#mocam

“There's something up with Cooper.”

“I’m fine!”

“What’s wrong with Coop?”

“Nothing! Everything’s fine!”

“He’s deep cleaning again!”

“I thought we just did that.”

“I’m doing it again!” Cooper yelled more at the kitchen floor than at anyone in particular, his voice muffled by the surgical mask strung tight across his face. He groaned internally at the sound of lumbering footsteps approaching.

“Hey bud!” Claude’s beaming smile appeared over the counter above Cooper, his short locs catching the ambient light to form a halo around his face. “I see you finally gave up on those ugly sweats.”

“I didn’t give up on the–”

“He did what?” came another voice from a couple of rooms over.

“He stopped wearing pants!” Claude’s voice boomed back across the house.

“Oh dude, finally,” came an excited voice from the garage.

“I didn’t…” Cooper began. “It’s just that all my clean pairs of pants, um…”

“Ripped?” Claude offered, levering himself onto his elbows to get a better angle.

“...I suppose, yes,” Cooper sighed in frustration. He took a break from scrubbing the floor to rest his thong framed ass on the balls of his feet. “Look, I don’t want to freak anyone out, but I think I might be infected again, so I’m sanitizing all the shared spaces.”

When they’d all moved in together a little under a year ago, Cooper had been thrilled. The crew of grad students had been fast friends since orientation, but it was Cooper’s incessant prodding, ideating, planning, searching, and negotiating that had secured the lease on this cute, if somewhat disheveled, historic house. It was creaky but quaint, boasting an abundance of natural lighting through oversized windows that highlighted how cozy it was inside. There was just enough space for the lot of them, and although at first it felt like they were constantly in each other’s way, they had settled into a collective flow that enlivened the space. That is, until the first infection.

“Mmmm,” Claude intoned with a knowing smile, “we coulda told you that.”

“Told him what?” Brad’s mop of red hair caught the glow of the lava lamp behind him as he peeked out of his doorway.

“Infected again,” Claude answered before Cooper could pipe up.

“Mmmm,” Brad agreed. “Yeah dude, we thought you knew.”

Brad had been the first to test positive. Cooper had been dutifully following the news of the outbreak, and knew that when Brad’s lanky 6’4” frame had suddenly gone from pancake butt to bursting through every pair of pants he owned, it was more than just his new leg day routine. He resolved that they needed to nip this in the bud before things got too severe. He had seen the news coverage, online forum discussions, and even clips of the ‘rapid expansion events’ that he still didn’t fully believe were real. The over the counter meds seemed to be working at first, but as the rest of the house fell ill, it was as if the combined viral load of the group was too much for any form of treatment they sought. When they thought they were finally out of the woods with each wave of infection, the next was right around the corner. He didn’t know what to do, and was too overwhelmed by coursework, teaching, and research commitments to get a handle on the situation.

So when someone from Phantasy Labs reached out, Cooper was relieved. They were conducting a study on ‘group infection dynamics and possibilities for small scale herd immunity’ or somesuch, and said that their humble abode was an ideal test case. Cooper, ever the information nerd, jumped at the opportunity, coordinating data collection from the entire group in the hopes that the lab might come up with something useful. And the hefty participant stipends certainly sweetened the pot, bringing much needed financial assistance for dealing with this crisis on their meager grad student funding. But that was two months ago, and after multiple waves of re-infection with no helpful answers, Cooper was again losing hope.

“I wasn’t paying close enough attention, I guess,” said Cooper, reaching up to grab the bottle of heavy duty disinfectant wipes. “You know the symptoms are always mild for me.”

For whatever reason, the virus’s impact had been the most manageable for him. By the second infection, his perky glutes had inflated into the unmistakable bubble of those touched by the virus, but he never had it nearly as bad as his housemates. While he could get away with sizing up his pants and switching to loose sweats, everyone else had made the transition to foregoing bottoms altogether around the house and investing in the latest releases from nuBum’s specialty clothing line, the nB logo displayed visibly whenever they were out and about. 

As conditions worsened, Cooper’s role as de facto house mother had taken on a new valence as he took on new and unexpected forms of care work for his friends, from mending seams to reinforcing chairs to switching rooms when Aiden was no longer able to make it up their narrow staircase without breaking the banister (again). He was fine with taking care of his friends. He just wished they would take the situation a little more seriously. As he emerged from the kitchen floor to do another once over across the countertops, he was met with a whistle of appreciation from Brad.

“Nothin’ mild about that, big dog,” said Brad, his head tucked against the top of the doorframe.

“I know right?” quipped Claude. He sent a conspiratorial wink in Brad’s direction as he climbed onto one of the stools stationed along the kitchen island, causing a light splintering sound to emanate from the wood as his bulbous cheeks completely smothered the seat. “You really didn’t notice all that?” He pointed to the pair of beach balls that ballooned from Cooper’s lower back, wobbling uncontrollably as he put more elbow grease into his cleaning project.

“I don’t know,” Cooper sighed. “I’ve been swamped all week. One of the postdocs had some huge dataset that he wanted me to clean up before we–I mean, they, all left for field work today, and it’s one of very few tasks I can actually do right now because they’re so concerned with lab safety and research travel liability whatever whatever.” They had all heard different versions of this rant from each other. Though they were in different fields, the virus was impacting their respective professional commitments and professional futures in ways that they couldn’t predict.

“Well you look great,” said Brad, giving Cooper a thumbs up as he let an arm droop across the top of the door.

“Thanks.” Cooper rolled his eyes, stripping off his rubber gloves. He warily eyed Brad’s bodacious buns framed by the soft ambience of his gaming setup and strip lights along the ceiling. “I need to get out of here and run to the pharmacy before this situation gets any worse.”

“Here, take my old running shorts,” said Brad, grunting with soft frustration as he tried to squeeze through his doorway. He had always been somewhat of a recluse, but in recent weeks had become even more of a hermit, and it didn't take long to figure out that the multiple waves of infection had made it difficult for Brad to comfortably navigate their home space. As his form emerged from the darkness of his room, he loomed over them, ducking his head and shoulders through before using his dinner plate size hands to push himself into the living room, his prodigious lower half steadily resisting. Cooper couldn't help but notice the worsening cracks around a doorframe that was never meant to facilitate anything resembling Brad's double wide posterior. 

“Didn't we talk at the last house meeting about it being a good idea for you to move into the garage?” Cooper recalled in his most generous house mother tone. 

“It's full,” Brad grunted, the muscles of his forearms and triceps straining with effort.

“What do you mean ‘full’? It's just Aiden and Dion in there, right?”

“Yeah, it's full of Aiden and Dion,” Claude chuckled.

Cooper could only groan in dismay, echoed by the sound of the house itself struggling against their growing bodies. How much longer could this go on?

“Don't worry, bud…” Brad muttered. “We'll figure…something…out.” After a minute of strained effort and multiple refusals of his housemates’ offers of help, Brad stumbled through, rising back to his full height, which seemed damn near close to the ceiling. He was definitely taller than the last time Cooper had really laid eyes on him, but he was more concerned about the cheeks filling more space behind him than a sleeper sofa. Brad held out the shorts with an encouraging smile. “They're nuBum, I think they should still fit you.”

Still fit? Cooper wondered with confusion as he gingerly accepted the crumpled silver fabric. “I don't think I need these,” he said, more to himself than anyone else in the room. “I still have some sweats somewhere that are an XXXL, I don't think the specialty brands would–”

“They might fit just right,” Claude interrupted. He laid his hands on either side of Cooper's round hips and gave his bubble butt a playful jiggle. They had all become naturally handsy out of necessity for maneuvering around each others’ voluptuous forms, but Cooper in particular appreciated how a casual caress helped him re-regulate in just the right way. “Besides, I need kitchen time to make my supp stack.”

Claude swung around the kitchen island and authoritatively used his hips to bump Cooper out of the way of the supplement cabinet. They had settled into a one-at-a-time rule in the kitchen out of spatial necessity with a de facto hierarchy based on whose cheeks were heaviest. Even with Cooper’s recent growth, Claude’s behemoth buns easily had him beat, in no small part because his workout routine had only become more relentless with each infection, and his exhibitionist tendencies only more eager. He was an early adopter of nuBum’s fitness line, rolling up to the gym in booty shorts bursting around a comically muscular posterior chain that looked powerful enough to push a city bus up a hill. So Cooper dutifully gave him the kitchen for fear of being accidentally bumped into the next room.

“...Fine.” He relented, waddled over to Brad, and stepped into each leg of the half tights with some trepidation. “But if they're Brad's old ones, they’ll be hanging…off…my…” he trailed off as the waistband was stopped in its tracks halfway up his backside, followed by his housemate’s strong hands peeling them up the rest of the way. Finally, the shorts snapped into place, fitting snugly around his waist and cradling his cheeks with a mix of comfort and support he realized he hadn't enjoyed in a while.

“They're perfect!” Brad exclaimed. “Keep ‘em.”

“No, I don't think I need–” Cooper caught himself in the full length mirror left leaning against a wall. His heart sank as he realized they did fit perfectly. Much better, he thought with dismay, then any pair of normal pants ever would again. 

“No, for real, you look great,” said Brad, giving one of Cooper's cheeks an enthusiastic, full palm slap, which he knew would send a shiver of pleasure up his friend's spine.

Cooper cut him a playfully annoyed sideways glance as he turned this way and that to get a good look. It was hard to get his whole circumference in the mirror, but he had to admit they did look good. At first he was terrified to see how the athletic shorts emphasized his enormous bubbles rather than downplayed them, but that anxiety was mixed with a tenuous excitement.

“I just didn't know it had gotten this, um…” he started carefully, using both hands to jiggle his globular buns in the mirror. 

“Bad?” Brad offered with a wry smile. 

“Well…severe,” Cooper corrected.

“Yeah, dude, your ass like doubled in size since Monday,” Claude laughed.

“We thought you knew,” Brad repeated with a more empathetic tone.

“Guys, I thought we had a protocol for when we think a new wave of infection is starting,” Cooper sighed. “I’d just like us to take this more seriously.”

“Can we take it more seriously after the gym?” Claude asked innocently as he sent a hefty scoop of protein powder into his shaker bottle. “To which, by the way, you never go with me anymore.” 

“And here I remember you being banned from the gym,” Brad teased. He took a seat on the floor by falling back onto his mammoth cheeks, chuckling to himself as the force of his posterior seemed to shake the creaky old house down to its foundations.

“Just from the squat racks and leg machines,” Claude replied with a roll of his eyes. “And the outdoor turf area during the busier times.”

“...And the sauna,” Brad reminded.

Claude scoffed, “You accidentally sit on one person…”

“Two people,” Cooper corrected.

“And not exactly an accident,” Brad clarified.

“They wanted to experience this lusciousness up close and personal. Now suddenly I'm the ‘safety hazard’ who almost ‘smothered the other members.’” The plastic scoop lolled in Claude’s fingers as he mimed dramatic air quotes.

“Which is a reputation I’m trying not to cultivate,” Cooper quipped, moseying towards the door.

“I think that ship has sailed, brochacho.” Brad gave a comical wince as Cooper turned sideways to shuffle awkwardly through the door, earning a death stare from his departing housemate.

“Looks like you're one of us now,” Claude called after him, eyes still glued to the ridiculous bubble stuffed into too tight shorts.

Cooper realized how real Claude's comment was as he walked to the pharmacy. For a long time, he had tried to get away with the illusion of normalcy, downplaying his growing posterior with all manner of fabric illusions and off hand comments about stress eating and weight fluctuation. He had convinced himself that his roommates’ fates wouldn't be his. That however chill they were about the situation, he would face it head on. He wouldn't end up like his friends who had allowed themselves to grow out of any expectation of a normal life. 

Yet each wave of re-infection chipped away at that hope, and he found himself adjusting to the shift in his center of gravity as his cheeks switched back and forth, threatening to knock pedestrians off the sidewalk if they weren't already inclined to give him a very wide berth. He could feel the flow of foot traffic parting around him like an island in a stream. Tried to convince himself that he was just imagining the cars and cyclists slowing down to gawk at the oversized orbs jiggling wildly behind him. His normal neighborhood path to the pharmacy had taken on a decidedly abnormal dynamic, a clumsy dance of navigating unaccommodating urban space and mitigating unwanted visibility. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed some sort of threshold, and had no intention of seeing how far things could go. 

