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Old 12-09-2016, 04:03 PM   #1
biglad
 
Join Date: Jul 2014
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Default University life by Biglad [BHM, BBW]

~BHM, ~BBW, Sport, Romance – A young couple begin to gain together, accidentally.

University Life

By biglad




Graduating high school with good grades, even an A or two, saw me into Uni to do marketing. Boring I know but I felt like I could make money in the profession. That summer I only worked a couple days a week, at Starbucks. The rest of it I spent partying and hitting the gym. I swum, ran and kicked a ball around. If there's one thing I love its Football. Or Soccer to you Americans. I shagged plenty of girls and had a summer revelling IN my success.

In September I was headed up past Manchester to a Northern Uni, near to the Scottish border. I was so nervous the whole drive up. I had been randomly assigned a student flat on campus with three other people. My parents couldn’t be prouder. I wanted to join the football team but I also wanted to try out all the new societies too. Cooking, French, Politics. I didn’t care I’d try them all. But most of all I wanted to party, I wanted to drink and I wanted to bring girls back to the flat.

Eventually, after a long drive, just as dusk began to take hold the signs to the town reached single digits in miles. I was thankful we’d only been driving up from outside Birmingham and not further south. We collected my key and ten drove over to my building. I got out and stretched my toned legs. I’m pretty proud of my bod but I never really work at it. Fuck dieting and fuck exercise plans. I like the gym but there’s no way I’d give up chicken nuggets.

My folks helped me move my stuff in and I introduced them to Sara, Mark and Becky. Turns out Becky had moved up here with her boyfriend and shed be spending most of her time with him. Why she got her own room I don’t know. She did fashion, Mark did police stuff and Sara did some kind of acting course. If you called it acting to her face, though, she threw a fit.

I saw my parents off and we began the celebration. I cracked open my cider and got going. We grabbed flat 25 from next door [we’re in 26] and spent the rest of the afternoon and night drinking then hit a club. The dancing was great. I love the physicality of it, brushing up against other people shaking your stuff. I got lucky with a couple of girls and partied till lights up.
On the way back I hit a takeaway joint, Aladdins, grabbed a 14 inch pepperoni and some nuggets.

I woke up on the kitchen floor with my head in an empty pizza box stinking of nuggets. It was the perfect night.
I hit the shower, running water through my spiky brunette hair. I admired my svelte 11 stone body in the mirror. Six foot dead and 160 pounds. I was at my fighting weight. I went into the kitchen and decided coffee was needed.
Onn the way to collect my mail from the communal mail box downstairs I saw her for the first time. She had short blonde hair, dyed, and big wide doe eyes. She was nearly my height and she was clearly athletic. “Uhh hi hows it going” I mumbled.
“Alright. I’m Karen. I do geography.”
“I’m Ben. I do marketing. “

And we started chatting. We ended up spending the rest of the day together. She even hit mine for the second party of freshers week. As the week went by we bonded and had our first drunken kiss the day before classes. I even managed a handful of boob.

I joined the rugby and football team, playing winger on both teams. I made good friends in the classroom and on the pitch. I was in the second team, out of five, in football but in rugby I was put in the group that took it the least seriously. The thirds. The lads that liked to drink, to chuck a ball around and score with chicks. Fitness here wasn’t a requirement. I got on really well with Joe Lahmer. He had to be over 20 stone, which is almost 300 pounds. Unable to run at any great pace he nevertheless kept the scrum going.

A couple of weeks into October I weighed myself. 165. I thought nothing of it but Karen made a few cracks. I didn’t care, I was too busy enjoying uni.As I we were shagging later I was pretty sure I wasn't the only one had let go a bit. The worst thing was we shagged while waiting for delivery. Chicken nuggets of course. I should've noticed the warning signs then!
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Old 12-21-2016, 03:59 PM   #2
Buck Lee
 
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Promising start, looking forward to more. Nice to have a British story.
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Old 12-23-2016, 11:53 AM   #3
strataadvance
 
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I like this. You turn a phrase well enough to make for a pleasant reading experience.
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Old 12-26-2016, 06:28 AM   #4
biglad
 
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Part two


The rugby and football kits were similar, though different material, and were coloured white and red. Practice for football was on Mondays and Thursdays. Rugby was on Tuesdays. Being in the bottom rugby group meant only one practice session was needed. Attendance was irregular and I spent most of my time chatting with Joe Lahmer. He even lit up a cigarette after a particularly strenuous light jog around the field, stomach wobbling. A cigarette!
The guys had to give Joe a nickname and he became Joel because we already had Joe Stevens on the teams.

