BHM Big Shot (BHM, WG, Stuffing)

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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
A film director gains weight and possibly a sense of humility and the importance of loving other people. Or maybe it’s just weight.

Cinephilia! Erotic same sex friendship! Greasy food! Ambiguous 1960 70s 80s Hollywood setting! This one has it all, folks.

Quick notes-no wg in this chapter, it’s set up.
-There’s a character who’s implied to have an eating disorder, so if that doesn’t float your boat, now you know-t.

Big Shot
by Shh! Don't tell!

“Look at this,” Isaiah Resnik announced as he entered the set. “Liam, you won’t believe this. Look.” Isaiah pulled his tee shirt up, revealing his lean olive-skinned midsection. “Pretty neat, huh?”

Liam McAllister, the writer and producer of the film that Resnik was directing, gazed at his friend’s flat stomach and prominent ribs with confusion. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

Isaiah sighed a huge huffing sigh. “You can see my abs! Look!” Isaiah sucked in and stuck out his midsection to show how the muscles moved under the skin. Liam could, indeed, see his abs. It was a strange sight.

Liam was used seeing Isaiah with a slightly protruding belly. When they met a few months previously, back when Liam had been looking for a director, it had been straining the buttons on his shirt and amplifying his already larger then life presence. With his loud, rough voice and his way of gesticulating as he spoke and his big ideas and his I’ve-got-more-important-things-to-do-then-worry-about-how-I-look paunch, he’d seemed to take up half the room. Liam had noticed that Isaiah had been losing weight during the busy, draining shoot, but he hadn’t realized quite how much he’d lost until now.

“It’s all this travel. I always end up losing weight when I travel,” Isaiah said proudly, pulling his shirt down and tucking it back into his pants. “I haven’t been able to see my abs since high school.”

“I haven’t been able to see my abs ever in my life,” joked Liam nervously. He wasn’t sure what to say-anything he did say seemed more likely to make the situation worse then better. Isaiah was a good director-he’d scooped up a little golden statue for it the year before-but he was, to put it lightly, an intense person. Many people would be less flattering in their description. “Isaiah Resnik is an asshole,” an actor who’d worked with him had once said bluntly during an interview. Resnik’s fits of rage were the stuff of Hollywood legend and if he was insecure about his body, then Liam thought that it might be safest to not comment on it at all. “Are we still planning on doing that shot from above as Jack enters?”

Isaiah nodded. “Yes. Like he’s being watched.”

Liam let out a huge internal sigh of relief. He’d successfully changed the topic. Thank Christ.

Liam watched as Isaiah paced the set, ordering people around. He really was looking thin-his face was angular in a way it hadn’t been a month ago and his eyes looked sunken behind his glasses. Why did he show me his stomach? Liam wondered. Was he trying to impress me?

“Get that boom out of the fucking frame!” Isaiah bellowed. “No, I said out of the frame. There you go. It only took you five fucking tries. Sound on!”

Over the next days, Isaiah didn’t talk about his weight. Liam didn’t bring it up either, but he watched Isaiah closely, trying to divine the meaning of the strange interaction they’d had. “Hey, Isaiah,” Liam asked one day after they’d finished shooting a scene. “Feel like grabbing lunch?”

“Nah,” said Isaiah.” I need to make some phone calls.”

“You sure? I’m gonna get pizza.”

Isaiah wrinkled his nose. “Pizza in L.A. is crap. Come to Chicago some time and we can get actual pizza.”


It became a routine. Hey-let’s get burgers. No, I’m too busy.Let’s get go to the diner, they have good French onion soup. Do I look like an old man? Why the fuck would I want soup? You don’t have to get soup. Well, aren’t you a fucking genius. You should win a noble prize.

“You know,” said Liam, “you’d probably be less grouchy if you ate lunch.”

Isaiah shot him a scalding look. “I’m not grouchy. I’m fucking pissed off because I’m trying to make your movie as good as it deserves to be and nobody around here can do anything right. Listen- I love your screenplay. I love your mind. But if you say something that dumb ever again, I can’t talk to you anymore.” And with that pronouncement, he stormed off. His legs, thought Liam, looked like twigs.

Okay. So Isaiah wouldn’t eat. What did it really matter? The shoot was going well, They were getting great footage. Liam was a writer and no stranger to doing silly artistic things that were bad for his health-he’d chain-smoked and drank cup after cup of coffee while writing the novel their movie was based on. Isaiah was a grown man. If he didn’t want to eat, why was it any of Liam’s business?

So the weeks went on and Isaiah got thinner and acted angrier and more erratic and Liam pretended not to see it happening. When Isaiah punched a new hole in his belt with a spare nail so that his pants wouldn’t fall down, Liam didn’t say anything. When Isaiah wobbled where he stood and had to put out a hand to steady himself on a nearby table, Liam didn’t say anything.

One day, Isaiah was in a particularly foul mood. He screamed at the actors until his voice went hoarse and Liam’s ears rang with the sound. Liam, the good cop of their filmmaking duo, walked up to him, hoping to diffuse the situation. He lightly put a hand on his shoulder to try and stop the onslaught. Isaiah whipped around to look at him, furious, ready to attack. “What is it?” Isaiah hissed.

“Isaiah,” Liam whispered. “That’s enough. Let’s take a break. Come with me for a walk.”

Isaiah scowled. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. I need to talk to you.”

Isaiah’s mouth twisted, but he nodded. “Alright. Fifteen minutes.”

Jack, their poor traumatized lead actor, mouthed “Thank you” at Liam from over Isaiah’s shoulder.

“So, what’s the problem?” Isaiah asked once they were outside.

“There’s no problem,” said Liam. “I just wanted to talk to you. You, um-“

Isaiah frowned. “I what?”

“You need to ease up on people a little. You can’t yell like that for like thirty minutes. It tires everyone out and it doesn’t help us get through the shoot.”

Liam thought that Isaiah would blow up in his face, but he didn’t. “Okay,” said Isaiah. “I’ll keep the yelling to a five minute at a time maximum. Happy?”


“Great,” said Isaiah. “Is that all?”

Liam hesitated a moment. “No,” he said. “I wanted to ask you about why you won’t eat anything.”

Isaiah shrugged. “I’m fucking busy.”

“You,” Liam spoke carefully, weighing each word before he said it. “You don’t seem like you feel well. Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

“No.” Isaiah had swollen purple circles under his eyes, Liam noticed. “I feel fine.”

“Are you sleeping enough?”

“You’re like my mom,” Isaiah rolled his eyes.

“If you really don’t have time to eat, I can bring you snacks during the shoot.”

Isaiah snorted-it sounded more amused then angry, which seemed to be a good sign. Liam went on.

“Look, Isaiah, I know this isn’t my business, but I can tell something’s not right.” Liam frowned. “And, you know what, forgot what I said about it not being my business! When you come to set like this, it affects the actors, it affects the crew, it affects everyone. You owe it to all of us to take better care of yourself. And, even if the movie wasn’t happening, if you were just my friend instead of my director and I saw this going on, I would step in. You’re not taking care of yourself. You need to eat. You need to sleep.”

“I don’t need to do anything!” spat Isaiah. “I do my job! I’m fucking great at it.”

“Isaiah, if you don’t come eat lunch with me and then go home and take a nap,” Liam paused, summoning his courage. “I’ll fire you.”

Isaiah snorted. “Sure.”

Liam crossed his arms. “I will.”

“Obviously you won’t.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Liam admitted. “But I will cut that scene with the closet.”

“You can’t do that! I’m the director.”

“I can and I will, unless you come get some food with me and then go get some rest.”

The two men stared each other down for a moment. Finally, Isaiah sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “If it really matters that much to you.”
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
Forty minutes later, the actors had all been sent home and the two men were sitting in a wonderfully greasy little hole in the wall joint that served good artery clogging fare.

“That thing about the closet scene was low of you,” said Isaiah, looking over the menu. The two of them had bickered throughout the production over including the scene-Liam argued that it was distastefully violent, while Isaiah thought it provided necessary characterization for the film’s villin.

“I had to get through to you somehow,” Liam replied. “You need to take better care of yourself. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like shit.”

“I’ve always looked like shit. It’s called being ugly.”

“No, I mean you look sick. You look like an ad for a Red Cross fundraiser.” Liam crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “And you’re not ugly.”

Isaiah sighed. “Whatever. I’ve just been too busy to eat as much as usual, but if you want to make a whole thing out of it, I guess I can’t stop you. You wanna see me eat? Fine. Wish granted. Hey!” He yelled. “What do we have to do to get some service around here?”

A frightened young waitress scurried over to the pair.

“I got a question,” Isaiah said. “What should I order if I want to convince this nosy asshole that I’m not starving myself?”

“What?” squeaked the girl. She was very pretty, Liam noticed, probably an aspiring actress.

“What’s the biggest thing on the menu?”

“Um. There’s the Meatzilla. It’s a pound of bacon and two pounds of beef on a bun with onion rings, fries, and cheese-stuffed tater-tots on the side. It’s free if you finish it in 30 minutes,” said the waitress.