—

“We’re all out of the OTC meds, you might want to try the clinic a few blocks down.”

“Well…good afternoon to you, too,” Cooper replied sarcastically, still processing the pharmacist’s dismissive comment before he had even made it ten feet into the establishment.

“Sorry,” said the mildly exasperated person behind the counter. “We’ve had a lot of requests for them lately and I just…assumed.”

You assumed right, Cooper moped to himself, turning to leave before the pharmacist gestured to pause.

“Actually,” he muttered, rubbing the scruff of his chin, “We may have just received our restock, if the delivery guys were actually on time today.”

Cooper could only answer with a pleading wave of his hands.

“Be right back,” the pharmacist sighed before disappearing into the stacks of pill bottles and paper bags.

Without the over the counter interaction to keep his focus, Cooper became acutely aware that the wagon he was draggin’ had become the center of attention as soon as he walked in. Arms crossed, he stood awkwardly waiting, trying to avoid the gazes of the other patrons raking across every curve of his excessively inflated cakes.

“Babe, those are those special pants I told you about,” came the voice of one half of a couple breezing by on his right. “Cute, right?”

The other half forced a loud guffaw, going so far as to slap one hand onto his belly while the other slid protectively across his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“Babe, I told you,” he drawled, performing a masculine reassurance, “I’m not gonna need those.”

“I don’t know, they’d look good on you, and you wouldn’t have to keep bringing extra pants for your wardrobe malfunctions at work and we need to get you new gym shorts anyways and–”

“You’re so cute when you worry,” he laughed, cutting her off with a peck on the cheek. He steered them out of Cooper’s line of sight as he steered their conversation elsewhere. As they turned a corner, he  glanced furtively back over his shoulder and made accidental eye contact with Cooper. His intense, worried stare quickly returned forward as he disappeared into the dark, oversized hoodie that did nothing to mitigate the sight of the pair of basketballs bouncing back and forth in his visibly strained sweats.

Sounds about right. The corner of Cooper’s lip twitched up in an ironic smirk. He had always enjoyed the attention garnered by his bubble butt, and even in the early stages of the virus the novelty of his round cheeks earned a satisfying amount of appreciation. But now he felt like some sort of failed science experiment as people gawked openly at his monstrous cakes, their eyes betraying a mix of fascination and fear. Is this how my housemates have felt for weeks? he thought, realizing Aiden and Dion would probably have trouble getting through the automatic doors. Maybe I should go easier on them, he resolved. We’re all doing the best we can, all things considered.

“No luck,” said the pharmacist, materializing behind the counter with a look of genuine disappointment. “Was that all?” Which was a thinly veiled invitation for Cooper to clear out of the tight space in front of his humble kiosk.

“Yeah, thanks anyways,” Cooper said. He turned to leave, trying to affect some confidence in his exit, but only succeeding in knocking over a shelf of rapid tests and high filtration masks. “Oh fuck, sorry, I can get those,” he stammered. As he bent over to pick up the scattered items, the globes jutting behind him collided with a tower of reading glasses and pill organizers, filling the store with the sound of plastic packaging clattering across the floor.

“I got it, you’re fine,” said a store attendant swooping in to prevent any further damage.

“Yeah, it happens…all the time these days,” added the pharmacist with a wry smile. “It can take some time to adjust.”

“...right,” Cooper muttered. Having become the undisputed main attraction for the other store patrons, he carefully navigated his way to the exit, hyperaware of the visual noise of shelved and hanging goods at risk of being knocked loose with every swish of his hips. Even a run of the mill trip to the store was becoming a claustrophobic ordeal, he realized, still wondering just how much time and how many re-adjustments it would take when all was said and done.

—

“Give me a hand?” Brad asked, holding out a silver tube of ointment that had been just about rolled and crumpled into oblivion.

Cooper, having just shuffled back in through their front door empty handed, had planned to mope quietly in his room and catch up on work, but came face to face with Brad’s mountainous backside as he contorted himself in the too small mirror trying to trace the contours of a fresh set of stretch marks.

“Sure,” said Coop. He grabbed the tube, squirted a generous dollop in one hand, and got to work. Peer to peer skincare had become another normal part of their distressingly abnormal lives. Brad’s colossal cakes filled Cooper’s field of vision, wobbling back and forth as he laid flat on his belly and rested his head on his hands. He waited patiently as his housemate applied the cream like he was making sure his back didn’t get sunburnt at the beach. “Is Claude still at the gym? I just realized I should test everyone to be safe.”

“Came back early,” said Brad. “Something about one too many ‘dress code violations.’”

“Sounds about right,” Cooper said sarcastically, channeling his frustration into his hands as he massaged the expanse of soft, jiggly ass flesh before him. “I just don’t get how we’re supposed to deal with all this, you know?”

“Hey bud, we’re gonna be fine,” Brad answered. He peered over his shoulder to better address his friend but saw only the top of Cooper’s curls over his own prodigious mounds. “Always remember rule number one.” He pointed to a whiteboard on the wall that listed their ‘Community Agreements,’ the first and most emphasized reading ‘Good vibes ONLY.’

“Yes, I've received treatment for the virus,” Brock grumbled into his phone. “No, I'm not at high risk of rapid expansion. Not–not to my knowledge.” He sighed, swiveling his head around to make sure he wasn’t overheard in the maze of cubicles. “Have I been in contact with anyone who popped recently? Yeah I’m trying to reach him– yes, I'll hold.”

[Sai’s still not picking up his phone] he texted the groupchat from his tablet. [Tried getting through to his office at Phantasy Labs, no luck]. 

As if the mysterious scientific compound on the edge of town picked up on their name being mentioned in the digital ether (Which they probably were, Brock mused), the hold music was replaced by the saccharine voice of yet another part of Phantasy Labs’s seemingly endless bureaucracy. 

“Yes, this is Brock,” he began, his face displaying a hope that was quickly crushed. “Why do you need the circumference of my–” He turned back to his desktop as he heard footsteps approaching, pulling up his email inbox as he let his phone clatter face down on his desk. The hold music once again started leaking into the air.

“Brock, my man!” The masculine rasp of his supervisor, Jeff, who had materialized just outside his cubicle, brought him back to the muted earth tones of the small nonprofit. “You missed Susan’s going away party in the conference room. I snuck you some donuts,” he winked, holding out a small stack of glazed goodness wrapped loosely in brown paper towel.

“Uh, thanks,” he stammered, awkwardly scooting his chair in Jeff’s direction to receive the pastries. As much as he was glad to be free of Susan’s perpetual smirk of disgust and office wide ‘public health updates’ which were little more than conspiracy theories and thinly veiled cyberbulling, she did have great taste in local bakeries. “I was just…busy with a project. And anyways I’m trying to watch my weight these days.” 

His attempt at a friendly chuckle only produced a frown of concern on his boss’s face, and a hyperawareness of the cheeks audibly straining against the plastic of his office chair. He had never been enthusiastic about professional camaraderie, but office wide gatherings in the cozy conference room had become a nightmare thanks to his overinflated glutes. If he wasn’t squished awkwardly into a corner, he was practically knocking his co-workers over with his bulbous cheeks just to refill his coffee, producing a minefield of apologetic grunts as everyone pointedly tried not to acknowledge the recent developments in his posterior. No, it was easier just to work from home or, when he had to come to the office, spend most of his time in his increasingly cramped cubicle. So of course Jeff took it upon himself to check on Brock’s morale at every opportunity.

“Heyyyy,” Jeff’s head tilted to the side as he drew out the syllable. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know all bodies belong here. If anyone’s making you feel like your…” he leaned in conspiratorially, “condition is, uh, not welcome in this workplace then–”

“It’s fine,” Brock blurted with an attempt at a disarming smile.

“Not that anyone here has raised any concerns–”

“Really, I’m good,” Brock tried again as his eyes flitted to his phone.

“Because at the last all-team meeting I did cover the appropriate ways to share public health information over the listserv–”

“Much appreciated,” Brock muttered.

“Of course! As always, anything you need, my door is–”

“Well actually,” Brock interjected, “I was wondering where you were at with my accommodation requests?”

“You’re accomo–oh right!” Jeff seemed to suddenly become aware of how the cushions of Brock’s bubble butt were bursting out of his chair in a way that couldn’t be remotely comfortable. “You know, I’m pretty sure I just saw an email about those, uh, requests. It was a whole thing that had to go through HR and you know it takes the facilities guys forever just to acquire a, uh, double-wide chair or whatever.” He guffawed at his own joke, holding out a fist for Brock to reluctantly bump.

Works like a charm, Brock smirked to himself as his boss power-walked away. The one surefire way to get a break from Jeff's incessant check-ins and self-aggrandizing nonprofit inclusivity speak was to ask for actual material accommodations for your workplace.

Not that those accommodations weren't still an acute necessity. Though at this point he worked mostly from home, he liked spending some time in the office, but things were feeling more cramped and less accessible. As Brock wrapped up his tasks for the day and prepared to leave, he turned in a tight, practiced rotation around his small cubicle, careful not to send office supplies and stacks of folders tumbling to the floor or knock down the flimsy shared wall with Susan's old cubicle next door (a recurrence that had only worsened her office-wide health ‘concerns’). He gingerly shuffled sideways through the narrow opening, the generous curves of his spandex wrapped posterior threatening to take the whole cubicle with him. The nuBum ‘business casual’ slacks were little more than tights pretending to be a neutral tone corduroy, but they did the trick and kept the higher ups satisfied (and word in the HR world was that no one wanted to tackle a fight about dress code for the increasing numbers of unnaturally curvy men).

With a parting glance at his workspace his eyes fell on his office chair, damaged beyond repair, the back and armrests permanently blown outward from the seat. Maybe I should switch to a medicine ball chair, he mused, one hand resting on a heavy cheek. Or just start sitting on the floor.

Most of his co-workers had cleared out early after the office party, and he released a sigh of thanks to the universe when the sliding doors of the elevator revealed an empty space inside. He let his shoulders drop as he leaned back against the far wall, the round muscle of his glutes squishing across the metal bar while the rest of him stood closer to the middle of the metal cube. He whipped his phone out from his shoulder bag to check the groupchat, stopping short when a thin figure slipped through the closing doors, knocking the device out of his hands as they collided.

“Oh sorry,” he said to the disoriented looking man. He crouched down to grab his phone, stumbling slightly as the elevator rattled into its descent. He tried awkwardly to shuffle his huge bubble into the corner but found himself still standing more or less in the middle, the stranger settling into the corner opposite.

“Nah, you’re good,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I need to watch where I’m going, I could’ve taken you out.”

Brock smiled to himself, fully aware that his massive dump truck was much more of a hazard to errant pedestrians than they were to him. Not to mention the guy looked to be 130lbs soaking wet, swimming in a solid black hoodie and jeans. Probably one of the tech bros from that new startup down the hall.

“Doubtful,” he quipped, trying to shift into a more comfortable stance in the cramped space. “I guess I got used to having the elevator to myself.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, uh,” Brock muttered through a flash of embarrassment. “People usually…clear out when they see…me.”

“Interesting,” he said, with the appearance of gears turning in his head. “Wasn't there that guy a couple weeks ago that popped in the elevator in that building across the street?”

“Yeah, his name's Phil,” Brock chuckled with a sarcastic smile. “I don’t think it was as bad as they say, but apparently he…grew too fast for the other occupants to escape and then the doors were blocked and the fire department had to get involved, so of course EMTs showed up, and people always freak out with that stuff. It was a whole thing.” 

“Wow,” the hoodied man murmured. “Wish I could’ve been there.”

“Uh, okay,” Brock laughed nervously. “The other people involved were not…enthusiastic about the situation.”  

“They were all okay though, right?”

“Three hours later, yeah,” Brock rolled his eyes. He remembered Phil stumbling in late to the MGHD+ meeting that day looking sweaty and disheveled, his bare buns ballooning out of a pair of joggers that might as well have been assless chaps. “No one mentions it of course, but when they see me coming, they’re suddenly more inclined to take the stairs.”

“Huh. That must be so cool.”

“Hm?” Brock asked.

“Taking up space like that,” his eyes lit up as they connected with Brock’s questioning gaze. “Do you know how it feels?”

“How…what feels?” 

