BHM Canned Love (Sequel to Acid Orchid) ~SSBHM Realistic WG Infidelity

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Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 7: New People

Another ambulance siren blared in the background outside her window.

They were nearly constant; it must be true what they say about Chicago. She hadn’t noticed them before, but now that Scott was away at school and she was in their silent apartment by herself, she’d become highly aware of all the sounds outside.

She hadn’t done anything all day. Though she had big intentions when the day first began. She wanted to explore, go try and meet people, go apply for jobs in person, but time slipped right past her. The complete openness, free range of possibilities was overwhelming. She didn’t know where anything was, where to begin. And it felt very strange knowing she didn’t know a single person, other than Scott, in the entire city. When she got ready to go somewhere, she found herself frozen, and decided instead to stay home and do some research first. Learn about the different areas of the city, find jobs to apply for online instead of in person. She could start unpacking too, most of their stuff was still in boxes.
But then she didn’t even end up doing that, instead spending all day watching YouTube drama videos.
It was fine, it was her first day alone in ages after all. She needed to catch up on all the trashy time-wasting activities she used to enjoy before she moved in with Scott and was too embarrassed to do these things with another person around.

By the time Scott’s classes were supposed to be over, she’d grown bored of doing nothing and was thirsting for him to come home. Only for him to call and tell her he’d be out later than planned, because he was going to a happy hour event.

How great was that? Here he was, finding fun stuff to do already, that she wasn’t invited to. Not that she expected to be, she understood that it was an event for his program, but the feeling still persisted. She hoped it wasn’t foreshadowing their time there in general.

Six hours later, at 9 PM, she was still waiting. He wasn’t answering or reading her texts either. What kind of happy hour event lasts this long? When he’d told her about it, he implied he’d be getting back around 5ish. She’d even unpacked a few boxes, gone grocery shopping, and cooked his favorite pasta, carbonara, all with the expectation that he’d be back before 6ish at latest. It felt like she’d become some sort of housewife, and she didn’t love it.

This is what happens when you uproot your whole life for someone with no plan for yourself, she could almost hear her mom lecturing her about it.

Finally, she heard a rustling outside the door. For a second, she felt a flash of fear. How terrifying would it be if that wasn’t Scott coming home, and it was actually some crazy person breaking in? But she shook it off. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. She didn’t know why she felt so paranoid. Maybe it was the effect of being alone all day for the first time in ages. And hearing those sirens outside all day. And also, the fact that it was pitch black outside from like 5:00, much earlier than in Texas, so to her it felt a bit more like midnight than 9ish.

The door opened and she saw Scott’s familiar looming silhouette enter the apartment. He turned on the light in the front room, “Hey Mia, are you there?”

Well of course she’s fucking there. Where else would she go, she thought.

“Hey,” she got up walking towards the door. He gave her a quick hug, as he pressed her into him, she felt the comforting sensation of his stomach enveloping her form.

“Did you have fun at the happy hour thing?”

He gave a weird little smile, “Yes.”

“…Are you not gonna elaborate on that?”

He put his laptop bag and fold-out chair down in their room. He scratched his head, “Um yeah, it was good. The people were good.”

She leaned against the bedroom door frame, looking at him curiously, “… That sounds… good.”

He walks back out of the bedroom towards the kitchen, still smiling a bit, “I’m not trying to be cryptic. You know how it is when you have a good time somewhere, but there’s not really that much to say about it?”

“Well you haven’t told me how your classes went yet either. You were so nervous, I want to hear how things actually panned out!

He opened the fridge door, noticing the carbonara she’d been forced by his lateness to put up, “Aw you cooked? Is this all for me?”

Not really, she’d used two boxes of pasta hoping to make enough to last the next two days.

“Jesus, of course not! Does that really look like one serving to you??”

He shrugged, taking out one of the Tupperware containers and sticking the whole thing in the microwave.

That wasn’t supposed to be one serving either! You were supposed to take some out from there and put it in a bowl, that’s still way too much for one person, can you not tell by looking at it?”

He ignored her protests, pressing start and sitting down at the table, “I got cold called and fucked it up in the first class, but it wasn’t that bad. What’d you do today?”

Umm, she didn’t plan on lying to him, it just poured out of her, “A lot actually! I explored the area, dropped my resume off at a couple places, met some new people.”

“Good, I’m glad you weren’t bored without me,” he said sounding genuine.


Still wide awake several hours after they’d gone to bed, Scott kept mulling over the evening in his mind. And he kinda wanted to go finish that carbonara Mia had made, but she’d be so irritated with him when she found out, it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t sure why he had been so vague with her. The truth was, he hadn’t spent much time at the mixer.

The mixer itself had been like any other boring semi-professional event.

Groups of people standing around in small circles, nursing one cocktail for unreasonably long amounts of time, dryly small talking about what city they were from or what kind of work they hope to do when they graduate.

He was so sober it was almost physically uncomfortable. It was the one thing he hated about going to bars, his alcohol tolerance was so high, he’d have to buy an embarrassing amount of drinks to even begin to feel anything. Really, he didn’t get how anyone could feel anything with the tiny cups of ice barely drizzled with liquor they serve at bars.

He was considering leaving only thirty minutes in, when Amal (aka elevator girl) showed up. With a mini entourage of friends.

He didn’t approach her right away, instead staying in his little circle of well-dressed boring guys, one-upping each other about what they were doing before they came here. Until shortly after they’d arrived, he saw that it looked like her group was about to leave.

He ducked out of his conversation and walked over to her, “You’re getting out of here already? Not enough smart people to flirt with?”

She smiled coyly, looking at him like she was trying to read him, “Nope, not as many as there are outside of this bar.”

He forced out a laugh, (something he’d been having to do all evening) then she continued to speak.

“Nah we’re leaving cause our friend is doing stand-up at this place down the street. It’s his first time, so we have to go support him.”

And that was all the invitation he needed.

He rolled onto his side in the bed. He couldn’t get comfortable. The red light from the fire alarm on their ceiling kept flashing and he couldn’t turn off his awareness of it.

After the show they sat on the streets with a massive group of people from the comedy club. He wasn’t sure whether Amal knew them all or not, she was acting as if she did, but then again based on how familiar she carried herself around him (a total stranger) maybe she was just like that with everyone.
It was an eclectic group. But from what he observed, the main ones Amal seemed to be close with were: Eliza, a hopped-up girl who said, “hell yeah!” about everything, and kept talking about how she technically had only one tattoo, but it was a full sleeve. She had sorority girl vibes, despite clearly desiring to be the opposite of that in everything she said and the pseudo alternative way she presented herself. A guy whose name he didn’t catch, with waist length mermaid blond hair, booty shorts, half shaven off eyebrows, and a gravelly voice that didn’t match his look. A loudmouth named Mark who looked vaguely homeless, because of his scraggly beard, jumbled teeth, and manic energy, supposedly caused by not sleeping for two days straight; and Steve, a self-described ‘recovered progressive Libertarian’ with a short conservative mohawk, those black rimmed square glasses everyone wears, and a worn out ‘This is what a feminist looks like’ T-shirt.

Eliza and Steve were the two that she had originally come to the mixer with, so he assumed the others didn’t go to law school. He would’ve assumed that anyways, from looking at them, those were the only two that slightly seemed like they’d be part of that world. Though even they too didn’t quite fit the mold.

He wondered whether that was why she’d been so friendly to him. Did he look like a misfit like these people? Was she trying to grow some sort of group? He thought about how Mia had wanted him to find people to go to music festivals with, well now he was pretty sure he was off to a strong start.