“Perfect. I’ll get that.”

“Isaiah, what the hell?” laughed Liam.

“What? First I’m not eating enough for you and now I’m eating too much? Oh, and I’ll get a chocolate milkshake too.”

“You’re insane,” snorted Liam. “And also a contrarian. I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries.” He was mostly just happy that Isaiah was eating something. Who cared if he wanted to be a jackass and give himself a stomach-ache eating three pounds of meat?

Liam’s food came out quickly along with Isaiah’s milkshake. The poor waitress looked scared out of her wits as she told Isaiah that his food would be a few more minutes. Liam made a mental note to give her a nice tip. He started eating and watched as Isaiah took a sip of his milkshake, which was so thick that the straw stood up on it’s own. Isaiah nodded happily as he swallowed.

“’S good,” he said. “I’m going to kill this thing in thirty minutes. Watch and be amazed.”

“You’re gonna barf if you eat all that.”

“No I’m not, because before I lost weight I ate like a fucking pig.” Isaiah patted his flat abdomen. “My stomach can handle a lot of abuse. Also, I’m not a fucking pussy and it takes more then a little bacon to make me barf. You might barf watching me. You’re kind of sensitive.”

Before Liam could think of a response to this, Isaiah’s order arrived. It was an idiotic quantity of food.

“Oh yeah,” Isaiah said. “This is nothing. You’re gonna eat your words McAllister.”

“Timer starts now,” said the waitress.

Isaiah picked up the sandwich, but half the bacon fell out the back.

“Maybe you should cut it into pieces,” suggested Liam as Isaiah took a bite so large that he resembled a snake unhinging it’s jaw.

“Shu u’!” Said Isaiah through a massive bite of meat and grease and bread. “Mmm. That’s actually really fucking delicious.” He took another bite before swallowing the first and tried to speak at the same time. What he said was indecipherable but almost certainly some sort of vulgarity.

Liam watched, slightly horrified but fascinated, as Isaiah wolfed down food at a ridiculous pace. His sunken cheeks bulged and his adam’s apple bobbed. Ten minutes in and all of the bread was gone. He’d made a serious dent in the meat, but there looked to still be about half left, as well as the pile of fried sides. Isaiah took a sip of his melting milkshake.

“You should drink water if you’re trying to finish it,” offered Liam.

“Bite me,” snapped Isaiah. “I’ll do what I want.”

He dug back into the meat with a fork, steadily and mechanically stabbing the food, chewing, and swallowing. He didn’t seem to be slowing, thought Liam. Maybe he could actually do it. He looked determined and not obviously nauseated. Chew, swallow. Chew, swallow.Within a few minutes, a third of the remaining meat was gone. Less then a pound left, thought Liam. He glanced at Isaiah’s face.

Isaiah wasn’t looking so hot. He was sweating and behind his golden-brown complexion, his face looked bloodless. Listlessly, he picked at the remaining meat. He made a strange smacking sound with his lips.

“I’m gonna finish it,” he said defensively.

“I didn’t say anything,” said Liam.

“You thought it,” Isaiah said, picking up an onion ring. He chewed slowly and swallowed painfully. He sipped water.He picked up a handful of tots and shoved them into his mouth. Another torturous swallow. “Did you really tell me I should go take a nap earlier, or was I hallucinating?”

“I did. You look tired.”

“I’m gonna actually need one after this,” Isaiah fiddled with his belt, loosening it a notch. Back in the original notches, not the nail-punched one, noted Liam. Isaiah’s belly looked very distended. It wasn’t the fat lower tummy he’d had before he’d lost weight-he was still very thin-but his bloated stomach pushed out his abdomen visibly. “This is a lot of fucking food,” Isaiah remarked, seeming a little surprised. He slowly munched up the onion rings, then looked at the clock. Just ten minutes left. Isaiah attacked the meat again.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” said Liam. “This is kind of the opposite of what I wanted when I asked you to eat.”

“That’s kind of why I did it. Can’t tell me what to do.” Isaiah thumped his chest with a fist and burped wetly. “Ah. That’s much better.”

He dug into the meat with renewed gusto. Half the remaining meat disappeared. Half of that. Just a few bites left. Gone.

“Ha!” said Isaiah, shoveling a medley of tater-tots and fries into his mouth. One last big swallow and the Meatzilla was finished with one minute to spare. The waitress took a Polaroid for the wall.

Isaiah turned to Liam and pulled up his shirt to reveal his round belly. “Look at this,” he crowed. “Touch it. Come on, do it.”

Liam touched, below the shallow navel and above the line of black curlies going down into Isaiah’s pants. His belly was hard as a rock and warm to the touch. Liam withdrew his hand and Isaiah pulled his shirt back down, grinning smugly.

“You wanted me to eat? I ate.” Isaiah smacked his stomach with one hand and it made a solid thunk sound.

“I’m just happy you ate something, even if you did it in a way that’s intended to spite me,” said Liam. “I don’t want to control you. I just want you to be healthier.”

“Healthier? I just ate three pounds of meat!”

“Well, it’s better then eating nothing.”

“That’s pretty debatable.” Isaiah sipped a little milkshake before pushing it away with a quiet, nauseated belch. “You’re really concerned about my health?”

“Yeah. You gotta promise me you’ll start eating more. I mean, not this much, obviously. But more then you have been in general. We’ve still got like a month of shooting and then post production.” Liam put a hand on Isaiah’s arm. “Keep your strength up for me, okay? You’ve been getting so thin. I’ll be honest, it scares the hell out of me. I like you too much to let you do that to yourself. Please, Isaiah, I’m not trying to piss you off.”

Isaiah looked into his eyes, and then nodded. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” said Liam. Isaiah burped, wincing.“‘Scuse me,” he mumbled sheepishly.

Even though the Meatzilla was free, Liam left a tip that was twice it’s price anyway. After Isaiah spent a solid ten minutes in the bathroom, the two went off, Isaiah waddling a little and cradling his stomach. Liam drove Isaiah home, where he immediately lay down on the couch.“Get some rest,” Liam ordered.

“Fine, but only to get you to stop giving me grief about it,” Isaiah mumbled, eyelids drooping. In his postprandial stupor, his face looked much more peaceful then usual. He wasn’t grimacing or yelling and his greasy mouth hung slightly slack. He was sort of handsome, Liam realized, when his face wasn’t contorted with rage.

“See you tomorrow,” said Liam.

“See ya,” murmered Isaiah, eyes closed and one hand resting on his full belly.
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
Isaiah blearily opened his eyes to see that there was pale blue light streaming in through the windows. I must have fallen asleep on the couch, he thought, looking down at his fully clothed body and distended stomach. The previous day’s events returned to him. Liam asking why he wasn’t eating, ending the shoot early, the incident with the Meatzilla. Ugh. The whole thing made him feel sick, and not just because his intestines were crammed full.

Why did Liam have to ask him, in such a heartfelt tone of voice, if he was feeling well? Didn’t he understand that he was Isaiah Resnik, the biggest asshole in a city of assholes? Nobody had spoken to Isaiah that way since he was a child and hadn’t yet learned how protect himself with a shield of cruelty and rudeness. How dare Liam touch his hand gently and tell him he was worried about him? Nobody did that. He’d thought putting on that gross display with the sandwich would scare Liam away, but instead he’d just looked at him with those pale brown eyes and said he was glad he’d eaten. What kind of saintly asshole could take all the vitriol and nastiness Isaiah had to give and, in return, make him promise to take better care of his health and drive him home? The Liam McAllister kind, apparently. The whole thing had left Isaiah confused and slightly embarrassed. Just then, his bowels churned ominously. “Fuck,” he hissed as he sprang up and dashed for the bathroom.

After answering nature’s call, he stripped off his dirty clothes from the day before, brushed his teeth and shaved. “Ugly motherfucker,” he muttered to himself as he looked into the mirror. A bespectacled, wild-eyed man with thick lips, a weak chin, narrow shoulders, and a bloated belly like a cat with worms leered back at him.

He wasn’t starving himself like Liam said he was, Isaiah thought. Actresses starve themselves. Models starve themselves. Sad musicians with homosexual proclivities starve themselves. Ugly, mean men who are on the judging side of the camera don’t. If some other guy who looked and acted like him confessed that he was starving himself because he thought he was fat, Isaiah would laugh in his face. Tentatively, he stepped on the bathroom scale. 133.4. Up a pound and a half. Given what he’d eaten the previous day, he’d seemed to have gotten off easy. Shit most of it out, I guess, he thought.

He’d lost a bunch of weight, he wouldn’t contest that. During the month’s he’d spent shooting, he’d been too busy to eat until dinner most days. The softness he’d carried around his middle, the evidence of his love of anything oily and salty, had melted away. It was nothing to sneeze at either-more than fifty pounds in a little less than a year.

