NewGainsPlus

What’s happening to you? Your addled brain can hardly process anything — your body knows it’s under attack from something, and your adrenaline is flowing at maximum, but there’s nothing to fight or fly from. How can a person even be gaining hundreds of pounds at once? It should be impossible.

Yet in the few seconds you took to consider that, the evidence that it’s entirely possible has been growing all around you. You lift your belly — if only momentarily, discovering it too heavy to raise for long — and feel it plop, wobbling about mid-thigh. You notice you can’t quite put your arms down at your sides anymore, and realize it’s because you have large and growing pillows of flab where your toned biceps used to be. As if that wasn’t enough, you can feel swelling rolls all along your sides too, pushing your arms up and out still further, culminating in two widening sweeps of blubber sitting just where your hips ought to be. Your chubby fingers follow them around to the rolls filling the small of your back, pushed upward by the two enormous, dimpled globes of cellulite filling your ass and growing as fast as the rest of you.

Flight finally beats out fight, and in a panic, you make for your front door, desperate to get help from someone, anyone, who might be able to save you from whatever freak occurrence is befalling you. You try to rush out into the street, barely managing a stumbling waddle as your unfamiliar bulk sloshes back and forth from one side of your body to the other. And with no real plan and still without fully appreciating that you’re now carrying several hundred pounds of extra fat, you barely make it a few steps down the sidewalk before you’re completely out of breath, your heart is racing, your legs are feeling wobbly — and you fall backward, your well-cushioned butt stopping you much higher than you would have thought possible, and your belly pulling you forward while it pushes your legs out to either side of you.

But the sight of a six-hundred pound person sitting collapsed in the street — let alone one who is nearly naked and visibly swelling — is bound to attract attention, and you’re no exception. After the first person rushes over and yells to their friend to call an ambulance, a crowd of onlookers begins to grow in a circle around you, albeit one a cautious distance away. If the sensation of your thighs ballooning to swallow up your knees, your arms growing too plump and heavy to lift, your belly migrating outward toward your feet, and your tits and back fat slowly rising around your neck weren’t quite so insistent, the crowd might easily command your full attention.

Most of them can hardly take their eyes off you, their looks mingling concern, disbelief, horror, disgust, and curiosity into a single confused expression. You hear laughter from various directions, usually from the same people who have their phones out immortalizing these moments in video for the entire internet to see. One woman, pushed to the front of the circle, sees you and halfway faints away. You catch a glimpse of a teenager retching into a garbage can. And all around you, there’s a hum of muttered comments.

“…never seen anyone that fat before in my life. Horrible…”

“Isn’t someone coming to help? They don’t look like they can take getting too much bigger.”

“I don’t want to poke them. That’s gross, dude. You run in and touch them.”

“… just goes to show what all that fast food can do to someone…”

“…don’t see how they’re even going to move them? They must weigh a thousand pounds and they keep getting bigger.”

By this time, your fat has stopped swelling outwards and started rising faster around you. The weight of it has been building for some time now, as the blubber piling onto your body presses tighter and tighter on your core and organs, leaving you gulping down air just to try and stay lucid. If you could see over the horizon of lard that’s now risen high enough for your actual chin to be pressing into it, you might see how your arms and legs, having swollen so full of fat that your hands and feet are beginning to pucker into them, are losing their shape entirely and merging into the undefined mass of blubber your body is becoming. You’d see that the only thing that’s kept your head above the rising tide of fat so far is your still-swelling backside: your ass and back rolls, flowing out several feet behind you and pushing your frame up and forward as it rises. But even from your limited vantage point, you can tell — it’s starting to lose ground.

You can sense the fat gaining on you now, covering your shoulders, pressing your cheeks up higher on your face, tilting your head back toward the sky. Your eyes roll around, panicked, watching the crowd be eclipsed by the soft, wobbling, relentless rolls of your doughy body. Your arms and feet flap helplessly, trying in vain to grasp, shift, roll, do something to reposition yourself.

Suddenly, you hear exclamations from the crowd, and see several figures in scrubs gathering around you — although your body just about comes up to their waists now. One of them fits an oxygen tube onto your nose, giving you a little relief as you try to croak out what’s happening to you. Another stands around with a blood pressure cuff, looking utterly befuddled at the absence of an obvious arm to attach it to. Though you can’t see around you, you can feel them poking, prodding, lifting rolls, trying to get a sense of what they’re dealing with. Then you feel the whole world jolt as four or five pairs of hands all push on one side of you, shifting your flab momentarily; but they sink into the deep, deep layers surrounding your body without budging you. Your heart does a somersault at the shock of it, however; and you try desperately to wave them off, let them know what you’re feeling, stop them. But you can’t manage it, and you feel another jolt, another flip, another coming to rest. You can hear the spasmodic thrum of your pulse in your ears now, feel the sweat breaking out all over your vast body — fear and horror spreading through you at what’s coming.

On the ride over, he told me that he wasn't interested in big guys either. He hooked up with one last month because he was desperate, but afterward, he vowed to himself that he'd never lower his standards again.

I liked hearing that. Yeah, it came across as vain, but he was saying exactly how I felt. (Minus the hooking-up-with-a-fat-guy part. I would never.)

