Beefy Ex-Swimmer

“So Adrian,” Hayden continued. “I know you struggle working front of the house. No need to be ashamed. I think your talents might be better suited to working in the kitchen. I notice you like sampling the goods and often have questions about their construction, plus the holiday season is here and we will need all hands on deck. What do you think of that idea?”

“I... uh... yeah, sure I would love to. What does it entail?”

“Well it would technically be a promotion with a small raise and new title. You will shadow head baker Liam for a week, sampling everything he does and learning his technique. When you’re ready, we will turn you loose under strict supervision.”

“Wow, I accept. I’d love that.”

And with that, Adrian was officially a professional baker in training. Feeling radiant, he grabbed a six pack on the way home to his small studio apartment. He planned to celebrate by polishing off some beer and having a gourmet pizza delivered. He relished these small pleasures since his girlfriend moved out a few months ago. Sure, the apartment felt lonely at times, but Adrian enjoyed indulging in beer, take out, and video games without anyone interfering. He had developed a slight paunch since starting at Muffin Tops a few months ago, something his girlfriend detested, and the single life caused his paunch to graduate into a beginner belly. Adrian was fully aware of the weight he was packing on, as his girlfriend would often point it out. He didn’t seem to care though. If he was being frank, he was actually kind of enjoying the spare tire.

The next day, Adrian received a kitchen tour from Liam. Liam was a hefty guy, like most of the employees at Muffin Tops. He had a thick Irish accent and dark hair that seemed to sprout all over his body, from his head, to the ferocious moustache and scruff that clung to his face, and all the way down his body. Dense chest hair sprung from the edges of his shirt and his glistening armpits sandwiched between muscled arms were excessively hirsute. He even sported a hairy lower back and ass crack that was only glimpsed when he bent over.

At 6’4” Liam had an imposing frame and probably weighed about 260 pounds. While chubby he wasn’t anywhere near as rotund as Hayden or the other owner, Diego. Liam was simply an overgrown and well fed man. In the warmer months he wore a wife beater that left little to the imagination. His belly hung over his waistband with a firmness that lent a masculine air to his persona, complemented by the dense fur that curled out from around the thin tank top. Having been hired in the summer, this was how Adrian first met Liam and as a result Adrian always regarded him with a level of fear and admiration. Being on the shorter side himself, Liam cast an imposing shadow for Adrian. 

After the tour, Adrian watched as Liam began whipping up a few batches of muffins. When the first dozen came out of the oven Adrian’s mouth watered from the delicious aroma.

“You hungry, boy?” Liam said

Adrian felt embarrassed by how obviously ravenous he was and only nodded his head. 

“Good, because at Muffin Tops every dozen pastries is taste tested to ensure quality. And until you get the hang of things you’re going to be my little taste tester. So go ahead, grab one.”

Adrian grabbed a warm chocolate chip muffin from the tray and bit into it. It was as delicious and high quality as everything served at Muffin Tops. Adrian polished off the chocolate muffin and before he knew it there were fresh blueberry ones, and then scones, and then cupcakes, and then tarts, and then cake. By the time it was his lunch break Adrian was stuffed with so many sweets that he was developing a headache from the sugar. He was far from hungry, but he still had lunch to keep him chugging through the day. By the time the bakery closed, Adrian felt nauseatingly full. He couldn’t imagine keeping this up and wanted to protest the constant sampling but was afraid of Liam’s reaction. Besides, if the other bakers could do it so could he. 

After a few weeks of shadowing Liam and sampling his wares Adrian had developed a larger capacity and tolerance for consuming so many sweets. He also packed on a solid ten or so pounds around his waist and ass. The weight was really beginning to show as his belly rounded out on his shorter frame. The pudge at his navel was turning into a gut that sloped out from under his chest. Meanwhile his ass became two globs of fat that wobbled noticeably as he walked, barely contained by any of his pants. You are what you eat, and Adrian was a muffin top.

“You’ll be sampling your own creations now,” Liam said proudly as he pushed his plump baby bird out of the nest. “You’ve gotten a taste for how it should be so you’ll know when you make a mistake now.” 

Adrian was nervous to begin working independently. Nevertheless, he charged forward full speed ahead. His first several batches were actually a success and by the end of the day he felt accomplished. As Adrian was packing up to head home, he accidentally dropped his keys between the trash compactor and freezer. Turning sideways, he attempted to slide between the two machines and pick them up, but quickly learned he was far too chubby to fit. 

“That’s cute you think you’d fit in there,” a voice said. 

Adrian turned around to see Liam watching him with his icy blue eyes. Adrian blushed, “It’s all this sampling we have to do. I’m swelling up like the rest of you guys.”