If he forced himself to confront his feelings, his losing weight might have had something do with getting dumped by the only long term girlfriend he’d ever had. When he talked about it, he said they mutually decided to stop being together, but it was a lie. She had dropped him hard. He’d called her thirty times in two days until she picked up and threatened to take out a restraining order against him. Two and half years wasted. Whatever.

He hadn’t really minded being heavier when they were together, but afterward it was as though a switch had flicked in his head. His well-fed little pot belly (which used to bump up against his girlfriends flat, toned stomach in such a sensual way as he thrusted into her, mm) was suddenly terribly offensive to him. Disgusting, he’d thought a few days after the break up, turned sideways in the mirror.

Isaiah looked at his thinner profile before stepping in the shower. The remaining bloat would go away in a day or so, but it bothered him a little. Strangely, he was feeling hungry. The large amount of food the previous day seemed to have woken up his appetite. He’d slept better then usual too, even it was on the couch. Passed out around 7, up at 5-that was ten hours, he thought with amazement as he scrubbed his ass with a loofah. He’d usually only got four hours a night, if that.

After his shower, he dressed and made some tea. He usually took it black and called that breakfast, but as he took a sip of the strong, bitter tea he was hit by an intense pang of hunger. He scowled. He’d just have to deal with it. Isaiah headed off to the set, ignoring his growling stomach.

“Good morning,” said Liam from his chair as Isaiah entered the soundstage.

“Heya,” said Isaiah.

“I brought you a muffin,”Liam held up a grease-stained brown paper bag. He looked so caring, so gently concerned that Isaiah’s heart secretly broke for him.

“That’s what she said.” The bag collided with Isaiah’s head with a thwack.

Isaiah did end up eating the muffin as the actors and crew arrived. It was huge, marbled with chocolate and only slightly squashed from being used as a projectile weapon. It was delicious and left him feeling pleasantly sated as he went about setting up the scene. Liam looked visibly relieved to see him eating.

Isaiah was still rude, but there were no temper tantrums that morning. They made good time, unlike the terrible drawn out shoots they’d had lately. It was miraculous. Liam clapped Isaiah on the back as they wrapped for the day and he felt a warmth in his stomach that was partially the muffin and partially the comforting sensation of human touch. Maybe it would be okay to eat just a little more. Something about his friend’s hand on his back and the heaviness of chocolate in his stomach reminded him of how nice it had been when his girlfriend had laid her head on his chest and traced circles on his stomach after a good meal. That was a nice feeling and one he’d almost forgotten-the feeling of being well cared for.


It was a new era. Every day, Liam came to set armed with sugary offerings that Isaiah dutifully accepted. Gooey brownies, donuts, thick fatty fudge, plain old candy bars that Isaiah would munch thoughtfully as he surveyed a shot.

Liam dragged Isaiah to lunch as often as he could. Sometimes he was just too busy, but other times he yielded to his friends pleading. They got Mexican, Chinese, all kinds of salty, satisfying stuff and Isaiah would come back to set bloated and mellower. “Great job!” he’d said to Jack once, who looked baffled. It had been a great take, but Isaiah’s mood had probably been enhanced by having consumed a giant plate of fried noodles, sesame chicken, an eggroll and some rice to round things out. A spirited argument with Liam about whether or not Rashomon was a good film had also put him in a cheerful mood.

Three weeks of letting Liam force food on him found Isaiah seventeen pounds heavier and feeling physically and emotionally better. Was he wearing his belt a few notches looser? Yes, but he spent each day having fun with his best friend and he went to bed each night pleasantly gorged. They were nearly done with shooting, too. A little extra flab seemed like a small price to pay.
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Clandy Caine

Aug 22, 2016
I’m really enjoying this story so far. The characters are engaging and the setting is interesting. I’m curious how Hollywood will react when Isiah seriously starts packing on the pounds!

Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018

They finished filming two weeks later, on a late summer Friday evening.

“Cut! Alright, that’s a wrap!” Isaiah yelled and the set erupted into cheers. Liam got up from his seat and walked over to him. Isaiah went in for a handshake but Liam went in for a hug and so they just kind of bumped into each other awkwardly with Isaiah’s arm trapped between them.

“Wait, that was bad,” laughed Liam as they broke apart. “Hold on. Let’s try again.” He offered his hand and they shook. Isaiah had a firm grip and his palms were slightly calloused and sweating. Liam couldn’t help but notice that, although his shirt was still loose even after regaining some weight, his pants looked David Bowie tight-only David Bowie didn’t have a paunchy lower belly and a slight muffin-top poking over his waistband. He wasn’t really fat, though-it seemed to be a sizing issue that could be corrected by a shopping trip.

“I can’t believe we’re done,” said Liam.

“I can,” said Isaiah. “I swear, if shooting dragged on for much longer I might have snapped.”

“You ready to go to New York?” The editing suite was in Manhattan-Isaiah and Liam were flying to JFK that Sunday

“I still have to pack,” said Isaiah. “But mentally? Emotionally? Yeah, I’m ready. How about you?”

“I’m excited. Plus, you know, I’m from New York,” Liam smiled. “Maybe I’m sentimental-“

“You are.”

“-But I’m looking forward to going home. I’m going to go out to Long Island and see my parents when I’ve got a little time.”

Isaiah nodded. “Nice. Nice.”

The cast, Isaiah and Liam headed over to a restaurant that had been reserved for the wrap party. It was an Italian place- not basic, everyday Italian but empty out your wallet, truffles in everything Italian. The room had several tables, each seating eight people. Isaiah and Liam sat at the same table, along with Jack and assorted others.

“God, look at him scarf,” whispered Evelyn, their leading lady, jerking her head towards Isaiah as she sat down next to Liam. Isaiah had pulled a whole bread basket over in front of him where no one else could reach it.

“I mean, he could sort of use it,” Liam whispered back. “He was looking pretty scrawny for a while there.”

“That doesn’t mean he has to chew with his mouth open,” said Evelyn. “And, you know, he’s definitely blowing up because he lost weight. He’ll be bigger then he started before you know it.”

Liam furrowed his brow. “I don’t follow.”

Evelyn smiled, not unkindly. She liked Liam a lot, although she was sick to death of Isaiah. “Liam, you’ve never gone on a crash diet, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, if you had, you’d know that afterward, when you go back to eating normally, you can’t stop eating and end up fatter than you were before the diet.” She looked over at Isaiah with disgust. “That’s why Mr. Do-Another-Take over there has been eating like somebody’s going to take it away from him. He can’t tell when he’s full.”

“Well, I mean, he’s still way thinner then he was before. He needs the calories.”

“Yeah, but just you wait. You’ll see him during the next couple months, right? Mark my words, he’s going to keep eating like this until he definitely doesn’t need the calories anymore.”

“Okay,” laughed Liam awkwardly. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Hey, everyone!” called out Isaiah, raising a glass of wine. “I’ve got something to say and then none of you have to listen to me anymore.”


“Yeah, thank god, right? I wanted to thank everyone here for sticking with me through this whole thing. I know it’s been hard, but it’s been worth it. You’re all incredible. Except you, Jack, fuck you. No, I’m kidding, I’m sorry. Um.” Isaiah looked down. “You know, making a movie is a collaborative effort. And it’s not like other things, where it’s just a physical or intellectual collaboration. It’s emotional. I love this movie because pretty much everyone involved just- put their emotions into it. That’s a hard thing to do,” Isaiah glanced over at Liam. “You have to trust the other people involved. Thank you all for trusting me and not letting me down when I trusted you. That’s hard to find. Alright, I’m done. That’s all. Cheers.”

The food was absolutely amazing. There were beautiful appetizers- beef carpaccio, bruschetta, burrata.

“God almighty,” said Isaiah though a mouthful of cheese.

“Isaiah,” said Liam. “Please try some of this pizza. I know you think pizza in LA is fake pizza, but just try it.” Isaiah took a huge bite of one of the thin-crusted little slices, covered in globs of ricotta and strange vegetables . “My opinion’s unchanged,” Isaiah said while chewing. “But I might need to have a second slice to make sure.”

There was pasta, too, big bowls of orchiette with brown butter, mushrooms, and sausage. Lasagna. Spaghetti with truffles shaved on top, big hearty meat ravioli.

“Oh my god, is there more?” said Evelyn as yet another dish arrived with, this one a chicken prepared in some sort of exotic way. Liam was ready to tap out and pushed his plate away, but Isaiah kept chugging away. Evelyn nudged Liam in the ribs as Isaiah took a second helping of chicken and refilled his glass with more wine. He was drinking a lot tonight, Liam noticed, and he had a slight flush to his cheeks.


Eventually, the endless meal wrapped up and everyone started going their separate ways. Isaiah took a minute to stand up- he slouched back in his suit, looking at his distended stomach, before sighing heavily and pushing himself up to his feet.

“You going home?” asked Liam as they headed out into the warm Los Angeles night.

“Hell no,” replied Isaiah. “I’m gonna go celebrate.” He turned to Liam. “Ya wanna come?”

Liam hesitated.