“When it happens.” His hands were busy in the pocket of his hoodie, like they were searching for something. “It must be incredible becoming so powerful, just…growing and expanding and–”

The ding of the elevator cut him off. The doors opened on the third floor to a gaggle of people waiting to get on. While they couldn’t see Brock’s new acquaintance from their perspective, their eyes immediately locked onto him. More specifically, the bodacious buns that were taking up a full third of the space. They stood in heavy, awkward silence, as if each was hoping for someone else in their group to be the first to make a move. It was broken by the ding of warning for the closing of the doors, which Brock took as a last minute excuse to leave. He barely noticed as the doors bounced off of his hefty cheeks, the gaggle of office workers hopping out of the way as he strode purposely through them, uncaring if they were bowled over by the momentum of his hips. 

I think I’ll take the stairs.

—

“They’re still talking ‘bout that ass, Phil,” Brock teased as he plopped down on a cushion next to Kel. The search for Sai’s whereabouts had moved out of the MGHD+ groupchat to their current watering hole, Randi’s. 

“Ugh, the elevator thing?” Kel sighed. “Didn’t they set some new policy after that?”

“Can confirm, unofficial occupancy rules are very much in place,” said Brock. His lonely elevator rides and cramped cubicle corral at work was a stark contrast to the sunkissed warmth of the breezy patio they found themselves in. Their options for social establishments were limited–for a number of reasons–and not only did Randi’s have a spacious outdoor section and garage doors but also went out of their way to make the space amenable for more expansive body types, from a diversity of seating options to strategically placed empty spaces where those with more severe cases could park themselves comfortably. 

“That can’t be legal,” Kel surmised, his mountainous cheeks shifting as he crossed his legs in thought. “Can we push for infrastructural improvements?”

“It’s a historic building,” Phil groaned into his beer. “And the elevator was technically undersized and overdue on regular maintenance–”

“According to current municipal codes,” finished Brock, lightly mocking his friend’s practiced line. “Not that they bother to even retrofit the newer buildings.”

Unfortunately, a place like Randi’s was an exception to the unspoken rule. It was an oasis in a desert of ‘fire hazard’ concerns, ‘max circumference guidelines,’ and ‘modified occupancy calculations’ that were making it hard for men affected by the virus to find welcoming places to share a pint. Randi’s had become known as the spot for guys like them, and even with the hypervisibility of gawkers and onlookers, it was a crucial community space.

“At least we have the mayor’s new ‘bubble’ cars on the subway,” Phil said sarcastically. “So we can get to work–”

“But not in the building!” A number of them exclaimed in unison, bursting into laughter.

“And speaking of, still no word from Sai?”

“Nada,” Brock sighed, leaning against the well cushioned wall of Kel’s ass. “My guess is that he’s probably crashing at work, but they keep making up some excuse about confidential employee information and suddenly I’m rerouted to some other vaguely humanoid customer service voice.”

“Hmm,” said a vaguely distracted Kel. “It’s a rough transition, he just needs time.”

“But he only has a limited time frame for accessing the city’s relocation funds since he most likely can’t get back into his current place. And I’m sure he’ll need help with moving and–”

“I know, I know, we’ll get through to him.” 

Brock couldn’t help but notice that Kel seemed uncharacteristically detached. As the group continued scheming about how to get a hold of their friend, his attention kept drifting to the other side of the patio. Brock put his weight behind a sharp elbow to his friend’s hip, which for Kel felt more like a playful nudge, just enough to catch his attention and bring his gaze down to the knowing twitch of Brock’s eyebrow. Kel blushed, wordlessly refocused on the task at hand, but his gaze kept drifting over to, Brock surmised, the distractingly buff daddy sitting across the patio with his buds. 

Nestled among some couches in the corner, the salt and pepper hunk was squeezed into his work clothes, looking like he had just gotten off a construction shift. He had a generous layer of padding over what looked like solid muscle, the cords of his forearms and biceps flexing across juicy pecs, his belly jiggling as he guffawed at some comment from one of his friends. He was massive, seeming to tower over the group even while sitting down. He was the center of their attention, looking like he was holding court as he leaned back and draped his powerful arms over the backs of his buds’ seats. Yet even though he was engaged with conversation with his immediate circle, he seemed to only have eyes for Kel.

“So are you just eye fucking or what’s the move?” Brock’s overly direct question shook Kel from the longing gaze he had fallen back into with the well built man across the patio.

“I, uh, what?” Kel said nervously.

“Dude, go talk to him,” Brock leaned in conspiratorially. “Make a move, it’ll be good for you.” 

“No,” Kel laughed. “He’s not actually…”

“Into you? He actually is.”

“You know people just like to stare,” Kel rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes for good reason.”

“Not all the time.”

“But this time.” Brock emphasized his comment with a firm slap against the side of Kel’s cheek.

“I don’t know,” Kel bemoaned, his voice catching as he caught the man’s eyes yet again. “It’s been so long since I’ve even…you know…like what would I even say?”

“Go sit on his lap, let him do the talking.”

Kel responded with an exasperated laugh.

“What? Live a little!”

“You know that’s a catastrophic idea. And besides, I’m more in the mood to just chill any…ways…”

Kel was suddenly lost for words as the man stood up to walk to the bar, a path that conveniently led right by their group. He was urgently trying not to stare, though it seemed like the occupants of the entire establishment had already failed at that effort.

Brock’s face broke into a beaming smile as he, and the rest of their crew, quickly realized that the blue collar daddy’s corner seat wasn’t a section of a couch but actually a pair of boulders that on a more normal frame might be considered extremely well developed glutes. The planetoids stuffed into his heavy duty khaki work pants switched back and forth with enough heft to make patrons clear a wide path of tables of chairs lest they end up with a concussion. His bulging hamstrings and tree trunk quads flexed through the material with every step, threatening to burst through his pants with barely restrained power.

“Looks like a pretty strong lap,” Brock mused. 

Kel shifted nervously as butterflies emanated from deep within his core. He allowed his eyes to catch the mystery man’s warm smile before dancing down to the name patch embroidered onto the work polo stretched taut across his powerful pecs and shoulders. Calvin…he mouthed, reading the stylized cursive lettering bouncing across his field of vision.

His mammoth cheeks seemed uncaring of the force of gravity as they hovered behind him at the bar. They practically blocked the walking path as he slowly hinged his hips back and leaned over to rest his arms on the counter. He glanced over a boulder shoulder to send a playful wink in Kel’s direction.

“He’s…cute,” admitted Kel. Desperately trying to play it cool, he reached for his drink only to grasp at the empty space where his glass had just been. He looked up to see Brock gulping the last of it down with a trickster smile on his face. “You’re not letting me sit this one out, are you?”

“I need a win today,” Brock answered.

“No promises,” Kel sighed as he coordinated his limbs to lift his bulk into a standing position. His massive cheeks trembled over the group as he shifted toward the bar, Brock reaching up to quickly brush off a flattened ornamental plant that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now it was Kel’s turn to part the sea of gawkers as he awkwardly moseyed to his gentleman admirer.

There was no point in pretending that anything else was worth looking at. The tall, overly stacked men reoriented the gravitational pull of the space. Calvin far outweighed him with his magnitude of well padded muscle, yet his powerful glutes still paled in comparison to Kel’s cheeks, which looked even more comically disproportionate on his lanky frame. They seemed to take up half the bar, casually unaware of the dumbfounded patrons trying to get the attention of the bartender without being blocked by a wall of ass.

But Brock was more interested in the tenuous conversation that turned to playful smiles that turned to belly laughs with light, friendly touches. They’re really hitting it off, he thought, as Kel went so far as to cheekily squeeze one of Calvin’s massive biceps. One could swear the burly, middle aged man was starting to swoon. Before long, both their glasses were empty and their hands were instead filled with their phones in the familiar choreography of contact information exchange. Calvin rested a hand on Kel’s lower back as he escorted him back to his seat and proceeded to return to his friends with an unmistakable pep in his step, his glutes bouncing back and forth with renewed vigor.

“Well??” Brock demanded on behalf of the group before Kel had even settled his gargantuan globes back on the ground.

“Well what?” Kel teased, his cheeks blushing. “We set a date–”

“A date?!”

“--to get to know each other better. Somewhere with a little more…room to breathe,” he smiled.

The group practically cheered, peppering Kel with questions about this meet cute and the date to follow. As they settled into dreaming up Kel’s first date look, Brock’s phone lit up with an incoming call, which caller ID listed as simply ‘PL.’

“Hello?” he answered, hoping it was exactly who he thought it was, but preparing for another round of customer service musical chairs.

“Brock?” came a blessedly familiar voice. “It’s Sai. Sorry I’ve been missing your calls, things have gotten…weird.”

“Weird is okay,” Brock stammered, his heart quickening. “Where are you? How are you? Are you hungry? Are you safe? What do you need?”

2…3…4

Chase grunted with exertion, his breath low and steady with each rep. As he hinged his hips down and back up against the force of gravity, he marveled at the sight in the mirror in front of him. Just a few weeks ago, he would throw a few plates on either side of the hip thrust machine to get a resistance that was impressive, but reasonable. Now, either side of the machine was loaded down with a comical number of plates, enough to bend the bars under what had to be close to a thousand pounds.

5…6…7

He had lost track of whatever the exact weight was at this point. Once he had filled either side with 45lb plates, he had to balance more precariously on top and thread it all through with multiple resistance bands. Leg day these days had become its own complicated dance. He had rearranged his daily schedule for a less crowded gym time, hoping to mitigate the faux pas of scrounging around for additional weight from the nearby machines and squat racks. This earned him glances of mild annoyance from the other lifters, interspersed with the usual leers of morbid curiosity or mocking humor.

8…9…10

At this point, he was used to the stares. If it wasn’t the record-breaking PRs he was starting to hit with his lower body, it was the special order gym shorts that left nothing to the imagination. Though they kept everything contained, sitting tight and right along the bottom curvature of his glutes, they seemed to lift and shape his cheeks into perfect globes that ate up the middle seam along the deep trench of his crack. He brushed off the wild stares or accusations of showing off for social media with the knowledge that any pair of pants would fail to downplay or mitigate the hemispheres of his ass.

11…12…13

When he had first tested positive for the virus, he was terrified. He had been working out consistently for years, and though he had always managed to keep everything mostly proportional on his toned, athletic frame, was an unapologetic leg day enthusiast. His thick quads and perky bubble butt caught the eyes of gymgoers and onlookers across spectra gender and sexuality. His body was a testament to hard work and dedication, but really he just loved the burn of a deep squat. He enjoyed pushing himself to failure in the low to mid rep range, encouraged by the delectable pump that was sure to follow.

14…15…16

When failure took longer and longer to reach, he thought that maybe it was his new pre-workout or maybe he was just starting to achieve more serious gains. He gleefully added more and more weight, each workout a crescendo as he sought that lovely burn through his quads, glutes, and hamstrings. Though the weight never seemed to max out and the burn didn’t seem to come as strongly, his pump was always phenomenal. The perky bubble behind him looked proudly disproportionate as he exited the gym each day, even bouncing perkier and rounder in his leggings on upper body days. Then also on cardio days. And rest days. 

17…18…

The sudden absence of the padded belt against his waist reminded him of the inflection point in his journey just a few weeks ago, when his favorite slacks suddenly split open at the seams in the middle of a presentation at work, confirming that maybe this mysterious virus going around was serious after all. Thankfully, he ended up with only a mild case and got a referral for a drug trial at one of the new clinics. He had to leave some patches on each butt cheek for a few days, monitor any changes, then return for the second phase of treatment. By the time he could make it back, the clinic had temporarily closed and the city was under a partial stay at home advisory. But the growth had thankfully tapered off, along with any fears of ending up like some of the extreme cases he’d seen on social media, not that he really believed those were real. So he figured he would just get around to getting a follow up appointment somewhere else. Beyond the initial embarrassment of Big Booty Judy redefining his silhouette and the frustration of putting together a new wardrobe, he was starting to enjoy his new and improved cheekage and the surprising strength that came with it.

He was brought out of his reverie by the crash of several hundred pounds of plates and metal in the middle of the gym floor. As he landed on his well padded bottom, he felt not so much surprise but annoyance. The hip thrust machine had just been repaired after his last incident five days ago. 