“That’s how Hayden and Diego like it,” Liam grinned and looked Adrian up and down. “We call it the baker’s dozen- those first twelve pounds you pack on when you start baking. It’s not the worst thing. Besides, it’s only November 1st, just wait until later in the month when business picks up. You won’t know what hit ya.”

Adrian struggled to bend over and grabbed his keys. With each step out of the kitchen he could sense Liam’s strong gaze from behind, stirring a sense of anxiety deep within Adrian. Was Liam judging his weight? He hoped he hadn’t made a fool of himself. All Adrian desired was approval from the head baker. 

Sure enough, business noticeably picked up the first three weeks of November. Everyone’s shifts were extended and some bakers, including Adrian, were picking up extra days. Adrian found the extra work pleasurable, as it kept him busy and his tummy full. Naturally, as Liam prophesied, Adrian continued to gain weight. 

At this point, all of Adrian’s T-shirts were clinging to his hefty body and barely managed to cover him up. This didn’t matter much, as he wore an apron in the kitchen that concealed the tender flesh that was exposed whenever he reached for something or bent over. Outside of work Adrian wore his favorite sweater that used to be oversized but now fit him perfectly. He figured he could get some new T-shirts come spring, but for now he was enjoying his curvier figure and ill-fitting clothes. 

The extra weight was particularly comforting as the cold weather drifted in. Adrian felt an unfamiliar desire to constantly eat and sleep whenever he wasn’t working. It was though hibernation was nearing and his body yearned for excess blubber to keep him warm. He found the extra fat piling up under his skin to be insulating and cozy as a warm blanket. The weight felt like a soft hug to himself, especially when he slept. In the last few weeks he developed a deep appreciation for crawling under the crisp sheets of his bed after a long day of work and cuddling up to his doughy self.  

It was one week until Thanksgiving and the owners of Muffin Tops, Hayden and his husband Diego, addressed the employees at a team meeting. Hayden looked how he always did, like an oozing marshmallow with limbs. He was as fat and fluffy as any trustworthy baker should be. Diego, on the other hand, had a strong base of muscle which supported the extra 200 or so pounds of fat compacted onto his frame. Looking at them side by side it was hard not to wonder how the two massive men managed to make love. 

The meeting went as expected with the bosses extolling a lame “go team” pep talk during one of their busiest times of the year. It was clarified that the experienced bakers would be working on custom orders while everyone else focused on churning out the greatest hits at a high volume. Adrian mentally prepared himself for a demanding day as the employees dispersed. 

On his way to the kitchen Adrian’s stomach began to growl. He was surprised considering the large breakfast he had eaten, but knew he could look forward to sampling his batches. As the day wore on Adrian began to feel out of sorts. First off, the kitchen was overstaffed which only made the temperature even hotter with all the ovens going. As a result, everyone was sweating, especially Adrian. He quickly learned that with extra padding comes extra sweating as his clothes became soaked.

Frustratingly, his shirt was perpetually riding up and eventually he just gave up on pulling it down. At the very least, it provided a bit of ventilation for his underbelly. To make matters worse, the interior of his thighs were on fire and his belly was itching like crazy. These were both novel sensations to the young gainer, making him wonder if heat stroke or a heart attack was imminent. Still, he pressed on. 

By the time Adrian arrived home he was exhausted. His legs felt weak, his hair was soaked with sweat, and his thighs were on fire. The first thing he did was strip naked and look in the mirror. Sure enough, the inside of his thighs were bright red. He touched them tenderly and realized it was a simple case of chub rub. Next, he lifted up his shirt and was shocked by what he saw. The itchiness was born from bright red stretch marks surrounding his belly button. All of this discomfort was due to his weight. Briefly concerned, his stomach growled and Adrian was once again struck by the desire to stuff himself silly before drifting off to sleep. 

The rest of the week proceeded with the same level of discomfort and fatigue. While his fat felt luscious and cozy at home it weighed him down in the kitchen, literally. Two days out from Thanksgiving and Adrian was struggling to keep his pace up. Consequently, he accidentally ruined a batch of pumpkin muffins. Liam watched disapprovingly as Adrian dumped the muffins into the garbage and started over. Pressure was already high due to the incoming holiday and Liam’s judgmental gaze had Adrian on edge. 

To make up time, Adrian blasted through several more batches without taste testing them. Little did he know that Liam’s watchful eye caught everything and towards the end of the day Liam sampled one of Adrian’s muffins. 

“You didn’t sample this did you?” Liam aggressively queried.

Adrian’s heart dropped as he turned around to face Liam. The Irishman stood inches away. His massive biceps were pumped up from working all day and glistened with sweat. Large wet marks circled his chest and underarms as his belly heaved with heavy breathing. Liam held stern eye contact as beads of sweat fell from his brow.