“Come on,” pleaded Isaiah. “This is the first free night I’ve had in forever. Let’s stay out.” His eyes were darker then the smoggy, light-polluted night sky overhead and he was getting soft around the face, around his cheeks and under his chin. He was full of wine and Italian food and longing for companionship.

Liam must have agreed, because soon after that they were at a bar.

“Cheers,” said Isaiah. “To being done with shooting.”

Liam took his shot and watched Isaiah down his with a quick, efficient swallow. At the barstool, he could see Isaiah’s body in profile-his belly looked painfully constricted by his waistband. Suddenly, Liam’s pants felt tight as well. No! He mentally berated himself. That’s wrong. Stop it.

Liam looked around for a distraction and found one in a beautiful red-headed woman who was looking at him with a strange, intense, look in her eyes. She was whip-thin and beautiful in an unusual and exotic way-her features struck him as faunlike.

He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. In fact, she didn’t even seem to see him. She was looking past him at Isaiah.

“Shit!” Whispered Isaiah. “Don’t look at her. Crap! Crap!”

A man, a beautiful blonde hunk with arms the size of the red haired woman’s thighs, crossed the room back to the woman, carrying two drinks.

Isaiah groaned audibly. “Oh, look, she got a ken-doll. He can’t possibly be straight, right? Or if he is, he must be a complete meat-head. Look at those flowing golden locks.”

The woman got up, with light feline steps, and walked over to the pair of men.

“Hello, Isaiah,” she said in the most sensual purr Liam had ever heard. He had seen her, he realized, in a movie once, a mystery-thriller.

“Hi, Em,” said Isaiah bitterly. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” she said flatly.

“Where’d you find Mr. Muscle Beach back there?”

“His name’s Aaron.”

“What’s he do? Acting or-“

“Actually, he’s a doctor. A cardiologist. Harvard med school.”

Isaiah looked prepared to sink through the floor and die.

“I just wrapped a movie,” he said weakly.

“Oh, you’re working on a movie? I didn’t know that.”

Isaiah pulled out his wallet, slapped a handful of bills on the counter and walked out of the bar.

“Isaiah!” said Liam, running after him. He spotted him walking away, down to the end of the block.

“Let’s go to a different bar,” said Isaiah, without much affect.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine! I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be?” Isaiah snarled. “We’re gonna have a good time.”

They had a decidedly not good time. Isaiah got so sloppy drunk that Liam had to all but carry him to the taxi. His shirt had come untucked and his zipper had come undone-his bloated stomach pressed into Liam’s side.

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Isaiah, his breath smelling like a distillery. “Tonight was supposed to be fun and I ruined everything.”

“It’s alright,” said Liam.

“God, I’m so ugly,” slurred Isaiah. “That fucking, Elias guy. Eamon or whoever. He looks like a fucking greek god. No wonder she didn’t want me when she can have someone like that . We’re just…” he trailed off. “In different leagues.”

“You’re not ugly,” said Liam.

Isaiah snorted.“Easy for you to say.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re very handsome.”

“Shut your lying mouth!”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Isaiah looked incredulous. “You really think I’m handsome?”

“Yes. You look like those old movie stars. Like Valentino. Not everyone likes big blonde jocks.”

“Even this?” Isaiah grabbed a handful of flesh on his stomach, which jiggled like a small pile of jello. “You think anyone would find this attractive?”

“It’s not bad. You look fine. Healthy. Lots of people would prefer someone who looks like you to a big piece of meat with a six-pack like that guy,” Liam looked down. “You’re really talented, too, and you’re a good friend. You’re gonna make some girl really lucky.”
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
I’m really enjoying this story so far. The characters are engaging and the setting is interesting. I’m curious how Hollywood will react when Isiah seriously starts packing on the pounds!
Thanks so much! I’ll get there eventually, in terms of people reacting, but there’s various wg and stuffing shenanigans that are going to happen first.

Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
Notes- Some kind of questionable stuffing practices here. Don’t do it and hurt yourself and blame me.
Isaiah turned in the mirror, studying his underwear clad body . He was in his rented mid-town apartment in New York-it was October and he’d spent months editing, working with Foley artists, and consuming more hot-dogs per day then any one person should.

“It’s a snack, not a meal,” he’d said to Liam’s shocked and horrified look as he picked up a pre-business breakfast hot dog as they headed over.

“I’m friends with an actual crazy person,” replied Liam.

In his apartment, Isaiah turned to the left, then to the right. He was, most certainly, at least at his original, pre-breakup weight of 185. That was for sure. Skinny, tea-for-breakfast Isaiah was a thing of the past. He was wearing his original clothing sizes again. He had a paunch again. He recalled his hot second of having a visible abs like a fever dream. Definitely at least 185.

Could he be significantly bigger then that? He sure felt bigger. His face and body looked puffy with fat- his chin was beginning to double, his pecs and embarrassingly, his nipples, had softened; his belly looked swollen, jiggled like a big pudding when he walked. He couldn’t remember his stomach looking round in that particular way, even before his break up. That was a prosperous looking belly. He turned to the side and suddenly, his profile reminded him of something he’d forgotten.

He was a child sitting in at the window of his family’s tiny tenement apartment. Across the street, he watched two big men, suited, walk and talk. They had an iron heeled confidence in their walks and big, swollen guts straining their suit buttons.

His mother did her best to provide for them, but his father had a gambling problem and Isaiah hadn’t eaten all day. He was so hungry that he felt weak and dizzy and he eyed their swollen bellies with jealousy. God, they must eat so much, he’d thought, fantasizing about being a big, fat guy, so big, so full, so powerful, so fat...

Adult Isaiah stared in shock at his naked reflection. Jesus Christ. I’m one of those guys now, he thought, and for some reason the idea sent a twinge of pleasure to his crotch so intense that shivers ran up and down his spine and his knees nearly gave out.

Isaiah realized three things in quick succession. One, he had some unresolved childhood traumas. Two, the idea of getting fat was, and had always been, extremely erotic to him. Three, he had to eat until his stomach was as gorged and round as it could possibly be. Just had to. Gotta do it. No choice in the matter.

Isaiah rushed over to the fridge. What was there? Leftover Chinese? God yes. He pulled it all out and put it on the counter. He made short work of the rice, the chicken and broccoli, the walnut shrimp. What else? There was a quart of milk for his tea. Down it went. Glug glug glug. Isaiah wiped his mouth and looked down at his stomach. He’d already had dinner with Liam and the extra food caused an immediately noticeable bloat. His cock was partially erect. More food. What else was there? A can of whipped cream caught his eye. It was obvious what he needed to do. He squirted it straight into his mouth, patting and rubbing his belly and palming his cock. He squirted and swallowed the creamy foam until a squirt of nitrous came out and made him unexpected dizzy. No time for that. The whipped cream wasn’t as filling as he’d have liked. He needed something else.

His eyes narrowed with glee as he spotted a jackpot. A large jar of peanut butter.

“Aw yeah,” he crooned. “Come to daddy.”

He got a spoon and ate it straight from the jar. It was so thick that he had trouble swallowing. He got a glass of water from the sink and chugged it, realizing with pleasure that that bloated him further. He quickly drank another glass, feeling his stomach swell painfully. He refilled his glass and dug back into the peanut butter, alternating spoonfuls and sips. It was sort of rough going, but he reached the bottom and scraped the sides.

A pint of ice cream was next. He nuked it for a few seconds and dug into the melting ice cream. So good, so good, so painful, so good. He drank the last dregs. He waddled over to the mirror. He looked like a pregnant chick, like a water-balloon that was gonna burst. He tapped his belly, which barely felt like a part of his body. Tight as a drum, full, full, full.

He went back to the fridge. What else, what else, he thought. Bananas. A little healthy, but substantial. He ate one, two, three painfully. He drank another glass of water. His stomach groaned in protest. For a moment the pain was so great he was afraid he’d hurt himself seriously. What a way to go. The press would have a field day. The pain in no way diminished how achingly, unbearably hard his cock was-his stomach felt like it might rip open and he still felt on the verge of creaming himself.

Then he belched and the sharp pain subsided. He walked over to the arm chair beside the mirror and sat down, belly ballooning out before him and prepared for what he suspected might be the best orgasm of his life.

The doorbell rang.

Isaiah froze in place.

“Isaiah?” called out Liam. “You in there?”

Christ on a cracker, thought Isaiah. He got gingerly to his feet and pulled on his pants, which really had no chance in the world of closing and oof! Moving hurt a hell of a lot! He threw on a shirt and didn’t tuck it in. He checked his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he was smuggling a small beach ball under his shirt. It would have to do.

He went to the door and opened it. Liam was standing there, holding two slices of carrot cake. His eyes went to Isaiah’s face and then went downtown.

“Hey,” said Liam. “I remembered when I was a kid I used to go to this great bakery. So I thought I’d get us dessert.”

“Oh,” said Isaiah shakily. “Thank you.”

Isaiah accepted the slice.

“Can I come in?” asked Liam.

A long pause.

“Sure,” said Isaiah.

Isaiah led him to the living room, with the mirror, where a moment ago he’d been preparing to jerk off to- being fat and also powerful and important, as a concept? God almighty.