Games for football were on Wednesday. Rugby games were played on the weekend.Throw in work and uni and it was a lot to do. I was always rushing about. I took first year so much more seriously than I had to but then everybody does. Friday I only had one class and spent the rest of it working at Starbucks. It still left me time to hit the clubs several nights a week and do assignments on the weekend. I was the ultimate juggler.

The thing that suffered wasn't my sleep or even my work. No it was my diet. Takeaways, crisps, skipping meals and drinking booze instead of having dinner all contributed in a total collapse of my diet. I was partying and fucking anyone. Karen and I had a no-strings attacheddeal. Girls in clubs loved my rugged physique especially my bicep-hugging t-shirts.

I was pretty happy to go along with guys as well. That one time I went out to Manchester's gay village I got fantastic head. Blonde guy with the most incredible tongue. Guys just know what other guys want I guess. I thrust into that wet heat until I just couldn't anymore.

I thought, naively sure, that all the time spent on the pitch meant I could swap the gym for chips or curry. But my weight held pretty steady at 165, sometimes up and sometimes down. I always felt better standing next to Joel. The guy lived off beer, bacon and Chinese food. Getting changed next to him was always distracting for me. His huge gut should have made him useless on the field. He was actually quite effective when he could muster the fitness to play. During games he struggled to run down the 70 metre pitch.

Lasting eighty minutes, rugby games tended to last too long for Joel. Chain-smoking cigarettes during the half-time break couldn't have helped. He'd lumber off the field, sweat pouring off him and collapse onto the bench. Joel came into his own on nights out. Eight pints were him just warming up. I'd see him time it right and do fourteen. He'd be fine the next day. Incredible.

But my dreadful eating habits were taking their toll on my general fitness too. I had lost a bit of pace on the football pitch. I could get away with it during the rugby game but not when playing football. Coach noticed and told me to improve. I worked harder at practice but eating according to some stupid plan is ridiculous. And so the weight kept coming.

On one rugby team meal out, funded by the uni, only eight of us turned up. Deadlines, weekends home and being hungover meant out rugby social lacked numbers. It was scheduled for a Wednesday in late November after my football team played. We played at home and won! I was wicked hungry. The plan for the social was to go to a pizza place, then a pub and then a club. The pizza was free. And there were ten between the whole team but it was just us! Twelve fourteen inch pizzas between eight people plus garlic bread to share. Most of them wit between eight people plus garlic bread to share.

Joe 'Calculator' Stevens, who does maths, figured out that it was 21 inches each.

Like the Hunger Games, one by one we stopped. I stopped for a break after one pizza. Joel cleaned up after all of us. He laughed at me, saying:

"Fucking hell mate, only one pizza? Weak effort. You'll never get to my size if you don't up your game." In response I reached for the final box, and started shoving pieces into my mouth. Joel just laughed. I just about managed my 21 inches. Joel, somehow, put away 30.

If you ever ate a joint meal with Joel you had to be quick. He'd clean out the buffet. Later that night we hit the clubs till the lights came up. Eight pints in I was pretty stumbly. I managed to procure a large chips and nuggets combo box on the way home. I lay in bed drunkenly shoving the spicy chicken into mouth. The juice dribbled down my chin and got all over my hands but it tasted so good. Sometimes you just need nuggets, you know?

As we rolled into December I began to realize that getting back down to 160 would be tricky. Last time I'd weighed myself I'd been almost 170. I was looking forward to going home for Christmas. Free washing machine and a full kitchen. I got on a train on the 15th, ready for a month of relaxing. But without my regular training hours the weight poured on. My previously fast metabolism, already at breaking point, finally snapped.

The first night I got in I was welcomed by a rich home cooked meal. Chicken, potatoes, carrots and Yorkshire pudding. I lay, almost comatose after seconds and thirds, on the couch watching Driving Miss Daisy. The film was much better than I thought but reaching for the remote was beyond me.Occasionally I'd reach down with the spoon to snag more chocolate chip ice cream. I put away almost two pints. And so it went on. I drank heavily, had lazy days and the only exercise I got was walking the dog.

When my brother Robbie got home from work he'd always make a comment. I'd developed a pooch. My parents were total free spirits, they wouldn't have cared if I had run away to join the circus. Robbie had graduated two years ago and now worked from home. It saved on costs but, like me, he'd put on a few pounds. He'd always been a shade above him, roughly at 180 but now looked to be over 200.