“I...” Adrian’s mouth was dry with fear. “I did not, no.” 

Almost everyone had left for the day, except Hayden who watched silently from across the room. This only heightened the intensity of the situation for Adrian. 

“I can tell. What do you have to say?” Liam demanded and took a step closer so that his belly was touching Adrian’s chest. 

“I guess I was rushing, I’m sorry.” 

“Rushing? A fat little pud like you rushing? Seemed to be moving pretty slow to me. What do you think is a good punishment boy?”

“I can stay late and make up for all the mistakes.” 

“No, that won’t do. I think you should eat all the mistakes. There’s what, three, four dozen pastries here you ruined? You need to consume every single one so you know what you did wrong. You’re a big boy after all, you can handle it.”

Liam placed a muffin against Adrian’s mouth, “Eat.”

Adrian held the muffin in his hands and took a bite. His skin was bright red with humiliation. Hayden continued rolling out dough in the corner watching the scene unfold. 

“Faster. You have a lot to get through here. Faster, piggy.” 

Adrian picked up the pace. After six pastries he was beginning to enjoy himself and lost track of what Liam was doing. Indeed, they weren’t the best, but the sweetness was intoxicating to Adrian who crammed one after another into his mouth. The desire to be overfed was once again stirring within Adrian and Liam pushed the remaining pastries off the counter and onto the ground. 

“Go on, faster!”

Adrian fell to his hands and knees and shoveled the pastries into his mouth. The position caused the elastic band on his pants to sag generously low, revealing Adrian’s fleshy and glistening rear. With his shirt already riding up past his love handles, Adrian was already half naked. Liam rubbed the growing erection in his denim and slid a chocolate cake in front of Adrian. 

“But, I didn’t make this,” Adrian garbled with his mouth full. 

With one large hand, Liam shoved Adrian’s face into the cake. Adrian knew what to do. He vacuumed up chunks of the delicious cake with glee, finding himself strangely aroused by the process. By the time Liam ripped down Adrian’s shorts both men were fully erect. Adrian had never had any gay encounters but found himself hungry for Liam’s cock. He arched his back causing his doughy ass cheeks to spread. 

“Fuck,” Liam slapped Adrian’s ass and tightly gripped his massive paws around each cheek, “that is a fucking rump.” 

He jiggled Adrian’s posterior with fervor, his mouth salivating. As Liam began unbuttoning his denim, Hayden left the room. Not surprisingly, Liam’s cock was massive. He pulled back his foreskin and thwacked Adrian’s ass fat with his dick. It bounced back from the gelatinous cheeks leaving a string of precum behind. Liam repeated this move a few more times spurring Adrian to eat the cake even more ferociously while hiking his ass up in desperation. 

Adrian yearned to be fucked. To be filled from both ends. He wanted to feel completely stuffed and gooey from the inside out. Rational thought left his mind as desire, lust, and gluttony clouded his head. 

With the help of some nearby vegetable oil Liam began inching his cock inside the hungry piggy. Adrian groaned in pain and pleasure. Liam’s shaft was a lot to handle and the deeper he plunged the more Adrian yelped. 

“That’s right, squeal for me piggy,” Liam grunted as he shoved the last inch of cock inside Adrian, causing Adrian’s face to plop back into the remaining cake. “Keep on eating that cake while I pound yours.”

As Liam continued thrusting, Adrian grunted and groaned with mouthfuls of chocolate cake. At this point Adrian’s entire face was encrusted with chocolate and sugar and fudge. As Liam picked up pace, he would slap Adrian’s ass and watch the waves of fat undulate beneath him. Adrian’s body turned to liquid with each smack, wobbling and slapping like a water balloon about to burst. 

Liam’s own tank of a belly sloshed and bounced while they fucked. Occasionally Liam would swipe a handful of the sweat from beneath his overhang and stuff it in Adrian’s face, letting the pig know full well who was fucking him. Adrian’s moaning became near-constant as Liam’s huge balls slapped against Adrian's puffy taint with each thrust. 

Adrian’s body, composed of roll after roll of gooey chub, was now bright red with ecstasy. The cake was nearly finished and Adrian’s cock gushed precum as Liam badgered at the pig’s prostate. Adrian was too weak to reach his cock buried behind layers of chub, otherwise he probably would have orgasmed long ago. Liam bent over, his belly filling Adrian’s back, and patted the bottom’s hanging gut. Taking a handful, Liam squeezed the blubber which forced a belch from Adrian’s lips. 

“That’s a good piggy. Are you ready for daddy’s come, huh piggy?”

Adrian nodded and whimpered. 