“I’ll get forks,” said Liam, and that motherfucker walked right into the disaster zone that was Isaiah’s kitchen. Isaiah sat down on the couch. His stomach looked like it had its own zip code.

Liam came back with forks, looking completely kind and innocent like some kind of human Labrador retriever.

“Here you go,” said Liam, passing Isaiah his fork. Tenderly, Isaiah opened the little plastic box. Took a bite. Ow. Another. Ow. A third.

“So,” said Liam. “How’ve you been liking New York?”

“It’s good,” said Isaiah. Except for the fact that I have the worst blue balls ever and you definitely just saw that I ate everything in my fridge.

Liam nodded. Isaiah took another bite of cake for no discernible reason except that the devil made him do it.

“I might like it a little too much.” Isaiah patted his grotesque, painful, distended stomach. “Not very good for my girlish figure.”

Well, that was it. He’d have to leave his career as a director behind and assume a different identity. He’d humiliated himself completely.

“Well, you do have that thing with the hotdogs.”

“What can I say?” said Isaiah. “I like hotdogs.”

Insightful. Riveting. Isaiah took another bite. Ow.

“Well, um,” said Liam. “It’s pretty late. I’m going to go get some rest. We have to get up tomorrow for the meeting with the studio execs.”

“Oh, right,” said Isaiah. “That meeting.”

He watched Liam get up. No way would he escort him to the door-he felt like he might never stand up again.

“Are you alright?” asked Liam.

“Fine,” croaked Isaiah. “Just tired. You can let yourself out.”

Isaiah waited until he heard Liam leave through the door, sighed in relief, and got to work, sucking traces of cream cheese icing from one hand and stroking himself with the other.
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
This installment is dedicated to the super high waists on men’s pants in the 70s and how they look completely unaccommodating of bloat.

Clandy Caine

Aug 22, 2016
Thanks so much! I’ll get there eventually, in terms of people reacting, but there’s various wg and stuffing shenanigans that are going to happen first.
Please, take your time! I love the slow build of this story, and Isiah is one of the most fun (but simultaneously complex) characters I’ve come across in any weight gain fic. You’re an excellent writer.

Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
So,” Liam’s mother asked over the phone. “Met any cute girls? You can tell me.”

“Mom,” Liam moaned.

“You know, Susan’s daughter is single and she’s a very nice girl. If you wanted-

“I’m just too busy to date right now,” said Liam. “Sorry, Mom.”

“How’s Mr. Resnik doing?”

“He’s fine. Doing swell.” Oh my god, what kind of Freudian slip was that? Liam’s face got uncomfortably hot as he recalled just how much swelling ‘Mr. Resnik’ had been doing. Stop that, Liam ordered himself. “We’re actually meeting for breakfast with the studio executives.”

“That’s nice,” said Jenny McAllister. She perked up. “He must be lonely, living on his own. Do you think he’d go on a date with Susan’s daughter?”

Liam stifled a laugh. His mother couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the fact that Isaiah was an acclaimed and rather notorious director. She’d never watched his movies and, although he was well-known, he wasn’t the type of glossy celebrity that made it on to the front page of the tabloids and into her consciousness. To her, he was just Liam’s unmarried friend and co-worker.

“I think, um,” said Liam. “Mom, he’s not-that wouldn’t make a lot of sense. He’s probably not looking for a relationship right now and anyway, I don’t think he’s her type.”

“Damn it to hell!” Isaiah moaned. He was losing a wrestling match with his pants, which refused to close around his waist. He flopped down on his back, trying to use gravity to flatten out his belly. He sucked in, pulling the flaps as hard as he could. There we go. He got up, terribly uncomfortable but fully inside his pants.

His thoughts about his weight were mercurial. Last night, he’d been thrilled by his new girth, obviously because of some psychosexual issue that any psychologist would kill to pick at. He’d fallen asleep stroking his engorged belly, too deep in his sexual fantasy to give a shit what other people thought.

This morning, the arousal had taken a back seat and the insecurity was returning. What did people think about his body? What would they think if he did what his ravenous, perverse id wanted to do and gorged himself until his belly filled his lap like a huge jiggling globe?

I’ll tell you what they’ll think, Isaiah said to himself. They’ll think you’re disgusting, and they’ll be right. People won’t talk about your movies, they’ll just talk about how gross you are. God, Isaiah Resnik is such a big fat fuck, they’ll say. This is how he chooses to spend all his money, on food to gorge himself on? What a disgusting glutton.

And great, now he had a boner to complicate his already less than ideal pants situation.

He felt ashamed. He felt turned on. Mostly, he felt confused. Confused and fat.

He put on his jacket, a wonderful leather number that he’d thought was pretty cool looking when he’d bought it. It felt snug around the middle when he zipped it up. Did that feel good or bad?

“Name of party?” asked the host.

“We’re meeting someone,” replied Isaiah, trying to peer into the restaurant around the host, who looked intimidated. Liam lingered behind him.

“Sir, if you would just give me the name...”

“Resnik!” A voice called out from inside the restaurant. “I thought I heard chaos and discord.” Zach Berger, the studio’s executive director, emerged. He was in his early sixties, heavy, balding, eyes crinkled at the edges in deep laugh lines.

“They’re with me,” Berger said authoritatively to the host. Isaiah and Liam followed him to a table where another man, this one tall, lean, and geriatric, sat. He was an investor in the studio and radiated an aura of old money. Berger sat down and gestured for the two younger men to do the same.

“Mr. McAllister,” said Berger. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Liam.

“Resnik,” Berger glanced down at Isaiah’s belly as the director shucked off his jacket. “You’re looking well.”

Isaiah raised his eyebrows, daring Berger to be more explicit. Berger was fat, he thought suddenly, really fat. Did he ever feel this way, too? Did he eat whole pints of ice cream because of how big and tight and full it made him feel? Did he get a sexual kick out of teasing Isaiah for having put on weight? Gross. Isaiah hoped not. He didn’t think he’d be able to take it if that nasty old man was coming on to him. Isaiah had authority issues and Berger stood in for every teacher, every previous employer, and every older male relative. He shuddered. Gag.

Food started arriving and lots of it.

“We watched the latest cut,” said the tall elderly font of cash. “We have some problems with it. The violence-“

“-Is part of the story, not to mention the stylistic tone,” said Isaiah.

“It needs to be toned down,” said Berger. “Particularly, the, um. Scene with the closet. We’d like that to be cut.”

“God, what a bunch of bullshit!” fumed Isaiah as they walked.

“Sorry,” said Liam. “I know you cared about that scene.”

“It was important! That’s what nobody gets. They just don’t want to see it because it’s hard to watch, but that’s the point.” he scowled. “I’m so pissed. Oh.”

He stopped in front of a hot dog stand and Liam was treated to the sight of him angrily scarfing a hot dog.

“Unbelievable,” he said, his mouth full and his eyes hurt. “I hate those guys. They don’t give a damn about making good films, they just want box office successes.” He took another wrathful bite. “I mean, it’ll still be good without it, but I’m pissed off.”
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
The movies completion was approaching-soon, there’d be nothing to do but go home and wait for it to be released in theaters. Isaiah and the post-production team were pounding out the edits and the final details. Liam went on a visit to see his parents.

It wasn’t that Isaiah didn’t want Liam to see his mother, but he was very glad when he returned a few days later.

“My mom sent these,” Liam set down a giant pan of cookies in the editing suite where they were quickly devoured, mostly by Isaiah.

“Tell your mom I love her,” said Isaiah.

“She sort of wants to meet you,” said Liam. “You’re welcome to come to dinner any time.”

“Aw,” said Isaiah. “You want me to meet your parents? We’re getting pretty serious, aren’t we? Should I think about proposing?”

“Obviously I’d do the proposing.”

“Slander!” Isaiah yelled through a mouthful of cookie. “I’m all man. I’ll buy you a diamond ring and get down one knee and you’ll like it!”

Halloween came. “Hey,” asked Isaiah, stealing a handful of snickers from the bowl in the editing suite. “Want to go out tonight? It’s Halloween, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t really feel like it,” said Liam. “You can go, if you want to.”

But Isaiah didn’t want to if Liam didn’t want to. Instead, they ended up going to Isaiah’s apartment. They put on an old horror movie and drank beer and ordered a large sausage pizza, despite Isaiah’s Chicago bias. “Oo, and get garlic knots, and mozzarella sticks. Two orders of mozzarella sticks,” said Isaiah, sipping his beer. As he leaned forwards watching the movie, his paunchy belly looked softer and more pronounced and worried the buttons of his shirt. Really, his whole outfit seemed to be a size too small. As Liam watched, Isaiah scratched at his waistband, looking uncomfortable. Then he glanced in Liam’s direction. “Should I pause it? You’re missing the shower scene.”

“No,” said Liam, his mouth dry. “It’s fine.”

“Get some buffalo wings, too.”