“They need higher quality parts here,” he said just loud enough for people in his immediate vicinity to hear. His cheeks burned hot as he removed the plates from the machine, casually ignoring the stares of the other gymgoers. Why do they have to have the lower body equipment in the middle of the gym? His eyes glanced at the ‘Out Of Order’ sign placed on the leg curl machine two days ago and the ‘Under Repair’ sign written in marker on printer paper on the hack squat. “We ran out of our pre-made signs,” the front desk attendant had mentioned that morning, sharpening the pang of embarrassment at the thought of having to face her again.

“Which one this time?” she asked, knowing immediately why Chase was strolling up.

“The hip thrust,” he said with his most placating smile.

“Again.”

“Again…”

She proceeded to enter the incident report into the front desk computer, waving him off with a raise of her eyebrows before it popped up on her manager’s desktop 20 feet away. 

Chase ruminated on the odd string of malfunctions as he headed to the squat racks. His ass struggled for space against the tight fabric of his gym shorts, moving with more heft than usual. He wondered if maybe the machines just needed to be replaced, but he didn’t know the intricacies of gym equipment repair. Nevertheless, he proceeded to load the rack with plate after plate, opting for some glute focused split squats to make up for the absence of the hip thrust in his routine. With each rep, he concentrated on his form, hinging his hips in just the right away to try and get that familiar burn deep in his gluteal muscle. Instead, he felt a tingle where the patches used to be, increasing in intensity with each rep. 

As he finished his last set, he gazed with deep satisfaction at the sweat soaked gym shorts struggling to contain the juicy muscle bursting along his posterior chain. He didn’t like to be too obvious checking himself out, but his ass looked incredible, bigger than anything that should have been possible on his frame. A deep muscle spasm sent a tremor through his glutes, and he swore he could see them shake and jiggle, looking even juicier than before.

Finally, a good pump, he thought, following up his last set with some isolations on the hip abduction machine. It was a struggle positioning himself correctly. He had to squeeze his glutes into place and his quads proved too thick for the pads to fully close. He grunted as he reached forward across his overinflated musculature and moved the pin down to the maximum weight. As he got to work, he reveled at the pleasing stretch of his legs paired with the contraction of his abductors. The tingling static on each cheek reappeared, growing more acute with each rep. He ignored it, leaning forward to place his hands on either side of the machine and put more force into his movements. The full weight stack slammed against the top of the tube as he stepped up the intensity, sweat beading along the valley of his lower back that ran down to the crack of his ass. I can almost feel it, he thought, pushing urgently through the 15th, 20th, 25th reps in search of that satisfying burn of muscle fatigue. Instead, his legs flew wide open, accompanied by the sound of twisting metal, snapping cables, and screws skittering across the floor.

“Oh come on…” he groaned. He sighed in frustration, extricating himself from the machine to survey the damage. Not only was the pulley system shot, but the seat adjustor had blown clean off, the seat itself forced all the way back by the supernatural strength of his meaty, oversized rear.

Back at the front desk, the attendant was trying to explain to the manager why multiple machines had seemingly broken simultaneously. Her expression shifted from frustration to concern as she gestured toward Chase. He waddled up to the desk, the bounce of his cheeks visible from the front and tree trunk thighs answering any remaining questions on the tip of the manager’s tongue.

“Well?” she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“The hip abductor,” Chase muttered, a nervous smile playing across his face. “I think it must’ve–aghhh…” A shiver went up his spine as his glutes seemed to tremor again. He knew he could feel them jiggling this time. “Look, I’m really sorry about this. I, um…” He rested his hands on the counter as another full body shiver ran through him. The tingle where the patches used to be was progressing into a prickling heat. 

“Don’t worry!” said the manager, putting on her best customer service face. “We can deal with it. We’ve been meaning to upgrade all of our lower body equipment anyways, and re-train the personal trainers to better accommodate people with your, um, condition. Have you considered taking a break from the gym until your symptoms taper off?” 

“Yeah,” the attendant jumped in. “I read that too much physical exertion while infected can lead to other issues down the line.”

“Oh, I’m fine!” exclaimed Chase with a surprised chuckle. “I’m no longer infected, I just had a brief, mild case. I barely even noticed it, I still don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

“A…mild case?” the manager asked. She squinted in Chase’s direction while the attendant sent a questioning glance at the burgeoning bubble behind him.

“Yeah, it’s all cleared up now. I think maybe my glute strength became…I don’t know, overdeveloped or some–” He was cut off by another tremor, even stronger this time. He felt hot all over, sweat beading across his forehead as he felt the rounded muscle of his glutes twitch uncontrollably.

“Well maybe you’re having a flare up?” the manager offered. “Sorry, I’m still not fully up to date on how the disorder works, but I’m listening and learning.”

“A flare up?” Chase whispered. His eyes drifted downward in introspection. “That’s not..” He turned to the nearest mirror, and whatever he was about to say evaporated from his mind. It wasn’t just that his glute pump was unbelievable, and it wasn’t just that his gym shorts had formed multiple small rips along the seams, and it wasn’t just that his ass looked like it had doubled in size during his workout. It was slowly, perceptibly, inexorably growing. “No…no no no…”

“Is this…normal?” asked the attendant.

“I…I don’t know,” stammered Chase, his mouth dry with fear as he felt his ass expand behind him. The mass of each cheek slowly pushed his fingers apart as his hands sunk further into his colossal cakes. “This can’t be happening!”

His monster booty lurched in response, sending a full body tremor as his ass cheeks burst free from the confines of his gym shorts. The straps of his jock strained against his wildly overdeveloped glutes as they grew bigger and bigger with each heartbeat.

“I…I…I…have to go, sorry!” he exclaimed, turning towards the locker rooms and stumbling as he struggled to keep his balance. 

He bypassed his usual stop in front of the full length mirror, terrified of what would greet him in his reflection. His ass wobbled comically as he tried to squeeze past the other people near his locker, apologizing profusely after he knocked the wind out of someone and sent them tumbling over the bench. His hands were shaking as he fumbled through the code to the lock, praying that maybe his gym shorts just had some faulty manufacturer error. It was a new product, you always have issues with beta testing, right?

He grunted as he wrestled his emergency backup shorts over his meaty legs, the rest of the locker room pointedly trying not to stare in awe at the jiggling globes of oversized ass that he was desperately trying to stuff into his new shorts. His heart fell as he checked the mirror to see if he was at least halfway decent. He looked like he could’ve been smuggling two basketballs, but at least they were mostly covered. He noticed the upward creep of the hem, slowly revealing more and more of the underside of his ass cheeks. This should do for now, he thought. Everything’s fine, I just need to get to my car and get somewhere where I can figure out what the hell is happening to me.  

He tried to ignore the swish of his massive cheeks as he strolled back through the gym. The double doors to the parking lot beckoned like the light at the end of the tunnel, suddenly cut off by two slabs of pecs as he ran headlong into his gym buddy.

“Whoa, my bad,” he said. “Just wanted to catch you before you headed out. That had to be you with all that weight on the hip thrust, right?”

“I…yup,” Chase muttered, plastering on an attempt at a smile.

“Dude, that’s crazy! They’re gonna be pissed that it broke again, but that’s gotta be like, some sort of record, right?”

“It’s not…that bad, right?” Chase’s voice shuddered as another wave of growth hit his cheeks, the seams of his shorts starting to pop.

“What?! It’s amazing! Is that like…a side effect?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Of the infection?”

“S-sort of…” Chase replied, desperately fighting off full body spasms that were slamming through his nervous system. He could feel his ass growing in real time, the planetoids of his glutes expanding with mass yet defying gravity. The shorts felt like a second skin, painted onto the curvature of his mammoth behind.

“Shit, I might need to get infected,” he laughed. “You’re a beast.” He clapped Chase on the shoulder as he moved to keep walking, following it up with a jovial pat against his friend’s taut beachball buns.

Chase’s gym shorts may as well have sublimated into the ether. In one moment, they were a beleaguered, strained, and criminally overworked, yet whole garment. In the next, they were so many tatters of stitches and fabric.

“...dude,” his friend whispered. His eyes were locked on to Chase’s rotund rear end, as was the gaze of anyone in the gym with decent vision. His ass was suddenly the center of the known universe, possessing a gravitational pull that none could hope of resisting.

“D…dude?” his friend tried again, with an edge to his voice. He let his hand rest back on Chase’s posterior as if it was always meant to be there. He marveled at how it was dwarfed by one cheek, suddenly drawing it back like he had touched a hot stove. “I think your ass is…like…”

“It’s growing!” exclaimed someone nearby.

“That’s crazy!”

“Are you okay?”

“Is that the virus? I’ve never seen that…”

“Do you need help?”

“That shit is so fat.”

“How big does it get?”

“How big…” Chase muttered in a haze of confusion, catching his reflection in the wall to wall mirrors. This morning he had had a comically oversized bubble butt, sure, but this was something else. Something grotesque. “...need help…”

He wouldn’t have believed he was attached to the ballooning globes behind him if not for the shivers of pleasure from each caress from the cloud of attention gathering around him. His midriff rode up and his shoes got tighter as every touch triggered some deep vibrational energy, gathering in his cheeks and radiating through the rest of his body. His glutes spasmed and lurched outward again, startling everyone enough to give him some breathing room.

He practically sprinted to his car. He ignored the onlookers who didn’t hesitate to whip out their phones at the sight of his massive ass bouncing wildly back and forth. If there was any consolation, the prize winning pumpkins jutting from his lower back blocked the view of his face as he tried to climb into his compact car. He adjusted the seat back as far as it could go, wrestling his growing bulk into the vehicle and frantically trying to pull the door closed against the steadily expanding mass of his lower body. I just need to get the car started and get to the nearest clinic, he told himself. Then everything will be fine. It’s just a flare up and they’ll figure it out and everything will be fine.

Emergency services had no problem locating Chase in the parking lot. A small crowd of onlookers surrounded his zippy hatchback, dodging around the gym manager, attendant, and a couple of personal trainers who were waving their hands in front of people’s phones in a futile attempt at ensuring their client’s privacy. None of them, at the time, questioned why the EMTs had Phantasy Labs logos on the chest of their sleek foil coveralls. They were just looking forward to getting this situation out of their parking lot so they could get back to their half destroyed gym. 

The EMTs pierced through the crowd and circled the vehicle to survey the damage. They found Chase hunched over the dashboard, head hung in utter defeat. Having never managed to get the door closed, one tree trunk leg still hung out the driver side, half of one gargantuan butt cheek spilling into the open air while the other one pressed against the passenger side windows.

“I think…” he said, catching their attention and reminding them that there was still a person attached to the giant peach. “I think it stopped.”

—

Devon’s coffee grew lukewarm on his desk as he stared at the phone in his hand, watching yet another POV of some gymbro’s car being peeled apart by some large hydraulic claw so a group of people in shiny coveralls could extricate him and wheel him over to an emergency transport vehicle. The camera zoomed in on the cartoonish glutes wobbling back and forth as he lay face down, shoulders shaking in despair. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen multiple videos of it. Or if he hadn't seen a very similar scenario in person.

“Man, it happened again?” came a voice that startled the phone out of Devon’s hand. He was still getting used to being back in the office and had forgotten how people can sneak up on you. “I didn’t see that one yet, did that happen just now?”

“Again?” Devon asked, wheeling around to face his cubicle neighbor.

“Yeah, that’s like the third one I’ve seen this week,” his co-worker responded, pulling out his phone. “You gotta see this one guy, he popped at the airport and they wouldn’t let him on the plane because his ass was still growing. It’s wild.”

Popped? As Devon watched the viral video of some poor man’s airport meltdown, he was acutely aware of the cheekage spilling out of the sides of his office chair.

“Um, don’t we have the all-team meeting in like five minutes?” he reminded him, lifting himself out of his chair with a not insignificant amount of struggle.

“We do,” his co-worker confirmed with an eye roll. “We can bring up the fact that you still haven’t gotten your special order chair yet.”

Mayor Tan felt his chest rise as he filled his lungs with the crisp dawn. As he skipped in through the side door of his home, the sweat soaking through his athletic tee cooled his torso, revealing the contours of his pecs and abs in topographic relief. He was an early riser and an enthusiastic one, coming back from his early morning run to greet the sunrise just beginning to filter in through the open windows. He followed the smell of freshly ground coffee to find Ana in his kitchen pouring a cup and setting it next to his itinerary for the day.