“What’s that? I can’t hear you. Do you want this cream? You wanna be filled up, huh?”

“Yes, I want it. Fuck! Fill me up! Please!”

With that Liam plunged deep inside Adrian and unleashed his load. Adrian could feel the giant man’s cock convulse and retract with each generous gob of come it shot out inside of him. Desperate to take his load, Adrian pushed his rump further back on Liam’s cock, swallowing up all that he could so that he felt full. Just as they both thought they were finished, Liam began pumping into Adrian again. 

Adrian’s yelps reached a fever pitch. After a couple more minutes they were orgasming in unison. Completely hands free, Adrian’s load blasted forward with an immensity he did not know. As the young pig saw stars, Liam tensed and quivered from his second orgasm, his demeanor weakening as Adrian’s ass sucked up his load. Drenched in sweat and exhausted, Liam’s heaping body fell limp and weak atop his prized pig. 

While Liam had maintained his authority thus far, he now felt completely drained from Adrian’s hungry hole. Adrian, on the other hand, felt newly whole, like a warm cream filled doughnut stuffed to perfection. The two men lay spooning in a puddle on the floor, Liam’s cock still inside Adrian. As they softly cupped one another Liam placed a kiss on Adrian’s shoulder. 

“Whoa,” Adrian muttered, “that was wild. This place is wild.” 

I undid my belt buckle in under a second, and then my fly, and then I dropped my jeans and underwear. I grabbed my cock and started pulling, my left hand gripping the edge of the counter.

I felt so dirty. Armando was right about me—I was getting off on Milo’s weight gain, in the most literal sense. But he was so fucking hot… What did his face look like, when he finally saw how big he actually was? Surprise, his beautiful lips making an ‘o’? Would he be embarrassed?

I remembered that jolt of electricity when he put my hand on his stomach. That rounded gut, soft and full and creeping over his waistband. Just a centimetre of fabric separating our skin.

And God, when that shirt came off… his torso was surrounded by buttery fat, with mean red stretchmarks on his gut and sides. He even had a couple under his arms, where extra weight was piling up around his chest. And the way his belly spilled forward when he bent over to take off his pants, and how his small double chin really stood out when he looked down at himself, and the image of the leg holes of his underwear digging into his ass cheeks…

I jerked off so vigorously as I thought about putting my hands on Milo’s shoulders, backing him off the scale and steering him to my bed. I’d tuck those beautiful black curls behind his ears so I could admire his perfect face. Then, I’d turn him around and bend him over—he’d go along, because he’d know what a bad, bad boy he’s been—and he’d ask me what I was going to do, in that deep jock voice of his, and he never was very good at hiding his excitement…

I’d pat his butt a few times. Just to remind him that I really could spank him, if I wanted to… and I’d feel it jiggle against my fingers. How could he let it get so ripe and juicy; hadn’t he noticed all that extra weight back there?

But I’d show him mercy—no spanking today. Instead, I’d lean in and take the waistband of his underwear in my teeth. Would my canines rip the strained elastic? I probably could, if I tried. It wouldn’t be that hard, with how much Milo was already torturing it. In just shy of four months, he had ruined those poor undies.

If I didn’t rip them, I’d pull them down with my mouth. I think Milo would like that; he always liked theatrical flourishes. He’d wiggle that round ass in the air, because he also loved showing off. I’d grab it with both hands, feel the full heft of it. I always said no straight guy should have an ass that big, and that was truer now than ever.

I came before I could even imagine what I’d do next. I barely had time to grab a towel, I was completely overcome… so to speak. I gritted my teeth as I shot, to keep from making some unfortunate noise. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more intense orgasm.

My heart pounding, I wiped myself off and tossed the towel in the cabinet under the basin. After I dressed, I washed my hands and splashed some cold water on my face. I didn’t feel like myself—that daydream seemed to come from a whole other person, someone intensely dominant. Most of the time, I was a bottom; my fantasies usually involved guys’ dicks, not their asses. And what was that whole discipline thing about?

I looked at my reflection. Same thin, freckly face, same green eyes behind the same horn-rimmed glasses. But more and more, Milo was bringing out parts of me that I didn’t recognize—envy, power, and an attraction to thick asses and soft bellies. It felt weird to still be learning things about myself at 25, or to realize that things I thought I knew had changed.

I lingered for a minute in the washroom, to give Milo a chance to put his clothes back on. But by the time I came out, he had already left the apartment.

~

The next few weeks were… awkward, to say the least. For the first few days after Milo’s little weigh-in, we avoided each other, or at least, I avoided him. It wasn’t too hard, since he worked a lot. I stayed over at Kurt’s, or went out with friends, or for runs. I let myself fall a little behind schedule on the costumes.