Their pizza came. Liam nibbled at a single slice, too distracted to feel hungry, as he watched Isaiah washed his third slice down with a swallow of beer.

Isaiah pointed out camera angles, cleverly used shot types, story details and Liam watched him, loving his enjoyment of the movie and the food. “This is one of my favorite movies,” Isaiah said, waving a wing as he gesticulated. “I saw it when I was a projectionist.”

“When was that?”

“When I was seventeen,” Isaiah said. “I was really lucky. I needed to earn money and I needed to learn about movies. Mmm.” He sucked sauce from his fingers as he finished off the wings. “It let me do both at once.”

The movie ended and they put on another. Isaiah got himself another beer and reached for his seventh (seventh!) piece of pizza, but hesitated.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m being a pig. Are you having enough? You only ate like one slice.”

“Yeah,” said Liam. “I’m not hungry. Go to town.”

Isaiah must have taken that to heart, because he put away in total not seven, not eight, but nine slices. He’d quieted his commentary after the seventh, still making an occasional remark, but mostly sitting back and drowsily eating. His belly looked swollen and round and like it would be incredibly soft to touch. Evelyn was right, thought Liam, he’s really packing it on. Liam had a strong impulse to poke Isaiah’s belly like he was the Pillsbury dough boy, but he was worried that he might lose a hand.

It got late quickly. “You can crash here, if you feel like it,” said Isaiah, yawning. “Or don’t. It doesn’t really matter. I’m about to pass out and then you’ll be able to do whatever you want and I won’t be able to stop you.”

Liam slept on the pull out couch. He borrowed an unused toothbrush and sheets and a blanket and Isaiah’s old crew t-shirt from the film, one with the title on it. It was a medium and it smelled like soap and leather. Liam wanted to bottle that scent and inhale it whenever he felt down.

“Goodnight,” said Liam to the darkness of Isaiah’s room.

“Goodnight, honey,” said Isaiah sarcastically from the darkness.

Liam opened his eyes to a light. Morning? No, he glanced at the clock on the side table. It’s three am. The witching hour. Was Isaiah up to use the restroom? No, the door was closed and the light was off. He looked towards the kitchen.

There. Isaiah was in his underwear, standing in the light of the half open door. Before Liam’s astonished eyes, Isaiah retrieved what was clearly a full half gallon of chocolate milk from the fridge.

Getting a midnight snack, Resnik? part of Liam wanted to say, but he stayed quiet. This felt personal, private. Isaiah carefully closed the fridge and crept back to his room, closing the door behind him.

Liam shouldn’t have done what he did next, but he did it anyway. He got up, tiptoed over to Isaiah’s room, and peaked through the keyhole.

Isaiah was seated on the edge of his bed, wearing only his briefs, his body illuminated by city lights leaking in through the window. He was holding the half-gallon up and chugging. His stomach looked impossibly full and yet he was still going at it. He was visible hard.

I’m not supposed to be seeing this, Liam thought. Go back to bed. Go back to bed.

Isaiah set down the milk beside him for a moment. He caressed his taunt belly lovingly-pale marks appeared on his tan flesh wherever his hands moved and they took a moment to fade. This seemed to be incredibly pleasurable. From the look on his face, he might as well have been touching his cock. Isaiah picked up the half-gallon again with one hand and went back to drinking, while his other hand continued stroking, petting, creeping lower and lower…

Alright, thought Liam. Time to leave. He crept back to the couch and stared up at the ceiling, breathless and ashamed. I’m horrible, he thought. I’m an awful, evil person.

“Hey, sleeping beauty” said Isaiah. “Feel like giving me my couch back?”

Isaiah was standing over the pull-out bed, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and looking cheerful and chubby.

“What time is it?” grunted Liam blearily.

“Eleven,” said Isaiah. “And also breakfast time. Come on, get dressed. I’m starving.”
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018
-Hey, remember how this story was supposed to be set in LA? Sorry about that. The conclusion will be back in LA, but I guess this is a bi-coastal weight gain story. That’s just how it goes sometimes.



Isaiah looked up from his pancakes at Liam. “You good? You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“I’m fine,” said Liam. He looked around the dinner, as though trying to find something to talk about. “It’s getting colder.”

Isaiah rolled his eyes. “Not for me. Russian blood and Chicago upbringing, baby. You’re just a weak little New York bitch.”

“I wouldn’t be so cocky. You’ve been living in LA for years. You probably can’t handle the cold anymore.”

“Oh, we’ll see who can’t handle the cold!”

The strange tension was broken. Thank god, thought Isaiah. He’d been worried that he’d somehow made Liam not like him anymore.

With November came the first snow of the year. Isaiah drew a cartoon penis on the frost-fogged window in the editing suite, complete with ejaculate and hairy balls.

“Classy,” said Liam, peering over his shoulder.

“Thanks, I try.”


They went shopping together to replace Isaiah’s wardrobe. It was mostly L.A. stuff, light and insubstantial, and it wouldn’t do for this weather, Liam pointed out, not mentioning the other reason it needed to be replaced.

Isaiah bought thicker pants, big heavy boots, soft sweaters, all two sizes up from what he’d been wearing before. Liam nodded in approval as Isaiah modeled the new items and added a belt without that old nail-punched hole.He got fitted for a suit, too, for the fast approaching first screening. “Don’t suck in,” the tailor admonished as he measured the widest part of his waist. “No worries, we don’t judge here.”

Going into winter fat felt different then going in skinny. Isaiah remembered shivering and shaking as a kid as he walked home during a cold snap. Not anymore. He was well-insulated. He let his stubble grow out slightly. He felt like he was getting ready to hibernate.


“I’m going to go see my family for thanksgiving tonight,” said Liam.

“Cool,” said Isaiah, sipping his tea.

“I want you to come,” said Liam. Isaiah almost choked.

“For dinner? With your family?”

“My mom has been calling me non-stop. She’s sort of distressed that you don’t have anyone to spend thanksgiving with. Come on,” said Liam.

“I don’t think your family will like me.”

“Just don’t curse or insult anyone and you’ll be fine.”

“See,” said Isaiah. “That’s already a problem!”

“You’ll be fine! Just try. It’ll make my mother happy. Plus, she’s a good baker, remember? She says she’s making apple pie with fresh whipped cream.”

Isaiah deliberated. “Alright. I think you’re making a mistake, but I’ll do it if there’s pie involved.”

Liam’s parents lived in a suburb about forty minutes out on Long Island. Little houses, all just the same. Piles of leaves, a light frost over everything. Liam and Isaiah walked with crunching footsteps across the lawn and rang the doorbell.

Liam’s mother was a sweet little old lady. Isaiah could see echoes of her features in Liam’s face. After embracing her son, she turned to Isaiah.

“And you must be Isaiah,” she said. “Come in! Come on. Oh my goodness, you look so much younger than I thought you would. You look like you’re barely out of school.” She pinched his cheek. “Look at those cherub cheeks. Such a handsome boy.”

So this is what those prototypical American homes, the ones Isaiah had only experienced in 1950’s era advertisements, were like. A kindly eyed, offensive smelling hound dog napped in front of the fireplace. A couple of little kids, all as freckly and cute as Liam, ran, played tag, threatening to knock into the furniture.

It would have been nice to grow up somewhere like this. Isaiah had a brief fantasy about somehow having been adopted as a baby by the McAllisters. PB and J childhood. Safe suburban neighborhood childhood. No fear outside the house, no fear inside it. Being Liam’s brother.

“That’s my sister, Annie,” said Liam, gesturing at a tall, pretty woman with red hair. “And that’s her husband, Luke. Hi dad! This is Isaiah, I told you about him. And this is my aunt Dolly. And that’s uncle Fred. And that’s…”

Isaiah’s head swam with names and faces. He found himself seated in front of a football game, beer in hand, surrounded by men who looked like older versions of Liam.

“So, Isaiah, what do you do?” Liam’s uncle asked.

“I’m, um.” Isaiah trailed off, so taken aback that he momentarily questioned exactly what it was that he did.

“He’s Liam’s director,” said Annie the cute red-head, bringing over triscuits and dip.

“Oh!” said the man. “You’re the director.”

“Yeah,” said Isaiah.

And they went back to watching football.

A kid, a really little tot, came up to Isaiah and grabbed his left pinky.

“Heya” Isaiah said to the kid. “What’s happening?”

At dinner, it became very apparent where Liam got his tendency for making sure people ate. Mrs. McAllister fussed over Isaiah, asking him if he’d like more of this or some of that. He just went along with it and let her load more and more onto his plate again and again.

“It’s good to see a young man with a healthy appetite,” she said approvingly.

He was something of an oddity to Liam’s family. He saw Liam chuckle as they barraged him with questions.

“So, you work in the movies?”

“Yes. I’m a director.”

“Where’d you go to school?”

“I didn’t go to college.”

“Where are you from?”


That’s your accent.”


“Do you want more stuffing?”

“Yes please. Thanks so much, Mrs. McAllister.”

Liam snorted. “‘Mrs. McAllister’,” he mocked in a whisper. “You’re being so polite!”