Many of their conversations were about philosophy, yet somehow they still felt lowbrow. And even when they referenced things he’d never heard of he still found himself laughing when they laughed, but it wasn’t forced.

Alright, he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. He got up quietly and walked to the kitchen to finish the rest of the carbonara.


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 8: November

Back when Scott first lost fifty pounds, she noticed his belly had a slightly different texture. It felt softer, looser, sloppier, she could stretch his skin further like slack dough. He could lie on his back, and still let his belly flop over towards her as if he were laying on his side, just by slightly angling his hips. She could sink her hands deeper into him then.

And his belly hung much lower than it used to, though she wasn’t sure whether that happened after he lost weight or just before. She could see it even through his clothes, especially when he wore loose casual stuff, the outline of his thick bulging lower belly protruding through the fabric of his pants all the way down to mid-thighs. It was especially visible when he walked around. His arms seemed to hang back further, making it almost look like he was sticking his stomach out on purpose. He definitely wasn’t though, that look of protrusion came from sheer mass alone, not how he carried it.

She knew he was well-aware of the slight changes too, because every so often he would say stuff like “I’m gonna have so much loose skin if I lose weight, maybe I shouldn’t bother, I think I missed the boat,” and she’d never be able to tell whether he meant it or not.

He must’ve found this slight redistribution of his weight uncomfortable, because one day she caught him resting his belly on the kitchen counter, while he unstacked the dishwasher. It looked like he had lifted it up, and just sat it there for support. His heavy flesh pooling onto the counter, creating ripples on his exposed skin. He didn’t wait for her to ask what he was doing, he just immediately took a step back, letting his gut flop back down against him. And that little wounded grunt he made when the weight returned to its natural position, to tug on his spine and back muscles said it all. He wanted a physical break. Some relief from being in his body. He didn’t say anything about it, but he didn’t need to.

She’d seen him do stuff like that before (e.g. using something external to support some of his weight), when they’ve showered together. In fact, in the shower it seemed it was a necessity. He would lift his stomach onto a ledge he’d attached onto the side wall so that he could wash the area beneath it. The first few times they’d shower together he never did anything like that, it was only after they’d started living together. It used to just be an after sex flirtation thing, mainly focused on splash attacking each other with the detachable shower head or washing cum out of her hair, but eventually it became something more mundane. But she appreciated the mundane version even more. Watching him engage in his normal routine, watching him touch his body, rubbing soap on his stomach and making it wobble like crazy.

But that last part, when he’d have to lift his skin to wash between his folds was her ultimate favorite. Most of them he could do by hand, just lifting the skin out of the way with one hand and scrubbing with the other. But his belly was a different story, that took some effort. He would do this little sucking in/pulling his shoulders upwards motion as he stuck his arms under his stomach, just to be able to hoist the entire thing high enough to rest it on that ledge. Only then would he be able to get under there enough to fully wash the skin beneath it.

The first time he did that in front of her she couldn’t even believe he’d gotten to that level of comfort with her, to not feel weird about doing that while she was there. She wondered if he fully understood then how hot she found it when he did things like that, and if that was why he was doing it in front of her.

Stuff like that never happened in this new apartment, with its tiny shabby shower. He could just barely fit in there by himself, much less with her standing behind him.

Lately though, the texture of his belly had begun to feel normal again. She wasn’t sure whether it actually changed, or she’d just gotten used to the new soft looseness and it had become the new normal. But no, it felt noticeably firmer, fuller like his skin was packed to the brim with fat again.
In the last two months, well really for the entire time they’ve been in Chicago, she’d also noticed he’d stopped weighing himself, only occasionally mentioning his weight loss attempt when she’d indirectly try to bring it up.

Before she got a job, she had taken on doing all the domestic stuff, like grocery shopping. And during that time that she was the one buying all the food, it seemed like she could never buy enough to last. Food was constantly disappearing. She’d buy something for herself or something intended to last all week, and it’d be gone before she knew it.

Since she’s started working though, Scott’s gone back to doing most of the shopping and in turn, their new Chicago pantry was starting to look like his old one. Like the pantry of a hoarder or a doomsday prepper.

All these things made it obvious, that though he kept up the pretense, Scott had stopped actively trying to lose weight. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d already gained a good amount of it back. He seemed to think she didn’t realize, as he continued eating only small portions in front of her. But it was clear.
She felt too tired to say anything to him about it. She didn’t have the mental energy to argue with him again yet. Nothing she said or did mattered anyways, she found. He was gonna do whatever he wanted to do, either way. Plus, she had more interesting things to think about now.

Like the people in the new meetup groups she’s joined.


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 8: Contd

She joined these groups on her own, since Scott was doing his own thing with the people he knew from class, she figured she ought to start building her own separate life as well. The main group she’d become active in was a writer’s group, they met at coffee shops and bars all over the Lakeview area to write together and discuss their progress afterwards.

That day, she had a meeting coming up at 6 and was preparing to get ready for it when Scott got home. As had become his routine lately, he went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a snack, and planted himself on the couch.

“Are you going out?” he’d asked, noticing she was putting on her shoes.

“Yeah, but not for too long. Like two hours maybe?”

“Oh. Well that’s too bad, I wanted to bitch to you about my day.”

She laughed, “Well you’ve got ten minutes!”

He sighed, “Good, cause I wanna get your take on something. Tell me if this is offensive or not.”

“Ooh fun.”

“So I went to this talk, and afterwards when we were at the thing they do after talks, every time they have this little post-talk mixer thing with wine and fucking cucumber sandwiches and stuff and you just mingle with people. They’re usually boring. But this had been a talk I was actually looking forward to going to, right?"

“Mhmm,” she swiped dark red lipstick onto her mouth, only half listening to his story.

“And so at the mixer thing, I had been in a group of people and we were all talking to the woman who had given the talk, she was like a law professor at Duke right and she was in charge of their center for global justice and the talk had been about that sort of stuff.

“Where’s the offensive part already!” she asked.

He rolled his eyes, “I’m getting to it! I don’t know if you know about this stuff, so I have to explain.”

“I know about mixers!”

“But did you know they always happen after talks?”

She shrugged, “Well no, but I would probably assume they did.”

“Anyways, so the point is, I asked her a question about her research, and we got into this friendly debate type thing, well not really a debate, that’s too strong of a word, but you know like a back and forth conversation where I was semi disagreeing with some of her points. Then while I’m in the middle of making a very good point, she shuts the whole conversation down saying I’m ‘obviously articulate’. What the fuck does that mean right? Is that not a dig?”

Mia tilted her head to the side, “It doesn’t sound like a dig to me.”

“Okay but think about it. Why would you say that to someone? In what situation would you say that?”

“I dunno. If I thought they were expressing themselves well?”

No, you’d say it if you had specifically expected them not to be able to express things well. If you thought they were gonna be dumb, right? Which in this context, she shouldn’t really be expecting that of anyone, so it must be personal, you see? It’s a backhanded jab. Rather than responding to what I’m saying, she uses condescension to put me back in my place. It’s like complimenting someone for not being fucking illiterate.”

“Yeahhh I guess,” she picks up her keys.

“I thought you said I had ten minutes; it’s been like two minutes.”

“I like to give myself some wiggle room, in case I miss the train.”

“I’m sure if someone called you articulate, you’d call them racist,” he said making eye contact with her.

“That’d be a different situation! Because in that case, articulate would mean like….not talking in…I guess like slang or like not using AAVE since it is not respected as it’s own dialect, it’d be commenting on actual speech.”

