pinched it. "Looks like I'm growing in the front and you're growing in the back." Then, out of curiosity, he pulled up my shirt and looked at my belly. "Nope. You're growing front and back."

I swatted his hand away.

That evening, I went to my room and scrolled through Instagram. Oliver and I were planning to watch a movie together, but I figured he needed some space.

There was a knock on my door. "Go away, Jerry! We're not gonna compare bellies."

"It's me," Oliver said on the other side.

I rushed to the door and let him in. He had a pile of clothes in his hands and an apologetic look on his face. He handed me the clothes. "I outgrew these a couple years back."

"Thank you." This meant a lot to me. It felt like a peace offering.

I sat on the edge of my bed and invited him over. He looked unsure at first but eventually joined me.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm just..."

"Because I feel like you're mad at us for not taking our health seriously."

He flinched. "No! It's not that at all."

"We're fine with our dad bods. It's really not that big a deal."

"No. It's not. You're... what? 200 pounds?"

I shrugged. I didn't have a scale.

"Two hundred pounds," he said, as if he knew for certain. "I remember when I was that size."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know where this conversation was going.

"That was forty pounds ago," he added. His voice sounded so serious, as if it was important that I knew both our weights.

"Okay?"

He squirmed a little. His belly was folded into two squishy rolls. He didn't have a round stomach like me. "And, um, do you like it?"

"Do I like being 200 pounds?"

He nodded.

"I guess. I mean, it doesn't really affect things."

"Oh," he said. My answer disappointed him. He got to his feet and walked to the door. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder and added, "It looks good on you."

Then he was gone.

Weirdest conversation of my life.

After that, the tension in the apartment was gone. For whatever reason, Oliver had gotten over his annoyance at our growing bodies. In fact, he was more outgoing than ever. He joked around more, poked Jerry's belly almost as much as I did, and even encouraged us to snack sometimes.

He was an excellent baker, which I didn't know before. I guess he avoided baking when he was concerned about his own waistline, but now that he was living with two hungry boys who didn't care about the scale, his little treats turned into a daily ritual.

Every time I came home from work, he had muffins or banana bread waiting on the table. (His banana bread was my favorite.)

Around that time, Jerry got a girlfriend, so he was out of the apartment more than usual. That meant more snacks for me, and more late nights hanging out with Oliver.

I was happier than I'd ever been, and my extra padding was starting to feel... nice. I wasn't neutral about it anymore. I preferred being chubby.

One night, while Jerry was off with Becca (his girlfriend), I asked Oliver if he wanted to watch an anime. (He loved those. I didn't. But considering all the food he was making for me, I wanted to pick something he'd like.)

It was some nonsense about people with swords fighting demons on a train. It made no damn sense (and even less sense whenever Oliver tried to explain the complex mythology), but it was fun spending time with him. And the brownies he made for me were delectable.

At some point during one of the excruciatingly long fight scenes, Oliver turned toward me and smiled. He noticed that my hand was on my chest. Without realizing it, I was playing with my softened pec.

I guess it was a moob now, because there was enough fat under my puffy nipple to mold it between my fingers.

"What?" I said.

His smile widened.

"Seriously? What?" I wished I knew what he was thinking. "Yeah. I got moobs now."

"Me, too," he said.

I was shocked when he pulled up his shirt. This was my first time seeing his pale, flabby belly. And when he exposed his chest, I saw how wide and dark his nipples were.

What was he doing? Did he want to compare bodies like Jerry and I always did?

Well, why not?

I pulled off my shirt completely. My skinner was tanner than his. My belly was smaller and more solid. My chest was pokier and less saggy.

He studied me for the longest time. "Two twenty," he said definitively.

"Yeah?"

"You're obese now."

My first reflex was to be offended. Jerry called me "fat" all the time. But "obese" was more clinical. It felt like a diagnosis.

But then I looked at the admiration on his face. He was congratulating me.

And, well, I felt proud.

"Just a little obese," he said.

"Yeah?"

He let his shirt drop back down and gently placed his hand on my gut. He pressed his fingers to gauge my softness. "Do you know why I acted the way I did? When you and Jerry first started showing off your gains?"

"No." I thought it was because he was self-conscious about his own body, but that clearly wasn't the case.

"It's because you two were driving me wild." He played around with my stomach. Both hands now. "It took me four years to grow to this size, and you're already 20 pounds away."

"You made yourself fat?"

"Yeah. Aren't you?"

I guess I was. It didn't start that way, but over time, acceptance naturally morphed into excitement. I wanted more. I wanted to get as big as Oliver. And then I wanted to get bigger.

His hands drifted to my chest. His palms drew circles.

"But... you're not gay."

At least, I assumed he wasn't. He didn't ping my gaydar, though I'd never actually seen him date anyone.

He leaned closer. The couch shifted under us and his exploring hands dug into my softness. "I'm not, really," he said. "I just like... size."

"Me, too," I said. Then I pulled him against me, let his fat squish into mine, and kissed him.

An hour later, Jerry came home with his girlfriend. They were both in for a big, fat surprise wobbling, thwopping, and grunting on the couch.

The End

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