“How do I keep forgetting you have a key?” he asked, his voice lightened by post-run endorphins. “What if I had a boy over?”

“Well you’d have to find one first,” she quipped. “Not that I would ever dream of disturbing the mayoral bachelor pad.” She pulled out a copy of The Herald and slapped it on the kitchen island next to the mayor’s coffee, then poured herself a cup. On the front page was the now viral scene from the clinic the previous afternoon, with ‘Mayor Declares Public Health Emergency’ spread across images of men laid out on cots or being ushered hurriedly down hallways, their hospital gowns bunching around unmistakable bubble butts; some perkier, some rounder, some heart shaped, all massive. She noticed with dark appreciation how whoever made the layout managed to position the shot of someone being wheeled on a stretcher just so between the text, their posterior so comically big that they simply threw a blanket over it, the tatters of their gown trailing off the edge. The mayor’s press conference at the library was relegated to page 3. “At least it’s not the bullshit Channel 6 pulled on the evening news.”

“We do appreciate our friends at The Herald,” said Mayor Tan in sardonic agreement. He opened the paper to see his beaming face shaking hands with the deer-in-the-headlights librarian, the picture just small enough to give only a modest view of the curves of their ass cheeks on either side of the podium. “At least it’s not another full profile shot.”

“Maybe we should think about you keeping a slightly lower profile in general?” Ana suggested. “You could turn the basement into a private gym!”

“I don’t think a 10 mile run at the crack of dawn will break the Internet,” the mayor demurred. “It wakes me up! And besides, people need to see the mayor out and about during such a stressful time, right?”

“On the ground public leadership is hot right now,” came Jerry’s voice, as he popped in through the foyer. “Neighborhood walks and working class relatability are doing numbers on social media.”

“Okay well I don’t think that little wardrobe malfunction will do the kind of numbers we want,” Ana quipped, gesturing towards the mayor’s backside.

“...Oh not again,” the mayor groaned as he twisted his torso to look back at his bubble butt. He finally noticed the tear along the back of his running shorts, forming an almond shaped window to the lavender boxer briefs stretched taut across his rotund cakes. “How long has this been there?”

“At least since you walked in,” Ana deadpanned.

“I clocked it from across the street,” Jerry added. “But maybe no one noticed!”

“We can only hope.”

“Or maybe we can play it off as a men's fashion trend?” Jerry attempted. “Get ahead of the curve on shifts in male aesthetics in the wake of the outbreak.” Jerry, whose actual job was a mix of secretary and special assistant, had long been the de facto fashion, culture, and trends expert for the mayor. This had only become more significant as it became harder and harder to hide that the mayor had indeed been infected with the virus. At this point, Jerry was now a daily part of Ana and Mayor Tan’s informal ‘coffee briefings’ before the actual start of the workday at the office, and he was not so subtly aiming to solidify it as a formal promotion. “I heard Val’s been doing special house calls for full wardrobe updates. She could set up in the basement.”

“You mean the home gym?” the mayor smirked at Ana. 

“I have an ex who’s an editor at The Herald’s Arts & Culture department,” Jerry continued, undeterred. “Maybe I could get us a photoshoot, a whole fluff piece. Business attire to athleisure for young professionals who no longer fit, um, typical masculine proportions, but can’t necessarily afford a personally tailored overhaul. Breaking the mold without breaking the–”

“Seams?” the mayor chuckled, resting an elbow on the counter as he pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. “But it’s great thinking, I think we should consider it.” His attention drifted away as Jerry and Ana got into their usual back and forth about media visibility and public narratives, his eyes coming to rest on the image of him at the podium. Though it only showed the top half of his butt, there was just enough visible for the imagination of the readership to fill in the rest. He was angled towards the librarian, which meant his ass stuck out into open space. It would take only casual mental calculus for someone's eye to follow the curvature of his cakes as they ballooned from the v-taper of his toned torso, filling in the unseen heft of his massive bubble butt. His pang of self-conscious worry was alleviated only by the fact that the gargantuan globes of the librarian dwarfed his own. On his tall, lanky form, more of his ass was visible in frame, yet it was still too big to fit. It was almost impossible to direct your attention anywhere else.

“...not convinced he can be the face of the people and also the face of the virus,” Ana said, catching Mayor Tan’s attention.

“I just mean we could really lead the conversation,” replied Jerry. “Fashion is political, too. Aesthetic statements are also public statements.”

“Aesthetic statements…” the mayor muttered, eyes still locked on the press conference image, still mentally juxtaposed against the scene on the front page. A lightbulb flickered just above his head.

“All it takes is one person with a decent phone and we have a politically costly situation on our hands,” said Ana.

“Yes, but that’s everyone all the time. So we have to lean in to how this media environment actually works–”

“Wait wait wait,” interjected the mayor. Both their heads swiveled back to him as if they had just remembered he was more than an abstract set of communication strategies. His eyes were still focused on the black and white image of the caked up librarian. “We need to control the public health narrative, right?”

“Right,” said Ana.

“And stay on top of the media narratives.”

“Mhm,” agreed Jerry.

“And it might be too politically complicated for me to be the…” he rolled his eyes, “face of the virus.”

“I would argue,” said Ana.

“So then we need to come up with one, right?”

They both nodded.

“Someone who’s also a public servant, young, visible in the community, has a story relevant to the public health crisis and our municipal funding expansion plans, and is living their life with a…very severe case.”

Their eyes followed his to the page, locking on to the planetoid cheeks of the librarian who stole the show.

“Oh,” muttered Jerry. “Brilliant. What was his name?”

“Santiago,” the mayor said. “Right?”

“Right,” Ana confirmed. “Now if only he’ll answer my calls.”

— 

Santi felt his chest rise against the unfamiliar texture of the sheets with the morning’s first breath. He was an early riser, but not a very enthusiastic one. In half-conscious delirium, he held on to the residual images of a recurring dream. The one about the sigils on the ground and a whirlwind of fireflies and people growing big, too big, with wild proportions. It ebbed away with the brightening pink and orange light filtered through the curtains, shielding him for a few precious minutes from the goldenrod rays of dawn. His sleepy confusion was exacerbated by the slow realizations that the angle of sunlight was incorrect, as were the curtains, as were the sheets, as were–

Oh, he thought, noticing that the weight against his chest wasn’t his usual weighted pillow but Devon’s warm body and messy head. He nuzzled into Santi’s neck, tickling his chest hairs with his steady breathing. Oh. 

In no particular order, scenes from yesterday replayed themselves in Santi’s head. Devon stumbling through the library’s back offices in nothing but a hospital gown and ripped sweats, urgently making out in Santi’s compact car, being interrupted by the sounds of whistling and catcalls at the sight of his big ass smashed against the window, deciding to crash here because they were well past the curfew that had just been announced, fooling around in Devon’s full size bed, laughing about how woefully inadequate it was for their uniquely enlarged proportions, the sight of Devon’s magnificent bubble butt filling his field of vision as he leaned in towards his tight, supple hole, marveling at how it felt even bigger than it had looked when they were at the bar, when they had seen the press conference with the mayor and…and…

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. From the memory of his sudden emergence as an accidental face of this outbreak, but also from Devon stretching out and grinding against the length of his semi-hard cock. As if the steadily ballooning posterior hadn’t been bad enough, he had come to learn that his infection apparently came with additional effects. Useful information was scarce, but after enough scrolling through online fora and word of mouth rumor mills, the going theory was that the uncontrolled glute growth sometimes brought with it enhancement of other areas. For him, it was a steadily growing trouser snake that had gotten somewhere north of ruler length when he stopped measuring. He had decided that if he no longer had the data then he could maintain plausible enough denial of the member taking up more and more of his pant leg. It had put a strain on the already frayed relationship with his ex but the litany of post-breakup rebounds hadn’t helped. If they weren’t terrified of being smothered by his monster booty, they were definitely scared off by the respectable member that had slowly transformed into Tyrannosaurus Dick.

Yet Devon was unfazed. He let his fingers brush against the length of Santi’s prodigious cock, eliciting a soft gasp of pleasure.

When’s the last time I felt this? Santi thought, as Devon stirred further to life. Not just actual physical intimacy, but a genuine connection with someone who indulged in more parts of him than just his affliction. It was hard to believe that he had met this man less than 24 hours ago. It was hard to believe that he had found himself luxuriating in this cute stranger’s bed, enamored for the first time in a long time.

“You’re still here,” Devon breathed. He slid one hand along Santi’s waist, through the small trail of fur in the crevice of his lower back, and across the light fuzz covering the expanse of his ass. It was a sight to behold, even more so to caress in the early morning light. He felt goosebumps rising from his touch, encouraged by the cool air outside the blanket, whose surface area, they had quickly learned, was insufficient to fully cover both of their bodacious bodies.

“Well it’s officially a public health emergency now and curfew is serious business,” Santi chided. He leaned in to rest his lips right between Devon’s eyebrows.

“You’re not an essential worker or something? Single handedly keeping our library system running?”

“Partial hours, apparently. I got the notification right before my phone died. So I get to sleep in.”

“And I get to work from home,” Devon smiled. He snuck a kiss as he climbed over Santi with surprising dexterity, letting the covers slide off the curves of his form. Yet any gracefulness in the early morning calm was undone by his sudden loud thud to the floor. He let out a sleep-addled groan of annoyance.

“Center of gravity, bud,” Santi mocked. 

“Unghh,” Devon responded.

“You gotta recalibrate…” Santi lost his train of thought as Devon sprung back to his feet and turned toward the bathroom, his ass cheeks wobbling wildly back and forth with each lumbering step. It looked magnificent in the soft dawn light filtered through the curtains, even better than it had last night. But there was something else, something deeper. The heft of his backside seemed to have its own gravitational pull. Santi couldn’t look away from the sight of those delectable cakes swishing right and left, inviting him to follow, to taste, to be smothered in delight. He could feel the sudden absence of Devon’s warmth like a dull ache. His dick sprung to attention, the tent under the blanket inflating into a third leg, stretching out as if trying to cover the distance to Devon’s mountainous glutes. 

Devon paused in front of the mirror, his butt continuing to move with its own residual momentum. His mouth maintained a frown of concern as his cheeks kept jiggling with the minute movements of his toothbrush. Recalibrate…, he thought, eyes drifting to the curvaceous backside that could easily be seen from the front. Anxiety settled in the pit of his stomach, but also a thrill of something deeper. Something else.

Santi, meanwhile, was slack jawed at the sight. Devon’s quads and hamstrings had become noticeably meaty with his changes, a stark contrast from his nicely toned upper half. But even though his own ass still had Devon’s beat, he could barely believe his eyes. He was acutely aware that he hadn’t cum since he had woken up in his own bed yesterday morning, a recipe for disaster with the orange sized balls churning between his thighs. They felt so full.

How do I recalibrate to all this? Devon asked himself, turning to stare at his comical side profile as he waited for the shower to heat up. He gave his ass a shake and watched his cheeks sway like ocean waves in a squall. He stepped in and began soaping himself up, letting the chaos of yesterday wash down the drain. His lathered exfoliating net soothed his skin, but as he got around to his ass, he found himself awkwardly positioning and repositioning around the recently enlarged surface area.

“Let me help you,” came a voice behind him. Santi rested his hands on Devon’s hips as he squeezed into the shower, his cheeks taking up the width of the modest space.

“This shower’s getting a little cramped,” Devon chuckled. His thicc body filled more of the space than he was used to, but Santi’s presence more than compounded the situation. There was little room to maneuver among the steamy intimacy, not that he much cared. He leaned back as Santi nuzzled into his neck, letting the water flow across their bodies. Santi finished scrubbing the hills of his juicy backside and substantial legs, then began kissing down the length of Devon’s spine. When he got to his lower back, he was kneading Devon’s massive cakes, letting one slender finger disappear inside to caress his puckered hole. Devon let out a shuddering gasp, placing one hand on the tile in front of him for support. 

“If you’d like, I could give you some space?” Santi teased.

“No! No, I…” Devon was at a loss for words. Santi positioned his face just below Devon’s bulbous cheeks, squatting down until his even larger ass rested on both sides of the tub. The tip of his dick would’ve touched the floor had it been flaccid. Instead, it stood at full attention, tickling the sensitive interiors of Devon’s meaty thighs.  He struggled to spread Devon’s cheeks far enough for his prominent nose to enter, tickling Devon’s hole then beginning to leisurely eat him out. “Oof…” Devon muttered.