Everything seemed to be going well. We were all over each other as we stumbled inside. His cock had sprung to life and I could feel its impressive size (and warmth) as he grinded his hips against me.

He led me straight to his bedroom, pushed me onto his mattress, and yanked off his shirt.

That's when I was struck with disappointment. Noel wasn't fat like all the other guys at the bar, but he wasn't skinny. He had a thick roll under his belly button and a red line across his middle, an announcement that his stomach folded over itself when he sat.

He was, I don't know... 15 pounds overweight? Maybe 20. Invisible under his clothes but very obvious when he was shirtless above me.

He noticed my expression. "I didn't always... I mean..."

Fuck it. I was breaking my rule, but it was too late now. I pulled him closer and helped him out of his pants.

When I woke up the next morning, he was already awake. Smiling at me. Tracing his fingers down my abs. "Morning."

"Good morning," I said. I usually didn't spend the night, but... we went at it for a while. I got pretty tired. And after sleeping it off, my ass was still sore.

He asked me if I wanted breakfast. I should've left, but I was hungrier than usual.

He fixed us both omelets and we talked. We didn't really get a chance to get to know each other the night before, so it was nice to know that we had a lot of things in common. Not just our taste in men, but... you know, movies and music and stuff. Perhaps this was more than just a one-night stand.

The conversation was flowing until he got serious and said, "Sorry about, you know, my softness. I'm usually not so out of shape."

"You're a bodybuilder compared to everyone else in town."

I meant that as a compliment, but he looked away like I'd offended him. "It happened after I had sex with that fat guy. Feels like... I don't know."

This seemed to really bother him. And it bothered me at first, but the sex was so great, and I didn't feel him jiggle or anything when he was pounding me, so... "You're gonna lose it," I assured him.

"I'm trying to," he mumbled.

The conversation moved onto happier topics after that. We finished breakfast, made out a little, and I headed home.

I thought about Noel a lot after that. Based on our... you know, dynamic, I expected him to call me. He didn't. I waited three days and nothing.

Finally, I decided to text him. No response.

I took the hint, assuming that our one night together was all I was going to get.

Life seemed to go back to normal. I went to work. Hung out with friends. Watched a couple movies. But every time I went outside, I noticed that the people around just kept getting bigger.

Even the guys at the gym were growing layers of fat over their muscles. I used to have to wait in line for one of the treadmills, but now, they were empty. Always empty. People gravitated toward the weights and other equipment, but it was like the whole world gave up on cardio.

Two weeks later (after another failed night at the bar), I was running on the treadmill when something horrible happened.

I jiggled.

I'd never experienced that sensation before, and it startled ed me. I switched off the machine and ran over to the wall mirrors. Aside from the look of panic, I didn't see anything wrong with my reflection.

But when I raised my shirt, I saw a puff of fat just above my waistband. Worse, my abs were completely smoothed over. I was starting to look like Noel!

I got on the scale: 15 pounds! I'd gained 15 pounds without realizing. I still ate the same. I still exercised. It didn't make sense.

I rushed to my car and sped off. I drove toward the hospital. I didn't know what I'd tell the doctor, but I had to do something! Where else could I...?

I saw Noel's apartment up ahead. Somehow, I knew that this was his fault. It had to be. Without fully thinking things through, I parked in the front and went straight to his ground-floor apartment.

"Noel! It's Jesse! Open up!"

I could hear him moving around inside. I knew he could hear my knocking.

"Please!"

There was a long pause before he called out, "One second!"

I waited much longer than a second for his door to open. I saw his beautiful, apologetic eyes. I saw his messed-up hair and unkempt stubble.

And then I saw his body.

Jesus! He was huge! It had only been two weeks and he must've gained 30 more pounds. His belly hung out of his pajama shirt and his moobs poked into the fabric like accusing fingers. He even had a double chin now. There's no way he could pretend to be skinny anymore.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

I got over my shock and let myself inside. His apartment looked the same, but there was a jump rope on the floor and a set of newly bought dumbbells by the couch.

"What is going on?"

He jiggled his belly. "This is why I didn't call you. I knew you'd... be disgusted."

Normally, yeah. I had nothing but pity for guys who let themselves go. But I liked Noel. And I could tell he wasn't doing anything to make himself fat. Just like me.

Something was happening to us, and it wasn't our fault.

He looked at me for a long time. He paid extra attention to my stomach. "Are you...?"

"Am I what?"

He stepped closer. Very gently, he asked me to lift up my shirt.

I did.

He took one look at my new pudge and flinched. "I'm so sorry," he said again. "I did this to you."

"What did you do?" I demanded.

"If I hadn't had sex with that fatty, I never would've... God!" He collapsed onto the couch. I think he was holding back tears.

I sat next to him. Waited for an explanation.

"I've been watching some videos, and um... There's a virus." He grunted as he grabbed his phone off the table. He had a YouTube video ready to play. It wasn't from a real news segment, like CNN or whatever. Just a chubby vlogger.

That's when I first heard about Adipolio. I obviously don't need to explain it to you, considering that we've been living through the disease for two full years now, but this was back in 2026, before anyone knew about the fat plague.