I'd never been bigger than him but having grown to 6'1 and 175 pounds I was getting closer.

Christmas day came. Books, money, CD's and a few new Xbox games. It was a decent haul. After a full English breakfast fry up in the morning, I was ready for Christmas lunch. Turkey, roast potatoes, carrots swimming in juice, beers, bread, lashings of gravy, sausages and chicken. I had seconds. Robbie gave me a look and took seconds too. I knew the look. It was suddenly a competition.

I was on my sixth bottle of beer which only fuelled my competitive spirit. He uncorked number six himself and I knew it was on.

We both went hard, shovelling chicken and turkey into our mouths. I went into game mode, like on the football pitch. The rich, butter soft potatoes slide down nice and easy, followed by sausages and greasy carrots.

I took thirds. My parents had already gone upstairs to nap. I watched Robbie, finish his seconds as I was tucking into thirds. I had the edge. Downing the rest of my beer I reached for number seven. Twenty-four beers in the box, twelve each for me and Robbie. But if I finished twelve before he did,well you can bet I was going to take his.

I discarded my cutlery and just went for it. Picking up fistfuls of roast potatoes, I began inhaling them at record speed. Grunting and panting I fixed Robbie with a glare. I only paused to reach down underneath my growing overhang and relieve my overexerted trouser button and zipper. My trousers fell open and my gut slipped out a little.

Robbie matched me on the thirds. But he was nearing breaking point. He tried to go with the knife and fork but soon realized it was helpless. My good shirt was covered in gravy, cranberries and carrot juice. Looking him right in the eye I grabbed fourths. My shirt felt real tight but I was going to outdo him. I'm was onto beer number nine and he was struggling with his seventh. He was faltering, awed by my piglike ability to feast.

I rip off my dress shirt, and continue to shovel food into my mouth. Uncomfortably full now, it's all about pride. Robbie didn't get to four. He slumps back in his chair, defeated. But he can't take his eyes off my gluttony. I finish the sausages and potatoes. The turkey is mostly gone. To cap it off I reach over and finish off his third helpings he couldn't quite put away.
My face is covered in grease and food. My vest is stained and being tested by my Christmas gut. I'm getting turned on by my disgusting greed, my cock at half-mast. Poke me with a pin and I'd fucking pop. I down beer ten and crack open number eleven.

Robbie can't move. Luckily in our family there's a tradition of waiting an hour between dinner and dessert. He's even falling behind on the beers. I chug down my tenth and belch loudly. He challenged me and I dominated him. I look a fucking mess. Covered in food, grease and sweat, victory has never felt so good.

By the time my parents come down I'm cleaned up and I've gotten through fifteen beers. My weak older brother only managed ten. Just to prove my point I make sure to have three helpings of Christmas pudding, replete with custard and ice cream. Plus two slices of the lemon pie also on offer. Robbie looks on in awe, terrified awe. But I have paid a heavy price for my gluttony.

I get to bathroom, cum in two strokes because I'm so fucking turned on by my greed. All I can do after that is lie on the sofa, watching movies. Drunk, bloated and beached,I can't move. And the next day the scale read 183. And my BMI was quickly approaching the overweight mark.

I could have stopped. I could have gone out jogging and fixed it. Instead the next morning I had full fat milk in my coffee, bacon and cereal. I decided I had to go clothes shopping, during the boxing day sales because nothing fits quite like it used to. I went up a couple of sizes. But the holiday wasn't over.

The week long torrential rain combined with my lack of job meant I turned into a total cow, lying around constantly grazing. I hooked up with my mates and fucked the odd girl at a house party but I was loving the lazy lifestyle. Davo, my mate from down the road was amazed that I had put on 20 pounds. He said: " I warned you about the metabolism. It's a neat trick how you can still pull the girls at parties." He followed it up by patting my paunch.

By the time I got back to uni on the 17th, I was sitting comfortably at 185ish. I often lied and said 175. But I was not alone. Karen had always been 135. Three nights of gym a week plus football training. She played right-back on the uni team. But I had been a bad influence and Christmas had done her no favours. I reassured her 150 was no big deal. I slowly reached under her top and stroked her boobs. I loved how soft she was. Things progressed and she ended up lying down on her bed, naked. She was beautiful- soft but still fairly defined and lots more flesh to work with.

Her cunt was damp and I enthusiastically went to work, licking into her heaving pussy. I tongued her clit gently, almost as if I was tickling her. Karen bucked into it. I forcefully spread her legs and dived in. I knew I was doing well because she was panting and moaning like a bitch in heat. I took two fingers and began to massage her clit which by now was soaking.