“It’s the exact same thing. She’s looking at me, making assumptions about my intelligence, and then when I annoy her and contradict her expectations, she’s using the fact that she knows everyone is making those same assumptions, to shut me up.”

She stroked the side of his face, “I’m sorry you had a bad meeting, but I gotta go. We can unpack this later.”

“It wasn’t a bad meeting, it was fine, I’m just showing you the kinds of subtle annoying shit that people give me, so you can learn to recognize it and get what I’m talking about whe-”

She reached their front door, “Yes, yes, I know, goodbye!”

It felt good to be going to her own thing.

Now she could hear the refreshing conversation of other people talking about their creative projects, rather than the drone of Scott complaining about the people he knew and scrutinizing every little detail to figure out whether they were or weren’t responding to him in precisely the ways he wanted them to.


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 9: No Regrets

Scott, Amal, Steve, and Eliza had started a little study group that met every Thursday. Then after they were finished working, they’d head to the bar and hang out for an hour or so to unwind.

Today they’d been there for longer than usual. Eliza had already left and Steve was beginning to hint that he’d be heading out soon.

Normally, once two people left, the rest of the group called it right away. At least, when Scott was one of the last people left that was what happened, he wasn’t sure whether they kept hanging out when he was the one that left early. He wasn’t good enough friends yet with any of them not to feel weird being alone with just one of them.

So, as Steve walked out, he chugged down the rest of his beer in preparation to leave as well. But he noticed Amal wasn’t doing the same. Instead, her eyes were laser focused on his face, slightly squinted. She was leaning her cheek into her palm comfortably, as if she had no intention of getting up.

He put down his pint glass and squinted back at her, “What?” he sounded more aggressive than he intended.

She smiled slightly, breaking eye contact with him, “You seem off. Tell me your problem.”

He was surprised she could tell.

They’d only known each other about three months, he wouldn’t have expected her to be able to read him at all.

Had he not been a few beers in, he likely would’ve told her she was wrong. After all, he hadn’t talked about what was going on out loud at all. Not even to Mia. The only person he’d had any conversation about it with was his sister, and that was only out of necessity because she kept calling to update him.

He scratched the back of his head, “Okay. Well. My dad’s sick. Has been for a while now…and I think I’m gonna have to go visit soon.”

Immediately he regretted telling her, now he was going to have to talk about it and deal with her being awkward and feigning sadness.

She laughed, a loud full-bodied laugh.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, well she certainly wasn’t afraid of being offensive. He couldn’t believe she’d laugh at hearing that kind of news. But it was kinda nice. Refreshing after all Mia’s trepidation and caution with always trying to say the right thing.

He found himself starting to laugh too, and it feels good, relieving. “Amal, what the fuck kind of a reaction is that? You’re lucky you’re talking to me, anyone else would be so fucking offended right now.”

“It’s just the way you said it! Like are you bummed cause he’s sick or just because you have to visit him now?”

Wow, was his tone really that transparent?

“Jesus I’m not that much of an asshole! Of course I’m primarily upset cause he’s sick,” he said continuing to laugh.

She squinted at him again skeptically. He thought she looked like a cat when she made that face, he shrugged in response to her expression. So, she exaggerated her skeptical face even more, down turning her mouth, raising one eyebrow, and squinting so hard her eyes were closed.

And he couldn’t help but laugh again, “Okay yeah sure. In this specific moment right now, the reason I seemed off to you today, is that I’m bothered I’m going to have to visit him. But that’s only because I’ve had a long while to digest the fact that he was sick, the only new piece of information is how bad things have gotten.”

“Hmm I think you might need another drink,” she said already turning her attention to the bartender.

Yes, you really understand me.”

She turns her attention to him again, after they ordered, “I didn’t visit my dad before he died.”

Oh shit, she’s opening up to him now. Fuck now it’s his turn to worry about being offensive and convincingly feigning sadness, “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said feeling like he sounded dumb.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face, “Stop that. I can see you calculating what you’ve been told is the right thing to say, and I am telling you right now, you are released from worrying about that stuff with me. You are free to cut the bullshit.”

He grinned, “Yeah okay. You’re right.”

She took a sip of her drink, “Of course I’m right. And tell you a secret, you’re free to cut that shit with everyone, not just with me. People will love you for it. We all know how to read authenticity and we all feel our time being wasted when people refuse to be real with us.”

“Is that why you want to be a lawyer? Cause you think you know how to work people?”

“No, it’s just the wisdom that comes from my being like ten years older than you.”

He’d forgotten she did seem old-ish to him when they first met. He really wanted to ask how old she was exactly. And how old she thought he was.

“Well do you regret it? Not going to see him?”

Without missing a beat she said, “Not really. I did at first, when he died. I didn’t think it was going to happen so quickly. But it was a bad time for me to go anywhere in a lot of ways, and he was all the way in India, and the truth is it wouldn’t have made a difference. He wasn’t alone. And our relationship was the way it was for a reason, years and years of reasons, that wouldn’t be undone or shifted by me sitting with him for the last few hours while he wasn’t even all the way coherent.”

“Oh man well, if my dad was as far as India, I probably wouldn’t go either.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

He hesitated, “Ah… I haven’t really talked about it with anyone before…but I guess liver disease. Or cirrhosis. It’s been going on for a long time, but now things have…escalated. Quite badly.”

“I see. Is he an alcoholic?”

Scott laughed uncomfortably, “Not really. I mean yeah, I would say he’d might’ve had issues with drinking, I didn’t ever really think of him as being like a full-blown alcoholic though. Not ever, I mean not even till right when he started to get sick.”

“Yeah. It can be hard to interpret our families objectively,” she said bluntly.

“Yeah…” Scott wanted to say more, but he wasn’t sure he had more that he actually wanted to say to her, “…But I guess in some way I did know that it was a thing for him. And he talked about stuff like that when it came to his parents’ problems, they were both kind of low-grade addicts to some extent, but it was the sixties, so no one really cared or viewed it that way at the time. But it still must’ve made an impact on my dad cause he was always going on about it. He did always say he inherited their addictive personality, that was about as deep as the ‘self-exploration’ got. He truly fucking hated his parents. Like we must’ve seen them five times total growing up, and they lived in Waco, which was like only an hour and a half drive from us, so it was very intentional, not seeing them.”

He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t.

“I guess I also inherited that from him a bit, the addictive personality,” he mused out loud, as if it were the first time, he’d ever thought of that. I’m not as bad as him though, he thought. While another side of his brain thought, Ha really, you stupid fuck? You’re not as bad as him? You have such an extreme addictive personality that you can barely walk, despite that your whole little fixation is on the least addictive 'substance' known to man!

She looked alarmed by this, “Oh shit, are you an alcoholic?”

“Noooo, definitely not. Not remotely.”

She looks comforted by this, “Good, because I don’t want to get involved in that. Though I have thought it about you before.”

“Nah I don’t have even a mild issue with drinking.”

“It’s okay Scott, I’ve hung out with you at a bar every week for the past two months. I’ve seen how much you drink, but you’ll get no judgement from me. You’re young, you’re a fun guy, it’s fine.”

“No you misinterpret. The only reason I have to drink so much is because I have a really high tolerance.”

“Ah right then, you definitely don’t drink too much if it’s just cause you have a high tolerance.”