After a few days of avoidance, we graduated to stilted exchanges in the kitchen. Which felt like shit, since spending time with Milo was usually the highlight of my day. But instead of depositing himself on the couch, he took his food back to his bedroom—I guess he didn’t want to eat in front of me, presumably because of my behaviour. He really loaded up, though: pizza boxes, cases of beer, and armfuls of chips, chocolate, and cookies. He was clearly binging more than ever, even if he didn’t want me to see it.

The effects piled up quickly, but because I saw Milo every day, I didn’t notice the steady, gradual change. Then, about three weeks into the month I saw him shirtless. He was heading from the shower to his bedroom, with his towel underneath his wet, hairy belly. I was stunned by the size of it, and the thickness of his love handles. Enough flesh had accumulated around his chest that it had started to droop, and he seemed to have even more stretchmarks than the last time I saw him shirtless, barely two weeks ago.

He saw me looking at him, and I thought I had just set us back to square one, but he actually winked at me. “Been workin’ on my beach body.” He grinned, and gestured to his inflated body.

I cracked a smile, and he went into his room.

But he came back out when he was dressed.

Things started to go back to normal after that. Well, back to our new normal: Milo gorging and drinking and belching his way through hockey highlight reels and MLB games, while I stole glances at him at every opportunity and bedazzled a cape for Aaron, Pharaoh’s lead singer. My costume work was back on schedule, and Kurt had even floated the idea of bringing me on tour—he said he was asking the tour manager about it.

I wasn’t the only one working. Milo was still taking on a lot of shifts, and it seemed to be catching up with him in a few different ways. Obviously, he was gaining tons of weight, but it also seemed to be affecting his mood. As soon as he got home from a shift, he made a beeline for the fridge and started drinking. I don’t know if he did that after working nights, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

As a general rule, he just seemed happier before work than he did after. It didn’t strike me as a horribly stressful job: he mostly ate pizzas, and occasionally delivered them. But I could see it wearing on him.

I was glad he would get a little break, since October meant Thanksgiving (at least in Canada), and he would be spending it with his family. I did wonder how they’d react to Milo 2.0, though… I’m sure it would surprise them to see how much their darling glutton had expanded.

I for one was planning to use the holiday to do some tailoring. My mom was in Málaga on the advice of a wellness guru (he was quite specific, apparently), and I had no intention of going to Thanksgiving dinner with my father’s new family. I assumed that Lydia’s friendsgiving would be the extent of my plans for the day.

But then, as Milo was getting a few things together on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, he turned to me: “What time did you want to leave?”

After some confusion on my part, I was formally invited to his family’s Thanksgiving. I must once again apologize to Lydia for choosing Milo; but in no universe would I pass up the opportunity to go to a massive lakehouse and watch Milo St. Clair eat an enormous amount of turkey dinner.

~

Gravel crunched underneath the tires of Milo’s car as he headed down the long driveway towards the main house. The forest was thick, and bright red and orange foliage stood out against the evergreens.

It wasn’t so much a “house” as a palace: broad beams of timber and slabs of stone and huge windows. I didn’t realize a house could be that massive while remaining tasteful. The driveway ended in a loop, with a freestanding three-car garage perpendicular to the residence, but Milo didn’t park there. Instead, he parked a few steps away from the front porch.

Milo’s parents must have noticed us arriving, since they were standing in the doorway as we approached.

They looked like rich people: both in tidy cashmere sweaters, him with a glass of red wine and her with a massive diamond on her finger.

Milo’s father had glasses and thin, light-coloured hair, and shared Milo’s Roman nose. Milo’s mother seemed to be the main source of his stunning beauty—same dark hair and luminous eyes and smooth, olive complexion.

Neither of them looked happy.

They greeted me first, Belinda grabbing me by both arms and kissing both cheeks. “You look lovely, darling,” she said. I thanked her.

“Owen,” Greg nodded at me tersely as I shook his hand. I thought he was annoyed at me, but then he glared at Milo’s paunchy middle, before crossing his arms and giving him an irritated look. “Milo.”

“Hey, Dad,” Milo said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed. So did Belinda, as she took in her son’s new look.

Their reactions were kind of expected—it had been ten months since they last saw Milo, and I could only imagine how much weight he’d gained since then. He looked like he ate his former, twunky self: his narrow waist was now a definite gut, with thick love handles at the side and a massive set of hips, while his handsome face looked particularly soft.

Milo squirmed. I felt guilty for finding his embarrassment so damn cute.

“Why don’t we go inside,” Greg said. He led the way through the foyer and into the front room. High ceilings and broad pine beams, with views of the forest and the water. A fire was crackling in the hearth, even though it was warm out.