“Hmm?” Santi moaned in response, not bothering to come up for air. He hummed deep into Devon’s hole, eliciting another groan of pleasure through the pitter patter of water. He took his time, matching the attention to Devon’s quivering hole with slow strokes along the inches of his python. He wanted to enjoy this. He wanted it to last. He wanted to hear Devon’s suppressed moans of pleasure until the water ran cold. He wanted–

Santi paused when he felt an intense spasm of Devon’s glutes against his hands. His fingers sunk deeper into the expanse of Devon’s ass, moving ever so slightly farther apart.

“Wait,” Devon whispered. “Don’t stop. It…it feels so good, please…” 

Santi set his observations aside and went back to work, nuzzling his big nose back into Devon’s waiting hole, letting his tongue play in and out as Devon’s legs turned to jelly. His balls felt swollen and ready to explode. They sent a shiver up his spine as they drooped to the cool floor of the tub. He desperately needed release. He needed to empty the endless cum factory churning below. He needed–

Devon lifted his ass off of Santi’s face, leaving behind that deep sentiment of absence, of distance. It was quickly replaced by the electric thrill of Devon’s hand against Santi’s steel pillar of cock. Too small to wrap around but strong enough to guide it to the entrance of Devon’s pulsing hole.

“Wait,” grunted Santi, struggling to form words amongst the deluge of raw sexual need threatening to finally break through the dam. “I don’t…want to…to hurt you…”  His words came out as little more than ragged breaths.

“You won’t,” Devon responded, undeterred. He had been dealing with his own set of side effects of the virus, exemplified by the series of dildos, vibrators, and butt plugs stashed in a drawer whose sizes ranged from reasonable to challenging to comical to novelty. Each in turn had proved insufficient as his hungry hole demanded deeper, girthier satisfaction. After encountering the monster cock hiding in Santi’s pants last night, he couldn’t pass up this chance. 

His feet on either side of the tub, he lowered his round cheeks onto Santi’s fat cockhead, groaning with pleasure as he coaxed his hole to stretch wider and wider. After he cleared the glans, he began to rise and fall with a confident rhythm, taking inch after inch of Santi’s seemingly endless shaft.

Santi was speechless. His hands trembled against the glutinous globes, his face a vision of disbelief. Not just at the sight of Devon’s otherworldly cakes covered in rivulets of running water, but also at what he thought would never happen again, his ruler breaking beer can thick schlong slowly disappearing into Devon’s hungry hole. His balls churned in anticipation as he lost himself in pleasure, every cell of his body rejoicing as the magma chamber of his crotch built toward earth shattering eruption.

“Told you,” Devon whispered with a mocking smile as he slammed his ass onto the final length of Santi’s exposed shaft. His cheeks jiggled out of control as he smashed them up and down against Santi’s lap, sending water splashing in every direction. His glutes spasmed again, increasing pressure against Santi’s hands as he finally began to burst. 

As Devon blasted rope after rope of jizz against the tile, Santi maintained hold on his behind with tender support. His fingers gripped Devon’s wobbly mounds with reassuring strength, giving them a hard slap as he began to explode inside him. Full body shudders ran from toes to crown as gobs of sticky cum pumped through the length of his cock. He moaned with abandon, his legs finally giving up as they both collapsed to the floor of the tub. 

Santi held Devon in steamy caress as they let the hot water run out, and for a little while after. As they emerged back into Devon’s room, he could scarcely keep his hands off him, alternating tender kisses along the back of his neck with playful strokes along the curves of his ass. As Devon moisturized and rolled a pair of skimpy bikini briefs over his mountainous glutes, Santi once again couldn’t help but notice that it looked juicier. Not just more so than last night, but more so than half an hour ago before their dalliance in the shower. Maybe some residual effect of whatever went down in the clinic yesterday? Or maybe just his eyes clouded by arousal? Or maybe–

“Hey Devon,” came a voice from the other side of the shared bathroom, followed by footsteps. “You up?”

“Shit,” Devon whispered, rushing to close the door. “Hold on a sec–”

But it was too late. Leo emerged into the room with an envelope in hand covered in multiple glaring stamps of urgency. “You got this from the clinic, seems import…”

Devon, still recalibrating, stumbled to the floor in his rush to the door. His massive butt shook wildly with his fall, globes jiggling with tectonic force. This left Leo to make eye contact with the stranger in Devon’s room, who had hastily wrapped himself in a towel that was woefully incapable of providing any meaningful coverage. Not only was the fabric stretched taut against only the top third of his beachball buns, but a few inches of his still semi hard dick bobbed out of the bottom.

“...im…im…important,” Leo muttered, dumbfounded by the scene before him. Not only had his roommate returned from the clinic with an even larger derriere than when Leo had dropped him off, but he’d come home with someone whose proportions were somehow even more astronomical. Someone who he vaguely recognized from the morning paper splayed open in the kitchen.

“...popped?”

“Uh, yessir,” said Jay. He was standing awkwardly in the entryway to the mayor’s living room, trying to connect his tablet to the wifi while keeping it balanced awkwardly in one hand. “But that terminology isn’t–”

“Like their…they…exploded?” The mayor gestured his hands apart, inflating his cheeks for added effect. Standing in the middle of the room, he was suddenly acutely aware of the wagon he was draggin’. Midway through morning prep, he was wearing a crisp, white, mostly buttoned button down over the remainder of his morning workout fit. His favorite indigo gym shorts looked like a pair of perfectly round blueberries, albeit genetically modified to massive proportions.

“No!” exclaimed Jerry from the kitchen. He leaned around Jay to give the mayor an encouraging smile. “It’s just a slang term the kids are using.”

“The technical term is a rapid expansion event,” Jay cut in. “Like the gym incident yesterday.” He turned his tablet around to show a looping video of a jock trapped in his car by two unbelievably overinflated butt cheeks ballooning in size faster than anything that should’ve been humanly possible. 

“Rapid expansion event…” Mayor Tan muttered. He gripped his mug so hard he feared it may shatter. He tried to downplay his sudden spike in anxiety, but his mind kept generating images of those blueberries bursting through the windows behind him, raining wood and plaster down around them as they grew exponentially, the living room collapsing from their immense pressure, the structure of the house folding in the face of their unstoppable force, the entire city block evacuating in panic– 

He took a hefty bite of the gooey cinnamon roll that dwarfed his hand, thankful for the sweet treat. He would generally get these occasionally from a local bakery, but with the stress of recent weeks, they had become an almost daily purchase, holding him down through one crisis after another. This morning he got a bakers dozen for the whole team, internally denying that he would likely finish half of them before they even got to City Hall.  

“How is that…possible?” he asked.

“Unfortunately…” Jay sighed, “we don’t exactly know yet. But they’re fairly certain that the…events are triggered by an adverse reaction to an unfinished treatment of the two-phase experimental drug from Phantasy Labs. You know, the patches that they were trying out in that one clinic that triggered the public health emergency–”

“Which you did not receive,” came Ana’s voice from the next room.

“Oh good,” said the mayor. He was visibly relieved, the wall behind him reconstructing itself in his mind’s eye as his ass deflated back to its abnormal, but not catastrophic, size. “Ok, well this is not the news we wanted, but at least we can track whoever’s received the drug, right? Isolate them somewhere safe? Get the Phase 2 treatment fast tracked?”

“The travel advisory is still in effect for positive cases, so theoretically yes,” Ana confirmed. 

“Good. Get with your contacts at Phantasy Labs and get a solid confirmation that they have the data on the number of those patches produced and distributed, as well as the info of every patient checked into that clinic.”

“Handled,” she winked. 

“And Jay, we need some visuals on contact tracing for this new wrinkle with the outbreak.”

“Almost done with that, actually,” Jay smiled.

“Y'all are brilliant, as always.” The mayor finished off the pastry and rested his hand on his hip, a shiver of pleasure interfering with a pang of worry as his fingers settled into the fleshy mounds of his glutes. He was glad to have this team through this neverending clusterfuck of viral gluteal expansion, but he was looking forward to when it was all over with. “Let's talk updated communication strategies after the negotiations with the transportation union.”

“Updated contract waiting on your desk,” said Ana.

“Sir,” Jerry interjected. “Don't forget, the photo shoot for the nuBum fitness gear is right after negotiations. We've already postponed twice.”

“I thought we canceled,” the mayor winced. He unconsciously squeezed the handful of ass cheek overflowing from his gym shorts. He had always been proud of how his muscular glutes popped in skintight athletic gear, even with the recent growth spurt, but lately they had been padding out with a healthy layer of fat, jiggling comically whenever he moved. 

“We gave them a strong maybe, contingent on our schedules aligning.”

“I just don't know if it makes sense for the mayor to be modeling his…butt.” A flutter of nervousness went through the mayor. He imagined himself in all manner of compromising positions, poking his gelatinous cheeks out in mesh and spandex. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t at least a little titillated by the idea.

“You're not a butt model, you're increasing awareness around accessible clothing options for the people of the city, including those impacted by the BB–I mean…Male Gluteal…you know. And besides, they really want you.”

Jerry whipped out a pair of cerulean half tights and held them up in the morning light. Mayor Tan had already seen the ads for this new line of menswear for people with his unique proportions. He knew that the silver geometric line work spidering down the legs and around the seat was not just a visual accent but also a network of lightweight polymers meant to contain the round, jiggly wobblers that this condition had become known for. Even if an infection didn’t result in excessive growth, it would leave someone with an unnaturally perky bubble butt that didn’t seem to cooperate with any part of their previous wardrobe. He got the whole rundown from the sales rep. A flash of anxiety prickled across his skin as he remembered seeing one of the more bodacious sizing options and realizing that his own dump truck probably had that model beat.

“I like the gym shorts I have now,” he continued to resist. “They look fine, don’t they?”

He turned to show his backside, glancing up to see Jay's face go beet red and Jerry attempt an exasperated smile. He wasn't so much wearing the gym shorts as holding them hostage in some kind of torture scenario. They were pulled and distorted across his backside, practically screaming in terror as his cheeks overflowed above and below.

“Respectfully,” Jerry began. “You’re one good sneeze away from taking someone out with an improvised elastic weapon.”

The mayor rolled his eyes in frustration and reached to grab a chocolate chip muffin from the box of breakfast pastries. 

—

The mayor shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he did his best to pretend he was listening to the grating voice five seats down. Debra, the Councilmember for District 4, was going on yet another tirade about the ‘crime spree’ ravaging the city. Ever since he had expanded the housing advisory committee and passed an ordinance to make sure half the members were renters, she–with her cadre of well funded landlords and developers–was on a rampage. Today, instead of providing any overtures of support for his library expansion plan that directly impacts her district, she was rehashing some archaic ‘tough on crime’ playbook. He half expected to see a pull string attached to her back that would play whatever preset cultural panics that her donors switch back and forth like CDs. 

“I'd like to remind the Councilmember from District 4 that the latest data shows incidents of malicious violence at a 25 year low, as determined in the Public Safety Commission report that went to all Council inboxes earlier this week.” His warm smile met her wave of dismissal, confirmation that they could finally move to the public comment portion of the council meeting. 

Though he always loved hearing about the wrinkles and textures of the city firsthand, he was thankful that this one was proving to be uneventful. Someone trying to get a zoning exemption to open a mobile dispensary. Someone complaining about the public fountains tasting “too smarmy.” Someone proposing a repurposing of the abandoned golf course into a community farm and mutual aid hub. Someone proposing that a section of the abandoned golf course be set aside as a public sex forest. Someone claiming that the roadway construction at 14th & Broad was going to unleash the cosmic entity that may or may not be residing in the catacombs under the subway. Someone who thought this was traffic court. 

“Kel S.?” He called the final name on the sign up sheet. “Your three minutes starts whenever you're ready.”