“You’re being sarcastic, but it’s really fine. I mean sure, if you got that high tolerance from drinking a lot over the years, but for me it’s just because I’m… you know… a bigger guy so it takes a lot, like it’s a proportional thing. Like how you need more to tranquilize a horse than a rat,” bleh he did not love referring to his size directly in conversation, it always made him cringe. Especially at the size he was at now, there was no way for him to acknowledge it without sounding either melodramatic on one end or like he was grossly in denial with his level of understatement on the other. He almost wished he were comfortable enough with the self-deprecation thing to have said it how he was thinking it e.g. yeah obviously because I’m like a million pounds it takes way more to fuck me up than it does for a normal person, at least then he wouldn’t sound so wildly out of touch with reality.

“Never mind, I’m stepping out of that conversation. Anyways,” she says “My advice to you, is that you should visit your dad if you think you need it. Don’t do it for him, it won’t matter to him for too long. Do it for you.”

“Yeah…I think I’m going to. If only because I’d never be able to justify it to myself if I didn’t go. I think I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
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Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 10: Late Night (part 1)

She wakes up with a start to the sound of Scott’s loud thundering footsteps and heavy breathing. Opening her eyes, just a crack, she could barely see him through the darkness as he staggered out their bedroom door. She covered her face with the pillow, once he was out the room.

Not again. How many times this week was he going to wake her up at 2 in the morning, leaving her way too alert to go back to sleep no matter how hard she tried?

She pressed her eyes shut, trying to think about boring things and tune out the sound of something frying in the kitchen. It was a sound that surprised her, he never got up that late to cook. He never cooked in general even.

She lightly stepped out of the bed, hoping not to alert him that she’d gotten up. After walking over to the kitchen, she hid behind the hallway wall, peering in to see what he was doing.

There he stood, shirtless wearing his gigantic plaid boxer shorts, his heavy belly draped over the upper half of them. Pressing one hand against the counter to support himself, he grunted as he struggled to bend over to reach into one of the cupboards to look for something. A flat spatula.

Even with his arms bent 90 degrees, as he flipped whatever he was making, his elbow looked like a tiny dent in the midst of an ocean of blobby arm fat. The pan sizzled loudly after the thing was flipped. She glanced to the side of him to see he had an open loaf of bread, a pan of butter, and several cheese packages open. Typical, the one time he cooks, he’s making a late-night grilled cheese sandwich. What a stereotypically young guy thing to do. He must be using an absolutely blasphemous amount of butter for the pan to be making that much noise.

He shifted his weight between his feet, every few seconds, looking uncomfortable. Once his sandwich was ready, he walked over to the chairs, leaving it bubbling in butter on the stove. She expected him to go back, put it on a plate, and sit down, but instead he picks up one of their dining chairs (surprisingly effortlessly, she thought, as those chairs are pretty heavy) and brings it back with him in front of the stove.

He lifts his sandwich onto a plate, scoops several ample spoons of butter onto the stove, and begins preparing a second sandwich. While his second sandwich cooked, he sat down in front of the stove, and hungrily stuffed the first into his mouth, every so often as he ate looking up at the second to see if it was ready to be flipped. His belly was way too big to sit that close to the stove, it was wedged against the oven and cupboard, but he didn’t seem to mind much. Without getting up, he served himself his second sandwich and started preparing a third.

After finishing his fourth sandwich, he scooted his chair back and stuck his arms straight in front of him attempting to get enough leverage to stand up. But he barely got the back half of his butt off the chair. He leaned forwards, then back, then swung himself into a standing position with a labored groan. Once standing, a small smile of relief that it only took two attempts spread across his face. He rubbed the top of his belly mindlessly and walked to the fridge.

He dragged his chair over to the open fridge door and sat back down, closing his eyes to enjoy the cold air. He lifted his right breast, making it appear even rounder and plumper than usual, and let the fridge air hit the sweaty under skin beneath his fold. Then he did the same on his other side.

She wondered how embarrassed he’d be if she outed herself and let him know she’d been watching all of this. She really wanted to, with how turned on she was getting. But she wasn’t sure what her role was anymore, because part of her still wanted to continue helping him try and lose weight. Clearly, he’d given up if he was binging in secret like this, and she didn’t want to have to talk seriously about that.

After cooling off, he reached into the fridge for a large pack of cookie dough bites. He leaned back into the chair, and began to eat, tossing handfuls into his mouth as if he were still starving and hadn’t just had four densely cheesy buttery sandwiches. He finished the pack, pouring the remainder into his mouth like it were a drink. Then he reached in again for a jar of peanut butter.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She stepped out from behind the wall.

“You’ve been doing this a lot lately, haven’t you?”

He jumps in surprise, or not really jumps so much as stays firmly planted in his chair and jerks to face in her direction. As he does this his entire fleshy body jiggles. His eyes focus on her, “Shit, you scared me!” He puts the jar of peanut butter back in the fridge and crumples the cookie dough bag in his hand as if he could hide the evidence. Then he must’ve registered her question because annoyance flashes across his face and he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, “I wouldn’t say a lot.”

She walked over to him, looking into his eyes. They were streaked with red, like he was exhausted or high or upset, making the icy green of his irises look much brighter. The skin around his eyes looked unnatural dark, like more than just eye bags, they looked strange and sickly. Flecks of bread were in his beard, which he’d been keeping longer than usual making his face look quite a bit less fat than it was. She brushed them out, intending for them to land on the floor but really, they wound up on his chest, he looked down confused.

“You had some crumbs.”


She sighed, put her arms around his neck and sat on the lower portion of his belly, with her legs swung to the same side like a mermaid on a rock. His lower belly was so large it seemed to sit separate from him on its own, his belly button faced straight up in that position with how his belly was rested atop his thighs. He rested his arm around her back and patted it. Hesitantly he said, “I don’t think this chair can hold both of us.”

She laughed and got off of him, standing between his legs with his belly pushing firmly against her.

“Right now isn’t a great time for me to try and lose weight,” he said quietly, “So I’ve stopped trying. For a while now. You were right.”

She nods, sensing from his tone he needed her not to put up a fuss or ask why and just accept it, “Okay.”


“Yeah! It’s not my place to be pushy,” she said.

He scoffs, “Wish you’d had that energy sooner.”

That was another sentence she could choose to argue with but couldn’t be bothered to anymore. Instead, she rested her hand on his lower belly, feeling his softness, running her fingers against his dark body hair. She hadn’t fully allowed herself to enjoy his body since the day she saw him in that wheelchair.

“So, were you done eating, or did you want more?”

Now he looks really surprised, he laughs lightly, “Yeahhh I wanted more,” he’s aiming to do this guilty sort of voice, but somehow it comes out sounding deeper than usual, sexy and weirdly primal. He shook his head, with a tired guilty smile, “I dunno why I’m like this.”

“Well what do you want?”

“Out of what we have here? Or like in an ideal world?”

She snickered, “Wow obviously you have a few answers.”

He looks embarrassed, “I just mean, if you wanted to go out somewhere with me, then we could. Or if you just wanna stay home, that’s fine too. I’m only gonna go by something if you’re in the mood for a late-night drive. Which it sounded like you were.”

“Sure!” After all, there was no way she was falling asleep again now.

His face brightens with excitement, “Nice, there’s this 24-hour breakfast place I wanted to try.”
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Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 10 (part 2)

The bottom of the steering wheel was sunken into his lower belly again, like it used to at his heaviest. She wondered if he’d already reached that weight again.

“Let’s call in and order, so we can eat in the car.”

“Won’t it be more comfortable inside?”

He shook his head, “Nah, not really.”

She looked at his body, compressed by the car to the point where it looked painful. He noticed her scrutiny and said, “Well I prefer the privacy anyway.”

As she expected, he wanted her to go in to get it. He parked in the back lot, where they were one of only two cars. The sign above was missing several letters, it looked vintage very 70s. She wondered if this place was really that old or if they just liked the aesthetic.