I pushed three fingers in deep and she began to lose it. Her stomach wobbled as she begged for more. She was arching into my touch and I knew I had to do it then. I reached for a condom, and in 30 seconds I was pushing roughly into her pussy. I was losing control, erratic thrusts. I licked at her nipples and then began to bite her neck. I arched and writhed and finally came. I felt her suddenly stop and then she blew like a fucking volcano. She'd been on a dry spell. But not anymore. We had a nap and then ordered a pizza to celebrate our reunion.

I wasn't the only one during football practice who struggled with Christmas weight gain. The first session was a disaster. But if I thought that session was bad, it was nothing compared to the rugby session.
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Old 02-21-2017, 01:30 PM   #5
biglad
 
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Part 3


I knew it was bad when Calculator, one of our centres, had put on weight. The rest of us were a joke. None of us had been to a gym for weeks or done anything except lie around eating. None of us had thrown a rugby ball since December. Some of us were hungover. Luckily coach didn’t care. He would get paid regardless so this was just fun for him.

Monday night was one of the best nights to go out on the town, meaning Tuesday practices were never going to be perfect.

Joe Lahmer, or Joel because who said a nickname had to be creative, had reached a size where weight gain and loss were never apparent. But the six foot four forward had, at the age of just 19, cracked 23 stone. 330 pounds of pure fat. His jersey, an xl, was working as hard as he was on the pitch.
He appeared to roll when he had the ball in hand. He was very hard to stop and was always at the front of our maul. He became a focal point of attack.

Looking at him freaked me out. I went on a crash diet and hit the gym hard. I was scared to get that big, apprehensive.

I knew I wanted it but I also wanted to be fit and attractive.
So for eight weeks I worked out in the gym. Running, lifting and cycling. I did two hours three nights a week, trained hard and went from 190 down to 170. Of course my crash diet also helped. I had my fitness back and I knew I could soon get back to 165. But I hated every minutes of it. Even showing off on social media was meh. And boiled vegetables? Fucking terrible.

But it worked and it was all going great until, In March, a freak accident occurred. I was running down the football pitch, revelling in my newfound speed, when a tackle came in. It was two footed, high, and dangerous. Straight red card. Unfortunately, SNAP! My ankle broke and broke badly. I got a high ankle sprain. Doesn’t sound so bad right? Wrong. My fibula was gone. I spent the night in hospital. Thank god for free healthcare.

Of course, I wasn’t to know then just how big a turning point in my life that would be.
The season was wrapping up. I attended the rest of the rugby and football games. But I pretty much called my season right there. I had just about managed to keep my eating under control, especially with a heavy exercise regime. But when my ankle went, so did my gym habits. I didn’t practice. I didn’t run. I didn’t even lift. At first it wasn’t so bad. I managed to stay at 170 pounds for a while but it started to creep up, to 170.

The first few pounds were gradual but they had opened the floodgates. I spent the time I had been in the gym I now spent in the pub or watching TV. I partied hard and, apart from working on the ankle, became totally inactive.
Neil, my backup winger, had picked up a lingering thigh injury. We hung out a lot, moaning about injuries and ordering pizza. That didn’t help.

It felt fantastic, a relief. Suddenly it was summer time. I had a 2:1, a second from university. I had a job working in retail. During the summer my active outdoorsy lifestyle couldn’t hold back my dreadful diet.

Whenever the gang went to a restaurant I always ate the most. Last summer a burger would've done it. Now it has to be a burger, large fries and a starter.

Davo always made it a point to laugh and poke my burgeoning gut. He would slap my heavy belly and ask when the due date was. That summer I got a job in retail and I cycled plenty. I actually felt really good. But my ankle still troubled me.

Robbie, now ensconced in the family home, had got a girlfriend and another 15 pounds on his gut. Now pushing 220 pounds he really stood out in the family photos.

When I got back to uni, Karen had given up football to focus on geography. She was pretty big when I saw her in September. I had fun ploughing her fat ass. Her tits jiggled and bounced as she panted with the exertion of it. I was going full tilt, pushing roughly into her tight ass. I could feel how soft she was, how soft she was getting. I felt so powerful. We feel asleep wrapped round each other.

When I got to practice coach had some tough words for me. He said, “your ankle is going to hold you back from performing on the first team. We’ll try you out on the third’s. If you can show us you’re fine you can move up. Stay as a winger.”
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