The room's attention came to focus on a sudden commotion with a cluster of folding chairs near the back, one of which was knocked suddenly backwards. Every eye in the room was locked in the direction of an imposing figure awkwardly rising to a standing position. Audible murmurs spread through the captive audience as the lanky frame of who one might assume was “Kel S.” rose up, and up…and up to what had to be around seven feet tall. The polo stretched uncomfortably across his torso made an odd combo with the zigzag pattern leggings that rode up his calves, but what was actually the main concern were the pair of beach balls stretching the seat of his tights. They wobbled back and forth as he squeezed down the row, apologizing profusely as people dodged out of the way of each cheek. He stumbled a little as he made it to the aisle, sending his ass jiggling and he felt his face heat up. He huffed and proceeded to walk up to the microphone with whatever conviction he could muster.

“Uh, hi,” he stammered. His voice cracked as his eyes flitted among the council, the live feed camera, and the imposing clock off to the side that had already counted down to 2:54 in red block numbers. “That's me, District 2, and I’m here to formally deliver a petition on behalf of MGHD+.” He paused for a few instances of tepid applause behind him. He gained a modicum of confidence, straightening up enough for the hem of his shirt to reveal more of the furry trail beneath his navel. “Right, we’re here, with the required number of eligible signatures to compel the Transportation Authority to begin a cost analysis for retrofitting the city buses to be more accessible for those with Male Gluteal Hyperdevelopment Disorder.”

Mayor Tan stifled a groan as Kel continued. They had just gotten to the final stages of contract negotiations with the public transportation union, but the push for infrastructural accommodations in the wake of the ongoing BBL virus was getting loud enough to derail the entire thing. Retrofitting the bus fleet meant another city budget battle that the union was well positioned to win. Was bus seating really that much of an issue? he thought. In response, his chair groaned under him, a reminder that the double wide seat and removable arm rests weren’t just a perk of holding his municipal office. He thought about the extra burrito waiting for him back in his office as soon as this was over. His stomach growled, almost loud enough to make it into the official proceedings.

“...further,” Kel continued, regaining the mayor’s attention, “the lack of accessible seating is not only disrupting our ability to enjoy the flow of life in our wonderful city, but also setting us up for failure in a gauntlet of embarrassment, dejection, and even outright…uh…hostility…” Kel paused, his face betraying a flash of discomfort as a shiver went through his body, strong enough for his ass to jiggle ever so slightly. He carried on, his voice cracking with nerves as he recounted the numerous struggles of MGHD victims. “Regardless of…how…we got the disorder, we are still deserving of dignity and care. We’re your librarians, your co-workers, your public servants.”

He made pointed eye contact with the mayor as he ended that last statement. Mayor Tan’s face broke into a sympathetic, knowing smile as he recounted the number of invites and entreaties from MGHD+ that had ended up in his inbox, voicemail, and DMs. They had invited him multiple times to show face at one of their organizing meetings, fundraisers, or awareness rallies, but Ana thought it prudent to hold off for now. Though he understood the complicated position of both him and his office during this rapidly shifting public health crisis, he longed to be more intentional about showing support in more meaningful ways. Not to mention that his own experience with the disorder had been profoundly isolating. He was left wanting to cultivate community with people who understood what he was going through, or at least get fashion advice from someone other than Jerry. Mayor or not, he had to show up somehow, do something.

“...and if I could start, uh, wrapping up,” said Kel, glancing nervously at the clock as it descended past 00:45, “we’re still fundraising for an MGHD community treatment and resource center, and all are welcome at our weekly support meetings at the…the…” his voice cracked again and he bent over in discomfort, his hand briefly resting on his ass cheek before he remembered he was the center of attention.

“You okay?” asked the mayor, with a supportive half smile.

“Uh, yeah, yeah…” said Kel. He paused in confusion at his own voice, suddenly an octave lower. “Just nerves…anyways, if I could just leave you with a few key takeaways for…uh…” another shiver racked his body, and this time the jiggle of his posterior was undeniably something else. Something all too familiar.

The mayor’s dick lurched in anticipation. He was trying to focus on Kel’s comments and not the massive cheeks ballooning behind him, but it seemed his ass would have the last word. Kel’s final thoughts were cut off as the seat of his leggings blew open, each planetoid of his glutes looking even bigger in the open air. A collective gasp filled the room, followed by a smattering of vaguely concerned chuckles and at least one mocking whistle. He was dripping with sweat as he reached around in terror, trying and failing to reunite the sides of his pants as his butt continued to slowly, inexorably expand. Mayor Tan’s powerful glutes twitched at the sight, his taint pulsing in some mixture of arousal, fear, and morbid curiosity.

“Oh no,” his whisper rumbled through the mic, his even deeper voice carrying a note of horrified recognition. Anyone who had seen the videos of the unfortunate cases of unfinished treatment from the mysterious patches from Phantasy Labs knew exactly what was happening. “I, uh, needtogosorry.”

He turned to grab his things, eyes searching for the nearest exit, then was stopped by an even stronger spasm, eliciting a groan that sounded like it was lost somewhere between pleasure and pain. The public comment podium was knocked over as his ass suddenly doubled in size and continued its unrelenting expansion. He stumbled to his knees, then tried to effect a waddling power walk towards the exit sign. He practically fell onto the crash bar as he ducked his head through the frame, crying out in frustration as he found himself having to squeeze through the doorway. His gargantuan cheeks bubbled even further as he got stuck in the door frame, but with one desperate push he was gone, the door closing quickly behind him. 

A soft ding broke the dumbfounded silence in the room as the clock reached 00:00, signaling that Kel’s time was up.

—

“Th…thank you…Kel, I think that concludes the public comment portion…Can someone go check on him?”

The mayor groaned, looking at footage of himself just a few hours earlier struggling to process what had just happened. The incident had quickly gone viral and the image of his stunned face was on the verge of becoming a meme. At least according to his friend Felix who was waiting to pepper him with questions as soon as he entered the locker room of the community center on the north side. He was hoping to blow off some steam with the pickup soccer crew but would have no luck.

“I’m off the clock,” he smirked, munching on a protein bar from his bag. “But you’re more than welcome to call City Hall in the morning for comment.”

“Okay, but what even was that?” begged Felix. “I thought those videos were fake.”

“They are not,” the mayor confirmed with a sigh. He dropped the wrapper onto a growing pile next to his stuff and began inhaling another rectangle of some chocolate-oatmeal-granola concoction that was actually just a sugar delivery system. “At least that one wasn’t.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

Mayor Tan paused, the cerulean half tights resting just below his oversized glutes as he struggled to pull them up. Though he had managed to delay the photoshoot for another few days, he had finally relented and decided to try out Jerry’s suggestion. He wanted his team to feel like their ideas were worth supporting, and besides, the sound of his favorite gym shorts finally giving up could be heard across the locker room just a few minutes earlier, leaving him in nothing but his jock.

“What?! No…” he said, acutely aware that his visible difficulty with getting the leggings over his bubble buns wasn’t helping his case. “I mean…obviously I’ve had the virus, but that,” he pointed to the video on Felix’s phone, “is a different…wrinkle in the situation.”

“More like a tear in the fabric,” Felix winked. “Here, let me help you.”

Wanting to get out to the field, the mayor put his embarrassment aside and let his friend wriggle his fingers under the waistband vacuum sealed to the underside of his cheeks. He began jumping up and down as Felix dragged the tights slowly up, his ass jiggling uncontrollably as he tried to shake it into place.

“Looking good,” admired Felix. He gave an enthusiastic pat to his friend’s backside, marveling at the taut surface of his bodacious butt. “I’d say you could bounce a quarter of that thing, but that would be lethal for bystanders.” 

“Are you done? Is that it for the evening?” The mayor rolled his eyes and turned to the full length mirror nearby. He had grown used to the profile of his juicy shelf filling the space behind him, but still got a shock at how well the fitness gear lifted and rounded his glutes. As if they need any more lifting and rounding, he internally bemoaned. It had long been impossible to hide his giant peach, but at least for a while he could try and get away with getting alterations for his normal clothes. But the nuBum logo printed along his left hip negated the idea that this was just about fashion and not necessity. Having to start shifting his wardrobe to specially made bottoms with double reinforced seams felt like an inflection point. Like he would have to start readjusting more parts of his life that he was trying to ignore. Like he would up like Santi from the library or…Kel, undeniably associated as one of the many severe cases of the virus that the smattering of people from MGHD+ had had the courage to speak up for. 

“I’m serious,” said Felix apologetically. “It’s very fashion forward. Avant garde.”

“Oh please,” Mayor Tan sighed. Reluctantly, he had to agree that they provided much more comfort and support than his bedraggled gym shorts, may they rest in peace. They fit like a second skin. Instead of straining against his cakes, they followed their unique curvature, caressing and lifting with a reliable strength. Felix did have a point, they looked good on him. Once you get over the initial upset of seeing those gravity defying globes, they had a very flattering fit, and even accentuated the curves of his muscular quads and hamstrings. He still felt very on display with this new look, but he could stay on goalie duty to keep out of the spotlight, at least for now. Less running meant less motion from his mesmerizing mammoth behind.

“You know you look good,” Felix chuckled, allowing his hand to rest on the mayor’s expansive upper shelf. He gave a sensuous squeeze, eliciting a gasp from pleasure from his friend.

“Oh yeah?” Mayor Tan’s eyes fluttered and he bit his lip. Bracing one hand against the lockers, he slowly backed his heavy bottom into his friend’s crotch, delighted to feel Felix returning the pressure in kind. He enjoyed their casual dalliances, and especially enjoyed how Felix had become more and more bold as the growth of his glutes progressed. This wasn’t the first time they’d had a locker room quickie, and after the day’s events, the mayor was gravely aware of the near constant pressure in his balls. An increasingly frequent fantasy replayed in his mind of slamming Felix to the wall with his monster booty. He wondered if his cheeks were big enough to pin his friend as he struggled under them.

“You always do,” Felix confirmed. Holding both sides of his curvaceous hips for stability, he carefully leaned in to nip at the mayor’s ear, white hot bulge pressing into his prodigious backside. He moaned into the mayor’s neck, tracing his plump lips along the curves of his traps. He moved to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, but instead muttered, “But don’t be late!” He laughed, a peck on the cheek following a playful swat of the mayor’s ass as he turned to head to the field.

“Oh, fuck you,” the mayor groaned.

“In due time!” Felix called over his shoulder.

I

“My team has been monitoring the situation, and they assure me, there is nothing to worry about at this time. The majority of cases are–”

“Mayor Tan!” came an insistent voice at the back of the press briefing. “Mr. Mayor, have you seen the latest data about infection rates? What’s your response to the uptick we’re seeing in…”

“Ugh, this guy again,” Ana muttered to the lanky man hovering next to her, both of them posted up just off stage.

Her attention could only last so long for this particular reporter who’d been incessantly crying wolf about this mysterious virus for months. She kept her focus on Mayor Tan, her lips moving along with his response, carefully scripted by her.

“Our rapid response team is world class and will move accordingly when specific thresholds are passed, came the mayor’s voice, as if through Ana’s soundless lips. “Until then, we encourage folks to be careful, but currently there is no need to panic.”

“That’s the guy from The Herald, right?” asked Jay, visibly unused to being even proximate to the spotlight. “He’s been maintaining this super useful data viz dashboard keeping track of the outbreak–”

“Not outbreak,” Ana corrected in a harsh whisper. “It is technically not an outbreak. We’re monitoring the situation until we can determine the appropriate designation for the spread of this…medical anomaly. We don’t need some journalist sowing panic before then.”

Jay, a full head taller than his superior, still managed to collapse in on himself under the heat of her side-eye. “I just think,” he stammered under his breath. “I mean, as the Public Health Advisor to the mayor’s office, I have some…concerns…”

“And as the Chief of Staff of the Office of the Mayor, I will let you know if, how, and when your concerns become the mayor’s concerns.” Ana graced him with a half turn of her face and a practiced, professional smile before turning back to the briefing.

“...like I’ve said repeatedly, we will let you know everything we know as we know it,” said Mayor Tan, hands held out in reassurance. “It’s still early days with this situation, and I know we’ve got plenty other things to cover in this briefing. How about one more before we move on to more pressing matters?”

“Mayor Tan,” began a reporter, “your team was still intimating that this was a hoax just last week. Why have you shifted that stance?”

He rested his palms on the podium and chuckled to himself. “I don’t think that’s the word we used, but our team believes in science, not pseudoscience, and we act on concrete data, not social media theories.” He shifted his posture, his fitted suit jacket bunching up over an eye catching posterior on the thirty-five year old politician. “As reliable data becomes available and new…developments occur, we shift our messaging and our strategies.”