When she got back to the car, she saw Scott had moved to the backseat, which he had fully folded down. He was facing sideways on the flattened seat, his back propped up against the side door. She opened the front passenger door for barely half a second before he protested, “Hey what are you doing? Come join me!”

There wasn’t any room to sit beside him, he filled most of the seat despite it having doubled in size from being laid flat. He was just too immensely wide. So, she opened the door opposite to him and climbed in. She mirrored his position with her legs in front of her, intertwined with his. His belly sagged between his legs.

Despite what he told her about having given up, he didn’t order that much food. Well not that much by his standards. The bag didn’t even feel that heavy to her as she brought it out. He’d gotten chocolate Oreo pancakes (one of their specials, so she knew it’d be a sickening amount of food), an order of chicken and waffles, and two side orders of bacon and hash browns.

As they ate, they talked about music and joked around with each other in a way they hadn’t for a while now. Not since they moved to Chicago really, had she felt as fluid and relaxed with him as she did right now. She didn’t know why, but feeling this way only further exposed how strained things had been between then lately.

He was still cramming his mouth to capacity with large forkfuls of Oreo pancakes, when she caught him eyeing her blueberry ones. He must’ve noticed her own eating had slowly come to a stop with two out of three pancakes untouched.

“Are you gonna finish that?” he said, still chewing. They were huge, so she was indeed struggling to finish even half of them.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, sliding her Styrofoam box over to him.

“Thanks. Wish you’d gotten more syrup packets,” he muttered. He had absolutely drenched his pancakes in syrup, each time they absorbed the liquid, he’d dump another packet on. She must’ve brought back about twenty packets; she’d grabbed about four fistfuls and dropped them into their bag before coming back in the car.

“You want me to go in and grab some?”

He looked up at her gratefully, “Yes please do.”

When she returned to the car and took her place sitting across from him, he’d finished his pancakes and had moved on to hers. She handed him the syrup packets, and he happily drained seven of them onto her one remaining pancake, leaving it drowning in a thick sugary pool.

“Thank god, you came back so fast. I was almost about to finish these with just the syrup you had on there. So basically dry.”

“You could’ve stopped eating and waited for me to get back.”

“Ha-ha,” he said sarcastically.

When he finished all his food, except the hash browns, he paused from eating and looked at her, “Why are you sitting so far? Come let me hold you.”

Well that was uncharacteristically romantic sounding.

There truly was no room for her on either side of him. So, she scooted over between his legs instead. He laughed, now that she was pressed against his belly, she could feel all of it move inwards and shake with his laughter. Sometimes it amazed her that the entire thing was attached to him and that he still controlled its movements, all the way down to the lowest most distant part of his flab. She turned to look straight up at him, “Why are you laughing!”

“Nothing, I didn’t think you were going to sit like that. We must look ridiculous,” he put his plate of unfinished hash browns to the side and stretched to get his arm around her.

“Hey, you know what?” He said, in a tone she couldn’t quite place.


A smile was threatening on the edge of his lips, “I’ve never had sex in a car.”

Whoa, where did this come from? He never wanted to have sex after binging! Sure, whenever he let her watch him binge, she would get so unbearably turned on she’d have to beg him for it. But he was always reluctant, saying he didn’t want to move when he was full “That sounds like something I would say!”

He laughed, “Yeah, well you should love that I’m saying it then.”

“Do you think that’s…even possible for us?” For you, seeing as you barely fit in most of the seats anymore, is what she really meant.

He shrugged, “Maybe not, but trying should be fun anyways,” he leaned in to kiss her and she followed. Eventually somehow leaning herself all the way back till she was lying flat on her back and he had to shift into lying on his side next to her.

Once he was lying down, the only way there was enough room for both of them was with most of his belly spilling onto of her. It covered her waist completely, even extending out beyond her. The heavy feeling of it resting on her was intoxicating. She always wanted him to try squashing her, but he refused to belief she wouldn’t get hurt by it.

Eventually he pulled himself off of her into a kneeling position and took her pants off, then struggled to take off his own. His mammoth dimpled pale thighs, slowly becoming exposed. He had so many rolls of fat along his thighs, distorting their shape. Still lying down she shifted her gaze from him to the sunroof. The sky was taking on a lighter shade of navy blue with hints of orange at the horizon. Was it almost morning already?

He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her upwards toward him. She lifted his lower belly just high enough for him to slip inside her, then let it drop back over her hips and waist. Feeling his fat quivering against her skin was her favorite, especially in positions like this when so much of it was rested on her. The only problem was how low the ceiling was, he had to keep his shoulders crouched and his head tucked. After only like ten seconds, it became too much for him, so he dropped down from a kneeling position to being on all fours, sending much of his weight plummeting into her, crushing her ribs so hard they might snap. But that kind of pain was almost intolerably sexy. She dug her hands into his skin, squeezing his rolls.

It didn’t take very long for him to become exhausted.

“You need a break.”

“Nah I’m good,” he panted, still continuing.

“Let me do the work for a while.”

He let out a long-relieved sigh and dragged himself off of her into a sitting position.

She bit her lip, looking at him: a sweating breathless colossal heap of fat. A thought entered her head, as she looked behind him calculating the distance between his head and the door.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him as hard of a push as she could muster. His eyes widened in shock, as he crashed down into the seat. She guessed right. From that position, it didn’t matter than she was so much weaker than him, she could let gravity do the work. His bloated over-sized body was helpless against gravity.

“What was that??” He said attempting to lift himself back into a sitting position.

She pulled herself on top of him, straddling his mid-thighs and slowly pushing his lower belly high enough for her to reach his buried cock.

“Like I said! You needed to lay down and let me do the work for a while.”

He laughed slightly, beginning to help her in pushing his belly upwards.

His eyes were closed, but she kept hers wide open as she rode him. He’s so fat he’s spilling off the edge of the seat, but he doesn’t seem to care. She always came quickly from this position; his belly was right in the perfect position to grind her to a fast climax.

After they both finished, the sun had noticeably begun to rise. She was lying partially on top of him, hanging onto him tightly. He’d put on some music, as they chatted, and watched the sun rise.

It was so unexpected how fun tonight had been.

Maybe they had just been adjusting to moving before, and tonight was a signal that they were going back to their normal dynamic.

“We should go camping sometime,” she said, “Like soon too, because it’s about to be too cold here.”

He turned his head to her, his expression blissed out and a bit sleepy, “Yeah I used to love camping. It’d be cool going with you.”

“What if we went this weekend?”

He paused. And something in the way he paused, suggested an immediate darkening in his mood. “Well… I’ve been meaning to tell you… I’m going to Dallas this weekend.”

Dallas?? This weekend? How could he not have mentioned that before? Was he joking? It was already Wednesday!
She sat up straight in surprise, “What?? What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his face grim, “Yeah, what else is there to say? I’m going to Dallas on Friday. My flight is at eight, in the evening. I’m staying five days.”

“You’re actually serious right now?”

“No, it’s a prank bro,” he said in a mocking voice. He rolled his eyes, “Obviously, I’m serious.”

“I just can’t believe you could think it’s normal to plan a trip home and not tell me?”

He sat up. Still slowly with significant effort, he grunted from the exertion of having to lift his huge body. For a moment he sat silently to catch his breath, before he eventually made his way to the driver’s seat.

“I thought we were watching the sun rise,” she said dejected.

He gestures outside, “Looks risen to me,” turning on the car, not waiting for her to return to the front seat.

So much for back to normal.