“I’m gonna show Owen upstairs,” Milo said, when we got to the foot of the staircase. “Let’s go unpack.” His head start gave me a chance to admire the bounce of his butt as he climbed the steps.

Part 8 - Milo

I could already tell: this long weekend would be a long weekend. As soon as my parents saw me, I knew I was in for it. I managed to hold them off by taking Owen to his room, but I knew from the looks on their faces that my weight was going to be a topic of discussion.

I didn’t want to go downstairs and face them, so I went to my old room. I always kept a full closet there, so I never needed to pack anything—

Oh, shit.

I realized as soon as I walked through my bedroom door that none of my clothes were gonna fit. I checked my backpack—at least I had a few changes of underwear.

I checked out my closet. I didn’t keep much in there, but there was a hoodie that might fit. I remembered it being really loose, anyway.

I changed out of my t-shirt. My gut really flopped out of that thing as I pulled it off, and it wobbled like crazy. That shirt was tighter than I realized!

I held up the hoodie and looked at it. Damn thing looked tiny—did that really used to be loose on me? I pulled it over my head without any problems, but then the trouble started. I started pulling it down; it really squeezed my shoulders, and my little tits were practically popping out of it. I forced it down over my love handles, past my belly button, but I couldn’t get it all the way to my waistband. I tried to stretch it, but there just wasn’t enough material. My big, round gut was using every stitch.

Of course, that was when Owen knocked on my door. I called out for him to come in, and he did.

He had that classic Owen look on his face when he saw me—stunned, like Bambi on the ice, but also shy. I was starting to think Owen had a crush on me, and I enjoyed winding him up. Apparently, guys really found me sexy now—I figured I’d just go with it.

“Dude, look at this,” I said, gesturing to my sides, where the elastic hem was sliding up my love handles. “I swear, this fit me at Christmas.”

Owen gulped. “I feel like I keep walking in on you like this,” he said.

“Like what?” I smirked at him. “Fat?”

He cracked up, a little, when I said that, and we both laughed.

“I didn’t bring any clothes with me,” I said, shaking my head. “I completely spaced. I never had to pack to come out here before.”

Owen tipped his head to the side. “I mean, that sweater almost fits,” he said. “If you pull your pants up a bit.”

I laughed. “Dude, there is no room in these pants.”

Owen breathed in. “I think you might have gained some weight there, bud.”

I looked down and saw my belly instead of my feet. “Tell me about it.”

~

I spent the weekend avoiding my parents. Which, considering the number of rooms I had to choose from, wasn’t actually that hard.

We spent the rest of Saturday afternoon in the projector room. Owen made popcorn, and we watched Jaws. We all made it through dinner unscathed, and then Owen wanted to see if the sauna actually worked. I joked that he just wanted to see me naked, and he joked that I was the one who had brought up being naked. In the end, we both kept our towels on. He was definitely checking out my belly, though.

After we each showered up, I showed him the bar, where we managed to make some pretty decent cocktails. He raided the pantry and came back with his arms full of snacks—I’m guessing those would be for the kids of visiting guests, but I wasn’t above stealing candy from babies. We drank, and chatted, and agreed that the whole evening reminded us both of high school.

“But the parts I actually liked,” he said.

I agreed with that, too.

It was good to be back to normal with Owen. Maybe it was because of how fat I looked in my underwear, or because he somehow sensed my hard-on, or because all of this was happening in his bedroom, but things had definitely been weird between us after I borrowed his scale last month. Part of that was on me—after getting so turned on in front of him, it took me a few days to be able to face him again. And I avoided eating in front of him, because I was afraid his attention would turn me on again.

Eventually, I missed spending time with him. I got plenty of attention from Armando, but he kind of made me feel like a blow-up sex doll… emphasis on the “blow-up” part. Plus, he still paid my salary, which made things even more complicated. It was totally different than hanging out with my buddy. So when I caught Owen checking me out after a shower one day, I took a chance and tried to break the ice. I was so glad it worked.

On Sunday I slept in, and my parents were gone by the time I left—the note they left said they were hiking. I was kind of glad they let me sleep, since they usually woke me up to hike with them.

Owen met me in the kitchen, where I was trying to turn bread into a fat boy feast. “Want me to make you french toast?” he asked, when he saw me looking at the toaster like it hurt my feelings.

He made some really solid french toast—he said he used coffee cream instead of milk—and I drowned it in maple syrup. It was a damn good breakfast. “You need to start cooking for me more,” I joked.

After an afternoon spent on our asses, I persuaded Owen to drive into town with me for some dinner. We left just in time, since we passed my parents on their way back from the trail.