Ana whispered along verbatim. She’d been guiding the mayor through his entire political career, knew him better than anyone else at this point. Working class beginnings, son of immigrants, got into a prestigious college, came back to the city to become a community organizer, got a Masters in Public Policy, won a City Council seat through a brilliant grassroots campaign–organized by her–and now sat in the Office of the Mayor. He was starting to get national attention, not just for his policies, but also his engaging demeanor, whip smart discursive abilities, and the toned, 6’0” frame on display during games of pickup soccer at his local community center. He was an eligible bachelor racking up social media views and a humble public servant who still took the bus to City Hall every morning. He was the kind of young, progressive leader that people needed to believe in right now, and both their sights were already set higher.

“I just,” Jay snapped her out of her reverie. “I just think we could be a little more proactive about this.” He showed her his phone, which displayed the latest statistics visualized by The Herald. Her eyes traced a line that had been lazily rolling up over the past several weeks, but was beginning to crook upward at a worrying angle.

“Look,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re taking this seriously, we’re all taking this seriously. But the last thing this city needs is panic over some…BBL virus.”

“That’s not–the official terminology is–”

“Male Gluteal Hyper–yeah yeah yeah, I know,” she said with a subtle, sharp wave of her hand. “I also got that memo. But there’s a lot at play here and a lot at stake. We’re about to get our signature public transport expansion through the council, we’re finalizing contract negotiations with the municipal workers’ union, we’ve almost got the affordable housing plan through the budgetary process. We haven’t even announced the gubernatorial campaign yet and the polls are already showing a tight race. I know you care deeply about this and you’re brilliant at what you do, but so am I. You have to trust me to play this carefully and play it right. Imagine what we could accomplish from the governor’s mansion, let’s not let this…absurd situation derail everything.”

“Yes…yes, ma’am,” said Jay. He refocused on the briefing, the mayor having taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves as he settled into his usual rapport with the press, shifting his hips back as he leaned over the podium. “But do we have a plan in place for…that?” He gestured slightly with his chin to the prodigious bubble butt straining the young mayor’s fitted slacks. 

“For what,” replied Ana with a quirk of her lips. “The Mayor’s last physical was, as you know, just last month, and, as you know, he’s in excellent condition.”

“Yes,” said Jay carefully, “but that physical was several…pant sizes ago.” The mayor was famous for staying physically active and notably in great shape, but his glutes and hamstrings looked disproportionate compared to just a few weeks ago, crammed into a pair of slacks that had already been adjusted multiple times but still looked liable to burst at any second. “Has he been diagnosed yet?”

“Mm mm mm,” Ana playfully scolded, her attention still locked in to the mayor’s practiced responses. “We don’t use that word until we need to. Fluctuations that may or may not happen with the mayor’s weight are not public concern, his personal tailor signed a solid NDA, and besides…” she once again synced up with the mayor as he gave  his parting thoughts and began to walk off stage, carefully controlling his gait to de-emphasize the overdeveloped cheeks switching back and forth behind him.

“The majority of cases are–”

- - - - -

II

“--mild! Mild. I know, I get it, you’ve said that plenty of times.” Devon held his phone at arm’s length out of frustration as the disembodied customer service voice continued to reassure him that there was little to worry about. “Look, I’ve been taking the over the counter meds for three days, and I’m not…” his voice lowered, “I’m not seeing any improvement.”

“We suggest you take those for a week at the onset of symptoms. You started noticing the gluteal swelling three days ago?”

“Closer to three…um…weeks…ago,” he muttered, resting his face in his palm. “I just didn’t know…didn’t think that…didn’t want to…”

“Ask about the clinic!” came his roommate’s voice from the next room.

“Right, the clinic! There’s a clinic, right? Do I need to get a referral?”

“Unfortunately,” responded the voice. “That’s for our more severe cases, and capacity is very limited.”

“Well this case feels pretty severe,” Devon hissed, exasperation entering his voice as he gripped his morning coffee. “I only have so many work from home days and I…” he breathed deep, “I’m ripping through all my office slacks. If I can even get them over my…my–” 

“Yes, well that’s to be expected. There are some great online forums popping up for men with your condition. DIY sewing on the fly, retrofitting your car, fashion inspo, the best supportive accessories, office furniture tips…”

“I don’t think I need to–I just don’t think the…symptoms are weakening. Maybe there’s a stronger treatment?”

A drawn out pause on the other end, until finally a pensive breath out. “Okay. Let me see what I can do. Keep taking the medication and we’ll get back to you.”

Click.

Devon punched the air. He’d accomplished basically nothing but at least he had the illusion of some solution to the hefty buns ballooning behind him. He felt acutely the jiggle of his cheeks as he strolled into the living room, where his roommate, Leo, was reading emails while the local news played in the background.

“...we encourage folks to be careful, but currently there is no need to panic…”

“Since when are they livestreaming the mayor’s press briefings?” asked Devon.

“Since that.” Leo pointed toward the corner of the screen, which featured The Herald’s graph of new cases, ending with that worrying upward curve.

Devon sighed, rested his hands on his oversized glutes. He gave them a squeeze, sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine. “Then I guess it’s fitting I’m working from home again.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah dude, I assumed based on what’s not fitting,” said Leo, holding up the tattered remains of Devon’s pants, strewn angrily to the floor. “Did you get into the clinic?”

“Ugh, no. Maybe? I don’t know. Probably not.” Devon, clad only in striped bikini briefs and a button down, flopped onto the couch harder than expected. “They mostly gave me tips about…retrofitting my car?”

“Oh, I have a cousin that could help with that. He caught it last month right at the beginning of some trip with his friends, then everybody caught it, and they couldn’t find the meds at a pharmacy anywhere until they got back. They almost got in trouble for public indecency on the flight back because none of their pants…you know…anyway, he like, got a more spacious setup installed in his car. It looks pretty sweet.”

Devon groaned.

“But you won’t have to do that!” Leo rubbed his roommate’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I mean, he looked like he was smuggling beach balls last I saw him. You’ll be fine, you’re nowhere near that stage.”

“Not yet,” Devon sighed. Three weeks, he scolded himself. After his pancake butt suddenly started putting on mass after years of working out, those first several days were great. He was riding the high of attention and compliments as his perky bubble butt steadily inflated into a donk. After a week, Leo was the first to suggest that maybe it wasn’t just the new leg day routine causing him to fill out his pants so well. Devon demurred, enjoying his fat ass so much that he didn’t notice the attention begin to shift, the stares taking on a different tone, comments becoming mixed with concern, mockery, lust. By the time he was staring down at a positive test, the melons stretching his briefs to the limit were evidence enough. The hemispheres of his backside were now comical, quickly approaching colossal, and nothing seemed to be slowing them down. If that wasn’t severe enough, what was?

Extricating himself from the couch was becoming an ordeal because of the constant shift of his center of gravity. His cheeks bounced wildly as he shuffled to his room, peeling off the bikini briefs with relief so he could slip into a more comfortable pair of extra spacious harem pants. Before he could open the drawer, his eyes locked on to the ten inch teal tower of floppy silicone cock on top of the dresser.

His back arched in anticipation, hole twitching with need as he fell onto the bed, the globes of his ass jiggling out of control and sending waves of pleasure. Of all his symptoms, the increased sensitivity had hit almost as hard as his skyrocketing libido, leading to a newfound enthusiasm for all manner of large and unique toys. Silver linings, I guess, he said to himself with a wry smile, reaching for the lube.

As he lost himself in a pool of morning pleasure, which, he had to admit, was becoming a more than daily thing, his phone sat abandoned on the kitchen counter. Occluded by his muffled moans face down in his pillow, he couldn’t hear it ring.

- - - - -

III

“Hello Devon, this is Randi–with an i–at Phantasy Labs. I’m following up from your call. We may have an option for cases like yours. One of our satellite clinics opening up is specializing in severe infections that aren’t responding to the over the counter meds. Give me a call when you get a chance!”

Randi tapped her left earbud, ending the call, and–with her most adept customer service face–turned her attention to the man anxiously tapping his fingers along the edge of the reception desk.

“Our favorite reporter, back again,” she beamed. “How can we help The Herald, today?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “The mayor had an impromptu press briefing this morning, I had to run across town. I was supposed to meet with someone from Epidemiology about the latest numbers?”

“As you can imagine, the Epi labs are swamped, but I’ll see if I can get you in.”

“Seems to always be the case,” he sighed. “Would it be possible to talk to someone about your data transparency? Research into the virus is publicly funded, if I’m not mistaken.”

“And we are just so grateful to have the support, trust, and financial partnership of the municipal government to tackle the spread. How about I redirect you to our IP specialists in Legal–”

“No, no, that’s fine!” he exclaimed. “Not again.” For months he’d been a fixture at that reception desk, with limited success in getting through to anyone actually working on epidemiological research or vaccine development. But the legal team was a rabbit hole he didn’t want to go back down.

Randi perked up as the earbud in her left ear pulsed with a lavender and green glow.

“It’s the Office of the Mayor,” she said, holding a finger lightly to the device nestled in her ear. “Official business, you understand.”

“Right. Well, if I could just–”

“I’m really sorry,” she cut him off with the gentlest wave of her hand. “Just give me a few moments. Go ahead and have a seat in the lounge. They just restocked.” She turned away and redirected her attention to the screen built into her side of the desk, tapping lightly as she whispered into the air.

Neil was familiar with every option of coffee, tea, and snacks that Phantasy Labs had to offer, having spent many mornings relegated to the waiting area, acutely aware that he would not be making it past the front desk. They're always changing this place around, he thought, wandering through the curvilinear architecture of the main lobby space. The undulating walls and bulbous pillars always looked strangely organic, as if the space was shifting its shape and growing new structures according to its own logic. It had never looked the same from one week to the next, but he had always managed to find the low seamless coffee table surrounded by oddly plush cushions made of a material he still could not figure out. 

This morning, however, it was nowhere to be found. In the spot where he felt it should be, he saw only a sheet of paper, placed flat on the floor, with an arrow drawn in permanent marker. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He had never seen any sort of analog technology used in this place, let alone pen and paper. Nor had he ever had any encounter here that felt outside the realm of a fully coherent, seamless, organic efficiency. Maybe he was finally getting somewhere.

He looked up to find that the arrow pointed to a smooth, blank wall. As he walked up to investigate, a barely perceptible seam appeared at the height of an average door frame, and the wall unfurled further and further with his proximity. He stepped through, finding himself in the middle of a hallway, the door silently shutting behind him. 

“Well, shit,” he muttered, unable to reopen the portal he just stepped through, or even detect the seam itself. Instead of the glowing dots he was used to leading him along, he saw the same nondescript pieces of paper with carefully drawn arrows, leading him deeper into the maze of the massive facility. “Okay Neil. You’re a journalist, this is what journalists do,” he told himself. He followed the trail of breadcrumbs to–to his relief–an actual door with a real handle, with the word “UTILITY” printed at the top.

He entered to find row after row of closely packed floor to ceiling shelving, full of what looked like all manner of lab equipment, supplies, and meticulously labeled containers. He wandered in, looking for another arrow, eventually beginning to worry as he came to the conclusion that he had gone on this quest for nothing and simply meandered into a supply closet in the middle of a labyrinthine research complex that he may never escape from.

“Hi.” The quiet voice behind him caused Neil to jump, bumping into a drawer of measuring tape. 

Between him and the door was a mousy man holding several sheets of paper, featuring the arrows that had led him here.

“Oh, sorry!” His face a contortion of apology. “Communication is really tight here, I had to find a way to get your attention. I’m Sai,” he added with a helpful smile. He looked like he generally spent most of his waking time in a lab, but the disheveled hair, unkempt stubble, and dark circles under his eyes told Neil he hadn’t gotten much sleep recently, let alone made it home. 

From the waist up, he looked petite enough to shove out of the way in a pinch, but Neil’s gaze immediately fell to the pair of globes hovering behind him, stretching his plaid leggings to the limit, rotund enough to see from the front. His svelte waist ballooned into a pair of gargantuan ass cheeks and thick thighs, so comically hefty they effectively blocked any hope of escape. “You don’t know me. I’m just one of the R&D interns. But some of us have been following your work with the, uh, virus, and…could we, um, talk?”