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 11

He had most definitely gotten fatter. Again. He could feel it in the shower. The white tiles seemed to be closing in on him, every move he made he’d find some part of his body bumping into them.

He could feel it when he got dressed. He pulled his jeans over his stomach, only to find he couldn’t get the button to fasten. It had been threatening not to for a while now, every day his pants had felt more and more unbearably tight. He sucked in hard, but it made little difference. Resigned, he lowered his pants and pulled them up under his belly, fastening them easily.

Now to find a shirt that was long enough to cover him with his pants so much lower. Ever since he’d gained and lost all that weight, he stopped being able to wear his pants under his belly as it drooped so much lower. He selected one of his largest shirts, an 8XL that he’d bought when he weighed 590 and slipped it over his head. He’d never worn this shirt with his pants under his belly, so he wasn’t sure if it would look okay.

It didn’t look okay. The shirt reached down just past his belly button, around where his pants would normally sit if they still fit him. The rest of his belly poured out the bottom of the shirt, down past the bottom of his jeans zipper. He cupped the lower sides of his belly with his hands, looking at it exasperated. What now?

Surely he hadn’t gained so much weight that he was larger than his heaviest, so for these pants not to be able to fit he figured he must just be very bloated. He pulled the pants back up high over his belly, took one of Mia’s hair ties and wrapped it around the two open buttons, dragging them slightly together. This plus suspenders, should be enough to hold them up. Then he covered the whole mess with his shirt.

But you know what? He didn’t fucking care. He wasn’t going to do anything about it right now. He couldn’t. Because every time he remembered where he was going and why, at least he could drown his thoughts out by eating something distracting. He started wondering what his dad was going to look like now, would it be visibly obvious he was sick? Or dying worse yet? He had no sense how severe things were. How long his dad had left. Whether this was a check in visit or a goodbye visit. He couldn’t wrap his head around the possibility that it was meant to be a goodbye visit. His brain just couldn’t accept it.

As he got ready, he wondered what exactly should he say to his dad when he got there? He hadn’t seen him in close to a year now, because yes, he’s an incredibly shitty son, so now to be seeing him like this?

Was he supposed to talk to him as if things were normal? Or was he supposed to talk to him as if he was dying? Was he supposed to say… tell him he loved him or something like that? Ughhhh. What an absolute fucking nightmare. He was beginning to feel physically sick from anxiety.

He put on his watch, walked to the kitchen, grabbed the first thing he saw (in this case, two slices of bread coated with ketchup) and violently devoured it. The rest of the loaf along with the jar of ketchup sat beside it. He quickly lathered up another slice, and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, one after another.

Truthfully, he hated ketchup. Always found it disgusting. But when he was particularly upset it didn’t matter what he ate. The experience of eating still soothed him and allowed him to have better control of his attention and where his thoughts went.

As he chewed, he felt his thoughts mellowing out, shifting to focus on the sensations on his tongue. It seemed any sensory input was enough to zap him out of his brain and back to the world of tangible things. It almost shocked him, how effectively it worked. His hand reflexively moved back to grab another slice, but he found it empty. Noooo!

“Did you just eat all the bread?” Mia’s voice broke into his thoughts, “I was literally in the middle of making a sandwich! I can’t even step away for a minute?!”

“My bad,” he mumbled, likely more annoyed that the bread was done than she was.

“I bought that two days ago! It’s supposed to last a week!”

“I don’t know why you buy such small amounts of food then. You know who you live with,” he said quietly, well aware it was an unflattering defense of himself.

She slid into one of their dining chairs her face limp, “I can’t believe you’re leaving this evening, and you still haven’t told me why you’re going.”

Ugh, why is she changing the subject? He silently cursed her for bringing his attention back to his trip. Now he ate all that ghastly bread and ketchup for no reason, he couldn’t even enjoy the zoned-out peace from it.

Her glowing rage at him about his secrecy had gradually cooled over the last two days into a dejected sadness. It made him badly want to tell her what was going on. But every time he opened his mouth to try, he was overwhelmed by emotions. Saying it out loud to her, the most important person in his life, made it too real.

Also, he vehemently did not want to cry in front of her, and he felt quite under threat of that each time he started attempting to tell her. He needed all his emotional strength for when he arrived there. He couldn’t start spending it here.

“What kind of fucked up sandwich from hell were you about to make? No one puts ketchup on sandwiches,” he said trying to lighten her mood.

She stared at him incredulously, “Did you forget that you just ate like twelve slices of bread alone with ketchup?”

“Well, that’s different because I’m a disgusting crazy person with no standards. You though? I’m surprised at you.”

She laughed a little, but looked sad and distressed, “You can’t distract me by being mean to yourself.”

He sighed deeply, “I told you. I can’t talk about it yet. If I talk about it, out loud, with you, it’s going to fuck with my head. When I’m back, I’ll tell you then.”

Her expression turned suspicious, “What do you mean with me? Who can you talk about it with then?”

He scoffed, “That’s all you got out of that? Okay. Sure. I’m heading out. Goodbye.” He almost wished he wouldn’t have to see her again after class, before he headed to the airport. She’ll want to do this dance all over again then.


He could especially feel that he’d gained weight at the airport.

Walking around was one thing, he could walk easily for maybe twenty minutes. But standing in place, only moving half a footstep every two minutes, was another. And after the security line nearly killed him, there was the waiting seats at the gate. And after that there was, worst of all, the plane itself.

He’d never bought two plane tickets before. Why would he when there was first class? The seats there were almost double the size and they didn’t have those extra close tray tables that he knew he’d never be able to open with his big belly in the way. He tried to remember the last time he flew. Must’ve been a little over a year and a half years ago, the last time he went to Malibu. So even without his recent weight gain of an unsettling mysterious amount, he was at least fifty pounds larger than he’d been then. And that time, he felt he was pushing the limits of those first-class seats. His ass had covered the seat belt port completely, so not only did he have the usual embarrassment of requesting a seatbelt extender, he to do a little squat to buckle it and have it painfully cutting into him from below the entire flight.

He eased himself into the chair. As soon as he made contact, a sense of dread filled his mind.

Fuck. He didn’t fit.

He didn’t fit in a fucking first class chair.

The center of him did slowly melt its way into the seat, but the sides of his ass stayed firmly perched on the armrests, too wide to drop into the chair.

He was so frustrated he could scream. But instead he squirmed his body from right to left, trying to squish as much of himself as he could into the seat. Eventually enough of him had been wedged in, that he at least looked like a normally seated person. He didn’t feel like one though. The sides of his butt were still pooled up over the armrests. Only an hour and half, he mentally repeated to himself like a meditation mantra.

“Ooh I think this is me,” a woman with a Minnesota accent stood awkwardly in front of him.

Okay, well what do you want me to do about it, he thought.

“Could ya scoot out so I can get by ya there?”

Seriously? He imagined trying to stand up. If he got up, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to replicate whatever magic he did to fit the first time around.

“Sorry, it’s- hmm… it’s difficult for me to get out. Can you just push by?”

The woman looked irritated, “You’re not leaving me much room there.”

He looked in front of him at how much space between him and the next chair his stomach and legs filled. She would definitely have to touch him to get past. Maybe even rub up against him a bit. He understood why she didn’t want to have to do that.

He tried to stand but couldn’t get enough momentum to move much. He grabbed the back of the seat in front of him with one hand and pushed up against his own armrest with the other. The sides of the seat scraped deeply against his skin as he pulled himself out of the seat. Once standing, he moved his shirt to glance at his side, tugging the skin into his field of vision.