The nearest town was small, but with enough tourists to have a few good places to eat. I took Owen to Lark’s, where I absolutely flattened the bacon smashburger, along with some onion rings… and fries. Owen agreed to drive back, so I had a few drinks, too. And an ice cream sundae for dessert. With a fudge brownie on the side.

If my old hoodie fit badly before, it was really bad now. It was practically up to my belly button by the time we left, and I had to stifle some pretty mean burps on the bumpy ride home.

We went in through the back door, and I told Owen to head up to his room while I went to get some more drinks. I thought going to the bar in the projector room was sneaky, but I came face to face with my dad, smoking a cigar, watching a black and white movie.

“Milo,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

That was a fucking jump-scare. “No, I haven’t,” I said. “It’s just… y’know. Ships—urp—in the night.” That burp really came at a bad time. 

“Have a seat,” he said, patting the space next to him. He muted the movie. The black-and-white lady on the screen was twisting against the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

So I wasn’t getting out of this.

“I think you know what I want to talk about,” he said. He took a puff of his cigar, and I sat down. He looked me over, and I tugged on my sweater, but it was pointless—it rode up even worse when I was sitting down.

“I can guess,” I mumbled.

“I’m not trying to judge you,” he said. In my head, I could hear him complaining about that exact phrase—nowadays, and I blame the political left for this, everyone is so afraid of causing offence…. “I’m speaking from a place of concern.”

I gritted my teeth. Concern about image, maybe. “I know, I know. I’m getting fat.” The villain in the movie was twirling a tumbler of brown liquor. I wanted some of that.

“It’s not a matter of appearance. I just worry about your health. I think you should take a look at your lifestyle, and, well, do better.” He blew a cloud of white smoke.

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like a five-year-old who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’m sorry,” I said, stupidly, even though I wasn’t fucking sorry at all.

“I accept your apology,” he said, which made me regret apologizing even more. “You were such a promising athlete. Hands-down the best offensive winger on your team.” He smiled.

I wish I didn’t, but I smiled back. I didn’t want to care, but I did. It made me think of what he always used to say when I won games—Nathaniel is my successor, Madeline is my prodigy, and Milo is my champion. It was like… okay, I’d never be successful like Nate, or smart like Maddy, but I could still be strong. I could be a winner.

Now, though… I tried to imagine what it would be like to skate with all this extra weight. I used to be a really good skater, but now, my balance would definitely be off. And my endurance would probably be shit.

I was trying to figure out what to say, but my dad wasn’t done. “You know, you’re turning 25 soon, which means full access to the funds held in trust for you. But that money isn’t an excuse to be lazy—”

That’s when Owen saved my fat ass. He seemed surprised to see us when he walked in. “Oh, sorry to interrupt. I was—”

My dad gave him an annoyed look. “It’s fine. Milo was just leaving.”

I sure was.

~

On Thanksgiving Monday, I woke up hungry and embarrassed. Waking up hungry was getting to be a pretty regular thing for me, but the “embarrassed” part was left over from Dad’s ambush yesterday.

I had toast for breakfast, going over the whole interaction again and again. He was probably telling the truth about worrying over my health, but he sorta gave the game away by bringing up my days as a high school hockey star. It was just ego—healthy or not, he didn’t want me making the family look bad.

This is probably a good time to say: I’m not a spiteful person. I usually let things go pretty easily. But this was personal. He was talking about my body. And as hard as it was to admit, I was kind of enjoying how my body was changing. I definitely loved to eat. And okay, maybe I didn’t love how big my legs and ass were now, but people clearly still found me hot, and I was finding myself pretty hot, too. I was just trying to figure shit out, and getting a surprise lecture didn’t help with that.

All of that should help explain my behaviour at Thanksgiving dinner.

I think Owen could sense storm clouds all morning. Instead of snacking like I usually did, I was saving my appetite for the main event. After I spent most of the day playing NHL 25, I went up to my room to change.

Since it was a special occasion, I figured I should at least try my old khakis. They were a 32” waist, and my waist was… definitely not 32 inches. I didn’t even get the chance to try to button them, anyway, since I couldn’t get them all the way over my ass—the top of my butt was bulging over the top when I finally gave up.

I headed down to the kitchen in the same gray sweatpants and t-shirt I had arrived in. My mother was wearing pearls and a dress, my dad had on chinos and a blazer, and Owen was wearing a tweed jacket over his turtleneck. I felt like a slob.

My mom poured me a glass of wine. “We just opened the Latour,” she said, “Your father is about to carve the turkey.”

I gulped my wine and watched hungrily as Dad cut up the massive bird. My parents always cooked together, and they usually went all out on Thanksgiving—roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy… just looking at the spread made my mouth water.