This YouTuber (I wish I could remember his name) had figured things out months before the CDC got its act together. He was wrong about some of the specifics but he understood the big picture: There was a sexually transmitted disease that caused extreme, permanent weight gain.

If I'd followed my rule and exclusively slept with healthy guys, I would've been safe. But Noel fucked a fatty, and then Noel fucked me, and now we were both seriously fucked.

The phone dropped out of my hands. I was numb.

Noel carefully rubbed my shoulder. He acted like I was going to lunge at him. And on some level, I wanted to. But this weight gain was inevitable, and blaming him wouldn't fix anything.

"It's okay," I told him.

He anxiously tugged at his moobs, still uncomfortable with how they stuck out of him. "No, it's not."

"Listen, if this is a disease, then there's going to be a cure eventually, right?"

"Maybe."

"And in the meantime, there's nothing we can do about it, right?"

He shrugged.

"Then the only thing we should do right now, if you're open to it, is go on that second date."

He wiped his eyes. I ignored his double chin and focused on his smile. It was still quite handsome. "Okay. How about a movie?"

So that's what we did. We went to the movies. Then we had a nice, healthy dinner. Then we went back to his place.

And just like that, we were dating.

As we grew, and as the world grew around us, we fell in love.

Despite his new size, the sex was still amazing. Yes, he jiggled now. He made noises that he didn't before. But I accepted that. And eventually, I learned to appreciate it.

I started to like the way he looked.

A few months later, he was unmistakably obese. Slow-moving. Criss-crossed with stretchmarks. Lugging around a beer gut the size of a beach ball.

He was a good 100 pounds fatter than anyone I would've been attracted to in my old life. But watching all the weight build on him (and feeling all the changes as they happened) made it all... kind of hot.

Of course, I was growing, too. Differently, but just as fast. Because of my body type, the weight collected on my hips and thighs. And because of my height, I got very wide very fast.

I used to think that fat people were all the same, but when we were together, when his over-fluffed pillow of a belly was flopping against my back and my massive, dimpled ass was grinding into him, our differences couldn't be more obvious. It was as if our bodies grew to fit our roles in the bedroom. His fat made him more substantial and dominant, and mine grew into a receptacle for his seed.

By then, the news of Adipolio had made it mainstream. It was all over the news. The president made a couple statements about it (though he kept calling it a Democrat hoax and saying that the only way to protect ourselves was to buy his new crypto coin). Religious people started calling this the End of Days. Companies sbegan manufacturing bigger cars, sturdier furniture, fat-appropriate clothes.

The world officially accepted that sex was making us fat, and we just had to let it happen until the drug companies found a cure.

With everything out in the open, Noel and I got a lot more social. For the longest time, we were riding out our weight gain together, learning to cherish each other's bodies in the privacy of our apartment. (I'd moved into his place by that point.)

But with everyone openly leading fat, happy lives, we did the same. We went out to the gay bar a lot, where my growing hips always drew a lot of attention. We walked around the park as much as our knees would let us. We visited friends for barbecues. Normal couple stuff.

I don't know the exact moment our diets changed. It was a gradual shift, I guess. Even though we were getting heavier by the day, our appetites were still the same. We ate healthy food. We didn't really snack.

But at a certain point, when you're fat enough to crack your mattress frame in two (fun times), you might as well start eating like a fatty.

Noel had more of a sweet tooth than I did, so he brought home a steady stream of ice cream. He loved that stuff, and eventually, I did, too.

We started to hit up fast food places a couple times a week, and I learned to accept, then appreciate, then crave the taste of grease.

A year into our relationship, once we were both well over 300 pounds, we started feeding each other. That was my idea. Except it wasn't really an idea. It was just a thing that happened. We were snuggled on the couch, each eating our own bucket of KFC, and I fed him one of my drumsticks.

His eyes lit up. His body jiggled with excitement. And he tore off the fried skin right from my hand.

Surprisingly erotic.

Addictive, too. After that, we usually fed each other our meals. We both worked from home at that point (most people did), and it was so much fun to shove treats into his mouth when he was trying to concentrate on his computer. Very distracting, but he loved it.

And he paid me back whenever I was trying to work.

Our gains accelerated after that. It didn't take long until he shot right past 400. I was close behind.

And then we heard the news. They'd finally gotten a vaccine. Just one shot and the weight would come off as quickly as it piled on. Huge news. It was what we'd both been waiting for, and yet... I wasn't excited.

Noel could tell by my expression. He supportively rubbed my belly and asked me how I felt.

"I don't know," I said.

On the TV, the announcer was explaining that the vaccine didn't have any major side effects, though people would have to prepare themselves for a ton of loose skin.

That creeped me out, but it wasn't the reason I was so upset.

"Do you want to go back to our skinny lives?" he asked.

At this point, it felt like I'd always been obese. My old, hot self was a different person. I barely remembered him, but I knew he wasn't as happy as I was right now.

"Would you hate me if I said no?" I asked.

He smiled, grabbed a donut off the table, and pressed it into my mouth. "Honey, I feel the exact same way."