Wow it was actually bleeding! He was wedged so tight the seat cut through his skin as he stood. And he was going to have to put that same chopped up bleeding area of his side, right back where it was. The friction from the seat was really going to hurt, he was already bracing himself for it as the woman stepped into her seat beside him. If she needs to use the bathroom, I am going to fucking stab her.

As the plane took off, his sides had begun to ache and throb even more. But at least it distracted him from thinking about his dad.

Ugh fuck, now he was thinking about his dad again.


Sep 21, 2019
I really love this story! I think the characters are especially interesting and you have a way of writing that keeps me interested! Really hope there'll be more soon, but no pressure of course! Good job on the story so far and I'm looking forward to the next part!


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Author note: I had to change Scott’s sister’s name from Becca (what it was in Acid Orchid) to Rachel, because my husband’s sister’s name just so happens to actually be Becca, totally coincidentally as I wrote this character’s name back in 2015 before I met either of them. I doubt anyone will have noticed this anyways, but I thought it was funny so I'm telling you why.

Scene 12

Alanis Morrissette’s first album played in the background as they drove from the airport to the hospital.

It felt somehow silly and inappropriate.

He didn’t know what he expected to be hearing in the background in this moment or why he found these old familiar songs so eerie in this context. Did he think there was going to be an action movie soundtrack? Or perhaps a foreboding sad little orchestra soundtrack?

Rachel, his sister, had stopped talking now. She too seemed unsure of how serious to act. Within the past fifteen minutes since they’d been driving, they both flitted back and forth from discussing their dad’s condition with an utmost somberness that felt incredibly fake to him, to joking around, to Rachel ranting about her impressively shitty love life. They hadn’t seen each other in even longer than he hadn’t seen his dad. But unlike in his dad’s case, he wasn’t bothered by not seeing her. That had nothing to do with him, she kept moving and not wanting to visit.

When they first found each other at the airport, the first thing she said to him was, “God, what have you done to yourself??” In all his stress about coming here, he’d hadn’t much considered how long it had been since his family had seen him and how much they were likely to react to his weight gain. It was probably good he hadn’t thought about it, since there was nothing, he could do to avoid it. Other than not go, which obviously wasn’t an option.

Instead of answering seriously, he flicked her too short over bleached bangs and said, “No, what did you do to yourself? You know there are actually people out there who do hair professionally?”

And surprisingly that was enough to make her fall into some back and forth banter, and drop the subject completely, for the moment being at least.

“But yeah,” Rachel speaks up out of nowhere, as if they were still in mid-conversation, “I don’t think it’s that much of a red flag that his ex still lives with him, you know?”

“Is it not?”

“No it’s really not. Because think about it man, life is messy right? She might’ve had nowhere to go! If anything, it just shows that he’s such a pure and generous good-hearted guy that he doesn’t let anything get in the way of you know, being there for people? If anything, it’s a green flag!”

Scott sighed, “Yeah I suppose it could mean that.” He knew there was no point in arguing with her interpretations of these things. If he did, she’d just tell him he knew nothing because he wasn’t a woman and because he was five years younger than her, then she’d berate him about it till he gave in and agreed to whatever nonsense she wanted validation for.

“Exactly! See I knew you would get it, you are learning. Maturing. I think you’ve really grown as a person from that relationship of yours.”

When it became clear she expected him to answer, he gave a quick dry laugh.

“I’m serious! You’re at one of the most key important stages in a person’s development. The first adult relationship is such a key defining factor, in how people go on to live their lives and you know, develop emotionally and spiritually and sexually, not that you wanna hear that from me ha,” she made a goofy face and did a voice when she said sexually.

“This wasn’t my first relationship,” he swore she had him stuck at eighteen in her head and hadn’t remembered that time passed for him at the same rate it did for everyone.

“Your first adult relationship I said!”

“Well I wouldn’t say it was that either.”

Sure girl,” when she would get especially interested in whatever she was talking about she would call him girl, man, dude, or bro completely interchangeably. He found it extremely annoying to be called ‘girl’ as young teenager, but eventually he barely noticed.

He didn’t want to talk to her about his life, he preferred the conversation to always stay on her. She had too many wrong opinions that she couldn’t help but offer, when they occasionally veered into talking about him. “How’s work?”

She looked surprised, “Good! Yeah… I’m helping Adam with this documentary he’s been working on for a while. About this little independent record label that restores and re-publishes old vinyls from like Southeast Asia and like sub-Saharan Africa, you know places like that, and just the process they go through and why they started it. It’s sooo super fascinating, you know? You’d love it.”

He was genuinely impressed. That was very out of character with the stuff she normally works on, “Wow! That does sound really interesting. How did you become a part of that project?”

She looks at him like it’s a dumb question, “Cause! Adam!”

“Who was that again?” he winced, realizing she expected him to know who that was and would probably ramble on about how he never listens.

She rolled her eyes theatrically, “Wow man, maybe you haven’t matured after all. You still have the listening skills of a literal CHILD. I have been telling you about Adam this ENTIRE DRIVE! Do you just hear every other word I say?”

“Ohhh he’s the fuckin’ guy who lives with his ex?”

“Yes! But like…really dude? That is sooo not his most distinguishing trait. Don’t identify him that way. Okay. So. Adam is...” she took a deep breath while grinning like a fool and swatting her hair from her face, “the most unique guy I have ever met. He is my… lover? For lack of a better word. We don’t do the whole label thing, but we are simultaneously partners in work, partners in crime, and partners in all spiritual matters, and I take so much authentic inspiration from being with him and watching him work. He’s just so passionate about everything, it’s truly something to see. Like I know you’re a jaded whatever type? But I think even you could feel genuine inspiration from just hanging out with Adam. For even a bit.”

So, you’re currently unemployed and helping out your non-committal boyfriend who is probably still fucking his ex, with his passion project? He wished he could say that. If he were his younger, more annoying self who relished in making her mad, he definitely would’ve said that. But she was right, he had matured in recent years.

Now all he could think about was how utterly insane it was that Rachel could be the flighty unaccomplished hippie she was and yet he was the one considered the family fuckup for such a long time. It was absurd. He never understood it. It no longer bothered him like it used to though, now he just found it vaguely amusing.

He’d tossed around many theories for it though. It could be because Rachel was mostly agreeable, at least when it came to interacting with their parents. She didn’t argue. When she did stuff, they didn’t approve of, she mostly hid it. Whereas he was argumentative from the start, a natural contrarian. A stereotypical youngest child. She meshed with his parents and knew how to socialize with them in a way he simply did not.

It could be a gender thing. His mom was an artist of sorts, and it had worked out very well for her, if only because of her family background. So naturally it’d seem fine for Rachel to try the same direction. Their expectations of her were much lower than they were for him. It didn’t take much for him to fall short of them.

And of course, now, that he’s finally accomplished something as objectively impressive as going to one of the best law schools in the country, everyone had stopped paying attention to these things.

Partially because they all communicated with each other less by then. Partially because that was right when his dad’s health began to slowly decline.

Finally, they pulled up to the hospital. It was nestled right in the middle of the city, an endless complex of sterile white building and parking garages.

“He’ll probably be asleep you know. I don’t know why you wanted us to come here straight. We could still just go back to the house and come in the morning.”

He opened the car door anyways and stepped outside. She sighed exasperated and followed him.

“I just want to take the edge off. If I wait till tomorrow, I’m gonna stay as worried about it as I am right now. I just want to see him and get that part over with,” he explained as they walked to the front entrance.
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Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 13

“Once we’ve had the GI bleeding fully stabilized for over 48 hours, he will be able to go home. For the time being.”