“Your mom’s so nice,” Isaiah whispered back. “I’m trying to be a good fucking Boy Scout for her, alright?”

“Have you ever been in a movie?” said a young girl.

“I have one cameo. That’s when you’re just in the background, or you just say a couple words.”

“How old are you?”


“So young!”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Not right now.”

“I bet all those actresses come on to you all the time because they want parts.”

“Some of them do, but I tell them I cast based on talent.”

“Well, you’re a stronger man than me.”

“Oh, Fred, he can probably get dates with actresses without offering them parts. You’d resort to that because you’re a dirty old man. Isaiah, deary, do you want some more?”

“Yes, please.”

He looked down at his stomach, feeling pleasantly satisfied (and oh, this was the wrong place for that kind of satisfaction) and more than a little nauseated. He’d lost count of how many helpings he’d had and felt warm and cozy in his new sweater. That turkey and stuffing was really dense and he’d eaten enormous piles of it.

He should have stopped there, but he kept on packing food in. He ate until he felt breathless, until he felt pinned in his seat.

The women started clearing away the plates.

“Coffee or tea?” Annie asked the room. “Liam, you want coffee, right?”

“Yeah, decaf,” said Liam. “And tea with sugar and milk for this guy.”

“God,” said Isaiah. “You know me way too well.”

“Liam’s a writer,” said Jenny. “He’s very good at observing people.”

“And not much else,” said Liam.

“Bullshit!” said Isaiah, before covering his mouth. “Oops, sorry. Sorry, kids.”

There was, as promised, apple pie with fresh whipped cream. There were those delicious cookies, too, and pumpkin pie. Isaiah felt like he might burst or throw up, but he let Liam’s mother fix him a plate with a big fat slice of each pie, topped with big globs of cream, and a couple of cookies. He ate it all, bite by perfect, painful bite. As people started to get up, Isaiah made his way over to the coach.

“Isaiah,” called Jenny. “There’s one cookie left, if you’d like it.”

“Mom,” said Annie. “Leave the man alone, he’ll explode.”

“No,” said Isaiah. “I’d love it.”

She brought it over and he ate it slowly, slouched, looking down at his engorged belly and slipping into a blissful state of semi-consciousness.
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018

People started leaving, going out into the night.

“Stay overnight,” he heard Liam’s mother say to Liam. “It’s sleeting out.” It was. Isaiah could hear the rain and hail pound the roof. He should use that sound in a movie. It was peaceful.

“Isaiah won’t have a ride home.” Isaiah wanted to protest that he could drive himself, or get a bus or a cab or something, but his eyelids were drooping. Can you get a high from eating too much? He wondered. It felt like it.

“He can sleep in the guest room. Can’t I have one of my kids back for the night? “

“Isaiah,” called Liam. “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.”

They sat up a while longer, talking. Actually, Liam and his mother talked and Isaiah and Liam’s father listened. Liam’s mother showed Isaiah Liam’s childhood pictures-round faced and dark curled and nerdy, all buttoned up and polished and brace-faced. Isaiah snorted with laughter and it hurt his stomach and Liam went red. Liam in a varsity jacket. Liam at prom, tall and smiling a bright smile with a curvy brunette girl on his arm.

Isaiah peeked into Liam’s room on his way to the bathroom. Still had a twin bed and baby boy blue drapes on the windows, a desk with a lamp to do homework by, bookshelves full of Shakespeare and comic books and crime thrillers, books of ghost stories, a little red bible. Handwritten notebooks! Isaiah opened one and found Liam’s neat, small writing. He read a passage.

Inspector Rudolph woke to his telephone ringing at five in the morning. He scowled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Rudolph picked up the receiver. “This had better be important,” he growled into the phone.

“Inspector,” said the police commissioner. “There’s been an murder in Hemlock Park. Steel yourself. It’s a bloody one.”

Isaiah grinned, thinking of Liam as a teenager, writing silly crime stories in this perfect room. He thought back to his childhood home. Different damn worlds.

Mrs. McAllister showed him the guest room and asked if he needed anything. He assured her he didn’t.

“Thanks so much for having me.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We’re glad to have you.”

There was a big soft bed, rarely every slept in, in the guest room. Isaiah stripped to his underwear, crawled in and caressed his glutted belly under the cool, soothing covers. Heavenly. He was about to drift off when there was a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” Isaiah called out weakly, fumbling for his glasses in the dark.

“It’s me,” said Liam.

“Come in,” said Isaiah, clicking the light on and sitting up in bed. God, he felt paunchy. “I’m shirtless, so I’m sorry if you go blind.”

Liam opened the door, looking nervous. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”


“Good.” A long silence. “I need to talk to you.”

“Did I say something wrong in front of your family?” said Isaiah. Shit. Shit. Shit. That was the look Liam used to give him when something was going wrong during filming and they’d have to reshoot a whole scene, only you can’t reshoot real life. Everything had been going so well, and everyone was so nice, and he’d fucked it up somehow. “I didn’t mean to curse.”

“No. I wanted to ask-Um,” Liam ran his hand through his hair. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything wrong”

“Jeez,” said Isaiah. “That was a lot of build up for nothing. Left me with some serious blue balls, McAllister.”

“It was really nothing. I don’t even know what I was going to say. Do you, um- do you need anything before you turn in?”

Isaiah smiled deviously. “I could go for some more food. Wait, Liam, that was a joke! I was kidding!”

But Liam came back with a slice, that really was the size of two slices, of the pumpkin pie and a massive bowl of left over whipped cream.

“I was kidding, you sweet, kind-hearted, unquestioning dumb-ass. Do they not have sarcasm in the suburbs? I’m completely stuffed, I already ate way too much.”

“Sorry,” said Liam, looking embarrassed and turning to go back to the kitchen. “I’ll take it back.”

“Wait, hold on.”

Liam leaned back into the doorway.

“You already got it for me and I guess I’m just such a fat-ass that looking at it is making me hungry again. Hand it over.” Isaiah accepted the plate and the cream from Liam. “Thanks,” he added. He took a slow bite. His stomach groaned in protest, but it tasted like having a loving home and it tasted like Liam looking at him affectionately.

Liam sat down at the end of the bed and they talked as Isaiah ate.

“Your family is really nice. I mean, they seem nice. I’m an outsider, so maybe I can’t tell.”

“I’m an insider, so I’m probably biased, but I think they’re nice too. I told you they’d like you.”

“Well, they definitely put up with me.”

“No, they liked you. You were charming.”

Isaiah took his spoon and began eating whipped cream right from the bowl. Freshly whipped cream was much denser than canned.

“I’m not charming.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you were charming tonight,” Liam smiled as Isaiah took another bite.

“Better not tell people when we get back to L.A,” he said as he chewed. “You’ll ruin my reputation.” He took another bite.

This was insane. He was disgustingly full, already past his limits, but this was food that Liam’s mother had cooked, that Liam had gone to the fridge and brought him because he asked. Nothing would stop him from finishing it-it had metaphorical significance, it was a slice of love and comfort and safety and acceptance and ow, that hurt. He looked down at his protruding, painful belly, hard as a rock under it’s generous layer of pudge.

“Thank you for inviting me,” said Isaiah.

He took another bite. I’m gonna hurl, he thought. Another bite.

“Thanks for coming,” said Liam.

Isaiah’s stomach pained him terribly. Too much. He took another bite of pie. He felt delirious. His spoon scraped the bottom of the whipped cream. How long have I been eating this pie and whipped cream for, he wondered? Have I always been here? He took another agonizing bite. Suddenly, his stomach cramped and acid filled his throat.

“You okay?” asked Liam.

“Yeah,” gasped Isaiah. He quickly shoved the last two bites of pie in his mouth; he had to chew a long time before he could force them down his throat. Isaiah sat back, staring blankly at the empty plate and bowl and his belly bloating out onto his lap. He swallowed acid. Ooh. This had been a mistake.

“Here,” said Liam, taking the plate and bowl. “I’ll take the dishes.”

Isaiah lay back and snuggled under the covers, nursing his stomach-ache. He felt somehow comfortable and in pain at once. Looking down, he could barely believe it was all him under there.

Liam came back. “You didn’t need to eat that because I got it for you.”

“I ate it because I wanted it,” said Isaiah, patting his belly. Ow. He took off his glasses. The room faded into soft blurriness.

“Wow,” said Liam.

“What?” said Isaiah.

“Nothing. Never mind.” Liam sounded flustered. “See you tomorrow.”
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Shh! Don’t tell!

Well-Known Member
May 5, 2018

Liam flopped down in bed, his mind churning with dirty, unacceptable thoughts. Isaiah lying in bed, all sleepy and stubbly and stuffed, his eyes looking huge and blind and dark without his glasses, his lips shining with oil from all that pie and whipped cream. Although Liam would never say it to his face, he thought Isaiah’s lips were beautiful in a slightly feminine way-they were plump and shapely, with a soft, slight Cupid’s bow. Not a pointy Cupid’s bow, just a dip in the center. That was a very important distinction. Liam had a major problem with Isaiah’s mouth, how it moved, the way it looked when he’d chew his lower lip or bite his nails, not to mention the way it looked as he was chewing a bite of food (and boy, did he do a lot of that.) He was looking really soft these days, with a round gut that was proportionally fatter then the rest of him, doughy love handles, thick thighs, a little waddle under his chin that became bigger or smaller depending on the angle he held his head at but never completely disappeared.