There was a debate over who should serve themself first, but my parents insisted on Owen, and Owen insisted on me, so I started loading up my plate. And I do mean loading it. That thing was piled up. But like, why did they make so much food, if they didn’t want me to eat it?

Mom looked shocked at the size of my first helping, while my dad watched with crossed arms and a frown. I ignored them. He was worried about my “health”? My “lifestyle”? Well, maybe he needed to see that lifestyle in all its glory.

I didn’t wait for anyone else to sit down: I started right away. Owen waited for my parents, and they all started eating at the same time.

I drained the last of my wine and poured another glass, earning another huffy glance from my father. He always said I didn’t know how to appreciate good wine, and he was absolutely right.

“This is delicious, Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair,” Owen said. He had taken a little of everything, and he was eating it slowly.

“Really good,” I agreed, through a full mouth.

“You certainly seem to be enjoying it,” my mother said, looking at me. I could tell my pigging out was starting to test her composure.

I just grunted and kept eating, not even caring that food was getting on my shirt and the white linen tablecloth. I had served myself a whole turkey leg, and I picked it up with my hands and tore off a big bite, like a medieval king.

“Do you mind?” my dad said, giving me a dirty look. “You’re being disgusting.”

I shrugged. “Aren’t you happy I’m enjoying your meal?” I said, as I chewed. I patted my round stomach; I was already bloating up, and I was barely half way through my first serving.

He rolled his eyes, and turned back to Owen. “Anyway. Are you still working at the… clothing store, Owen?”

I glared at him. I was used to him being rude to me, but there was no excuse for talking down to Owen.

“Uh, for now,” Owen said, as he sliced a carrot. “But I’m looking for more serious design work.”

“And are you worried about artificial intelligence?” my dad asked. “A lot of that work will be automated in the next decade.”

God, shut up! I wanted to say. I took another huge bite of turkey leg. 

“I’m not particularly concerned,” Owen said. “Creative work will always need a human touch. It should, anyway.”

“Absolutely right,” my mother said. “Don’t listen to Greg, honey; he can only think like an engineer.”

At least Mom still had some manners. I shoveled a forkful of mashed potato into my mouth and washed it down with more wine. I wiped my face with a napkin, and realized how filthy it had been.

“Owen is designing costumes for a band right now,” I said. “For their national tour.”

“Don’t remind me,” Owen said. “I’m gonna be so busy tomorrow with finishing touches.”

That invited some polite questions from my mom. I finished my first plate, and got up to get more. I was a little pleased to see how blatantly disgusted my dad looked when I announced that to the room. “And I’m gonna open another bottle of wine,” I said.

“The pinot is on the kitchen counter!” My mom called after me.

I came back with an overloaded plate in one hand and an open bottle in the other. I still had some wine in my glass, but I poured myself some more from the new bottle. My parents looked absolutely mortified.

Then there was some more polite conversation that I barely registered—my parents’ winter plans (skiing in Whistler, a trip to the Maldives); how Owen’s family was spending Thanksgiving; questions about Nate and Maddy. I was laser-focused on filling my belly with as much dinner as possible.

I used a dinner roll to soak up some of the ocean of gravy, and then filled my fork with turkey, dressing, and mashed potatoes—is there a name for trying to get the best bite possible? Can we call it bite-maxing? I was definitely bite-maxing.

My stomach was so full by this point, it was starting to get kind of uncomfortable. I shifted in my seat, and the ancient wooden chair creaked a little, which was obnoxious. That was when I noticed that my ass didn’t fit on the seat anymore; I was literally spilling over the edges. My huge legs blocked the fabric from view, and my bloated gut covered the tops of my thighs.

I noticed everyone staring at me. I was so zoned-out I didn’t even realize they had all finished eating, and I was the only one still stuffing my face. I looked around the table: Dad, looking angry; Mom, looking uncomfortable; Owen staring at me across the table with wide eyes.

I could see my parents actively willing me to stop eating, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t want to. I chugged some more of my fancy wine mixture, and started mopping up the last, mashed-together remnants of food with another bread roll.

When my plate was spotless, I leaned back in my chair, which creaked again. My t-shirt was covered in stains, and my stomach was so round and full that it was starting to ride up, so when I stretched, I could feel the air against my fat sides and the lower part of my belly. I didn’t even bother to pull it down. I just patted my gut and let loose a long, loud burp. Owen turned bright red when I did that, looking between my parents’ faces.

My dad banged his fist on the table. “Why do you insist on behaving like a child?” he asked.

“Because you treat me like one,” I said. If he wanted to do this in front of Owen, that was his choice.

“After everything your mother and I have given you, this is how you act?” He really looked mad.

“Stop it, Greg,” my mom cut in. She turned to me. “Knock it off, both of you. We have a guest. It’s Thanksgiving.”