Flashes of memory and fantasy raced through Liam’s head. Isaiah, talking about things he felt passionately about. Isaiah, well cared for and well fed. How much weight had he gained? It had to be a lot, a whole lot, enough to bury his jawline and cover his abs with a round orb of fat. Isaiah gets off on this kind of thing too, he thought. Isaiah might be masturbating right now, stroking his fat, wobbling, enormously full belly with one hand and his cock with the other, helplessly trapped under the weight of his own gluttony and desperate for release. Liam grunted as he came into his hand. Looking around for tissues, he noticed the bible on the shelf. Ugh. A wave of guilt swept over him.

What would Isaiah say, if Liam confessed that he felt attracted to him in this way? Even though Isaiah might have the same strange sexual fixation as him, Liam was pretty sure he wouldn’t be thrilled about being propositioned by a man. Sure, they might be close friends and joke around about that sort of thing, but it was just that, a joke.

Would Isaiah get angry? Would he be disgusted and leave after dressing Liam down where he stood with his dangerously sharp tongue? Would he tell people? Liam would lose his friendship, that much was certain. He couldn’t do that- he loved him passionately, painfully, like a piece of himself that he’d lost and then found.

“Good morning, sweetie,” said Liam’s mother as he trudged down the stairs into the living room. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” Liam had a sudden memory of his mother in a panic, talking with her friends about an English teacher at his elementary school who lilted his voice up at the end of his sentences. That teacher had ended up being fired. Liam nursed some coffee while his mother made French toast.

Isaiah emerged from the guest room, looking sleepy and distinctly bloated.

“Good morning,” said Liam’s mother. “Do you want French toast?”

“Yes, thanks so much.” He walked over to the table and sat down, his belly spilling onto his lap.

“Can I please have some tea?” he asked hopefully, looking so cute that Liam could hardly stand it. That rude, hard man, being so gentle and polite and looking as soft and harmless as a teddy bear. Liam wanted to hold him tight and never let him go.

“This is your captain speaking. We’ve begun our descent into Los Angeles. The local time is twelve twenty six pm, The weather is 68 degrees and sunny...”

“Fuck,” Isaiah hiccuped as the plane lurched, fumbling for the barf bag. Liam averted his eyes as he gagged and heaved.”Ugh. Sorry.”

To Liam’s deep shame, he found himself excited by the way Isaiah’s belly heaved and the way his fat jiggled as the plane shook. God, could you put aside your perversions for half a damn second? He’s not feeling well and all you can do is get aroused? Shame on you.

Forty minutes later they were exiting the airport, Isaiah still a little green. He squinted at the door as they approached it.

“Oh no,” he said. “Quick, if you don’t want to be photographed, get away from me.”

“What-“ said Liam, but they were already walking through the airport exit and into the camera flashes of a small cluster of paparazzi out to catch celebrities returning to Los Angeles. Far from standing away from Isaiah, Liam got closer to him as they walked, feeling protective.

“Lick my taint you fucking parasites,” Isaiah muttered under his breath. “My stomach hurts. I want vanilla ice cream.”


“Holy fuck!” said Isaiah a day later, flipping through a copy of People magazine. “Look at this.”

He pointed out a picture clearly from the airport. Liam was in it, all cheekboney and tense faced, with his hair disheveled. Isaiah was in the foreground, looking anxious and disoriented, double-chinned, scruffy bearded(he’d since shaved), his gut prominent in his tight button up shirt. It was an unflattering photo, although Liam loved every picture of Isaiah he’d ever seen.

“Do I really look like this?” Isaiah asked. “Please, you can be honest.”

“No,” said Liam. “It’s a bad angle and you’d just gotten off a plane. You look much better than that in real life.”

Isaiah sighed. “I don’t know how actors can stand to be in front of a camera all day.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “Are you camera shy?”

Isaiah shrugged noncommittally. “A little. I don’t love being photographed or filmed. I mean, I can manage it in small doses and I can’t always avoid it, but it makes me a little nervous. I prefer standing on the other side of the camera. Give it to me straight, do I look as fat in real life as I do in this picture?”

Liam paused. “Yes. I mean, you look more attractive in real life and that’s a bad angle, but you are that fat.”

“Hah!” said Isaiah. “Alright. I guess that’s what I get for eating so much.You look fantastic in the picture, anyway. Look at that facial structure and those worried eyes!”

He stood up and teasingly cupped Liam’s face in his hands as he looked down at him. “Such a sensitive, moody dreamboat. Do you want to be my muse? We’ll make a movie all about you looking off sadly into the distance. It’ll get terrible reviews, but housewives and gay guys will LOVE it.”

“Seems like a bad idea,” said Liam, his heart pounding a million miles a minute as he tried not to stare at Isaiah’s overfed, wobbling belly, which was much closer to his face than usual. He looked into his eyes instead, all dark and filled with a devilish glee. Liam was just a smidge taller than Isaiah and used to looking down at him. Looking up was disorienting, to say the very least. “Maybe we could try it the other way around and you could be my muse.”

“Mm,” said Isaiah. He released Liam and walked back over to the coach to keep looking through People magazine. “Ooo, you will never guess who’s back in rehab.”


The day rolled around. The big day. Isaiah and Liam got into their suits, like teenagers going to prom. Liam’s was comfortably loose and Isaiah’s was tight, the seams and buttons struggling to contain his belly. They sized each other up.

“You look good,” said Isaiah.

“You look good, too,” said Liam.

“Are you nervous?”

“Very. Are you?”

“No, I’m not nervous. I’m scared shitless.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“If it’s not, it’’ll be my fault, not yours. Your script was flawless. Hey,” Isaiah grabbed his arm. “If the critics pan it and it flops, I just want you to know-I’m glad we made it, anyway. This has been the best time I’ve ever had. I’ve loved working with you. I love you.”

Liam swallowed a fist-sized lump in his throat. “I love you too,” he said.


As they stood in the lobby of the small theatre, waiting, a photographer took a picture of them-Liam’s arm over Isaiah’s shoulder, Isaiah’s arm around Liam’s waist, their bodies touching with no fear of intimacy. Isaiah looking the image of an established director, with his nice new suit and his round belly straining at the front. Both grinning, both secretly scared, hugging, cleaving together, clinging to each other.

Breaking away for a moment from Liam, Isaiah ran into one of his previous mentors, Bob Harrison. Harrison was a massively tall and obese grizzly bear of a director with a million watt smile and enchanting blue eyes.

“Isaiah Resnik!” he boomed. “Man of the hour. Come here.”

He swooped up Isaiah’s hand in a hearty handshake and chuckled, looking him over.

“I’m really not the man of the hour,” said Isaiah. “You’re thinking of Liam over there. He’s sort of the star here.

“Wow,” said Harrison. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Isaiah who guest directed for me five years ago was a cocky little asshole who wouldn’t share credit with anyone. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were growing up.”

Isaiah rolled his eyes. “More like growing out.”

“Hah! That too. Better be careful-“ Harrison patted his own, expansive, belly- “This could happen to you, too.” Then, at Isaiah’s shocked look- “Don’t worry. You’ve got a long way to go. Practically a waif next to me.”

He poked Isaiah’s belly and his finger sank in deeply.

“ Clearly been eating well in New York, though. Our little Rezzy isn’t so little anymore, huh?

“I’ve been hungry. Ask your mother how much I like to eat.”

“Haha, very funny. I take it back, you haven’t grown up at all.”

Liam was approached by Evelyn.

“What did I tell you?” she said.


“Our esteemed director,” she pointed to Isaiah. “He got fat.”

“You called it,” said Liam.

Just then, Isaiah returned, adjusting his punishing waistband. “Hey folks. What’s happening? Hi Evelyn.”

“Hey, Isaiah,” said Evelyn. She was tall and blonde and in her thirties.“I saw a picture of you with a beard.”

“Oh,” said Isaiah, flushing. “Yeah.”

Why were Liam’s hands shaking?

People began to take their seats. Liam and Isaiah sat together and the lights went down, down, down.
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Enjoys lionfish
Jul 29, 2017
Hong Kong
This is stupidly well-written and the development of the characters is sososo good. Excellent story, my heart's in my mouth about where it's going next.


Well-Known Member
Dec 30, 2008
I couldn’t agree more! This is among the absolute best characterization I’ve ever read on the site— you’ve made me care so much about both of these people.The way that you’ve captured the passing of time is masterful; I can feel how long it’s taken their feelings for each other to deepen and mature, how rich their friendship is and how valuable it has become to both of them. You’ve done such an amazing job with this, truly. I can’t wait to see where this goes!