They didn’t give him a room with real walls, instead they were in what felt like a massive hallway. Each person sectioned off with a thin blue curtain.

“Okay so…what does that mean in the long-term? Will he be…better at that point?”

The doctor sighed, her tone deadpan, “What we’re doing now is more about pain management and getting as much longevity as we can. As I told your other relatives, at this stage he could have anywhere from a month to up to eight months, but there’s nothing we can do beyond that.”

He peered over into the bed. Rachel had warned him he’d likely be asleep.

His complexion had a sickly yellow tint to it, making the deep purple veins on his eyelids and throughout his face grossly visible. Despite everything it still amused Scott to see that his hair and beard were still pristinely black, all the way to the roots. Even when he was this sick/in and out of the hospital, he still managed to keep up with his hair dye routine. His cheeks were hollowed out, it made him look ten years older to be that gaunt. His dad had always looked pretty much like a thin version of him. To the point where his family often joked about their resemblance, especially his mom.

She used to joke that he must’ve gotten fat on purpose just to avoid having to look so much like his dad. And she’d say she didn’t blame him, she’d do anything to avoid looking like that man if she were him too.

“Can we leave now? We’ll visit when he’s awake,” Rachel said after they’d only been there ten minutes. But he agreed.


Mia couldn’t even masturbate anymore.

Scott had broken her brain.

She couldn’t think sexually without her thoughts drifting back to him. And once they did wander to him, she couldn’t even enjoy those thoughts.

Because she was pretty sure she was losing him.

And thinking about losing him made her want to curl up in a ball and cry.

It was a broad problem really. Her entire life had become too wrapped up in him. Since he left yesterday, she felt unsettlingly clueless about what to do with herself. Mainly because she was in Chicago and she’d not yet developed a life there. Sure, she had acquaintances from her work and from her meetup groups, but nothing real. So that evening she again sat paralyzed, staring at her computer.

Every funny story she found depressed her further, as she reflexively wanted to tell them to Scott and couldn’t. Three hours ago, she gave in and sent him a meme she saw, but all she got in response was his read receipt.

It felt like the final culmination of his gradual retreat from her. It was humiliating feeling this dependent on a man. She never imagined she’d be this person. She laughed at girls like this when she was naïve and had never been in a serious relationship.

She especially never imagined she would be so lost in a relationship, it made her lose the ability to even be turned on by the thoughts of other people.

That was the problem with having an attraction to something that exists on a linear spectrum. Before she met him, she was attracted to a broad range. Anyone who was at least slightly chubby could hold her interest. However, before him she also knew that the bigger someone was the more attracted to them, she would be.

Well she’d gotten her wish. She’d gotten used to having sex on the regular with someone who was bigger than she’d ever hoped for, and now she was paying the price. No one smaller than Scott was a turn on to her anymore.
Because reality cannot be better or more extreme than fantasy.

But she very much did not want to only be attracted to people Scott’s size or bigger. She wanted to re-train herself to how she was before. She couldn’t make new friends on command. And she couldn’t control his withdrawal from her. But at the very least, she should be able to take back control in this department. And if watching sexy videos wasn’t strong enough to do the trick, she decided to take things a step further.

She wanted to talk to people. Real people who actually have a weight gain fetish themselves. People who she could say anything she wanted to, and they wouldn’t get offended, no they’d only get turned on.

So she made an account on Feabie.

She had rules of course, she wasn’t going to meet up with anyone. She wasn’t going to show her face. She’d be in and out. Enough interaction with others to feel like she at least had one thing for herself again. Enough interaction to wash Scott from her brain for the next four days so by the time he got back, she wouldn’t be so embarrassingly starved for his attention.

And maybe once that balance had been restored to their relationship, things could go back to normal.

His dad had the same house for over 20 years. It was an out of character choice for someone who constantly changed everything else about his life. He’d moved two wives and three girlfriends in and out of that house.

But all of them were gone now. The driveway empty, the house pitch black, the pool filled with leaves.

When they got inside, Scott felt overwhelmed by the familiarity of all the furniture and paintings, left exactly as they had been last time he’d come over. Not that long ago in the big scheme of things, only two years ago. It only felt eerie, because last time he came over things were normal. His dad and annoying girlfriend at the time were both there, both with life lectures ripe and ready to lay upon him. His dad was always insistent on telling him how to live his life, especially back then when he’d just gotten home from college and was at his most directionless. Just the memory of it was enough to make him roll his eyes.

“It hasn’t been just us here…well, ever right?” Not only that, he realized, he’d never stayed in a house with just his sister at all. It was weirdly awkward, like being stuck with a stranger who you were supposed to be close to.

He had a sinking feeling as he realized this was just how things were going to be once his dad died. They wouldn’t have that much reason to visit each other. Maybe once every five years or so. Their family would finally be completely fragmented.

Rachel nodded, “Yeah it’s creepy as fuck. And I’ve been staying here alone for the past three days.”

“Well do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“No way man! It’s like midnight!”

He shrugged, “That’s not that late.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m going to bed,” and with that she walked upstairs.

He’d already decided to himself that he wasn’t going to even attempt the stairs, and that instead of sleeping in his childhood bedroom he’d take the downstairs guest room.

It was the only room in that house he’d barely spent much time in. Which suited him fine, cause that meant he had no strong memories tied to it. He planted himself in the bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t tired. Just the opposite, his mind was restless.

From sheer force of habit, he opened the uber eats app on his phone.


The first time Scott quickly gained a substantial amount of weight was when he was nine years old.

His dad found out his mom secretly had him on Adderall and Luvox for the last two years. After a series of screaming matches between his parents, his dad made him abruptly stop taking it. They must not have known cutting him off so quickly would come with side-effects. But it messed him up for months.

He remembers the exhaustion, not being able to stay awake in class and wanting to sleep all the time. He remembers becoming anxious, while fully aware that his new paranoias were irrational. He remembers sneak watching R rated horror movies with Rachel that year and how when they watched The Shining, he wondered if he too had been going crazy like that guy was. It made him laugh now, the concept of a dumb little kid watching that movie of all fucking things and thinking ‘whoa relatable’. It was absurd really. And though he doesn’t remember changing the way he ate, he absolutely remembers going from a moderately chubby kid to a properly noticeably fat kid. Before then, he hadn’t known he was overweight, though from seeing photos of himself at five, six, or seven he can see that he definitely was.

But that was the year his weight entered his awareness.

The second time was when he was thirteen.

His mom moved to California because of the divorce, while his sister moved to New York to go to college, leaving him alone with his dad. The house felt haunted after that. There were rooms he couldn’t stand to be in for years after they moved. Like the media room, that had been his main hangout spot with his sister up till then, or the pool where his mom used to swim several times a week. They had an air of creepiness without them, a stillness, a sad silence (much like right now, but worse). He was alone most of the time. School finished at three, but his dad usually wouldn’t come home till eight-ish. After a year of living like that, he went from being an average level fat kid to being the largest guy in his school.

That was the year his weight became part of his identity.

Things stabilized a bit after that though. Because the following year he started high school and learned that if he was loud enough and had enough friends, he could spend almost every evening at other people’s houses. And once he’d built up a large enough friend group, he discovered having a big fancy house entirely to himself every evening wasn’t a bug, but a feature. That same pool he could hardly stand to look at for over a year, became where he’d get high with his friends in the summers, and in turn it slowly developed into a main hangout spot for the all coolest people in his grade.

And that was the year he started to actually like himself and enjoy life.

He wasn’t sure what year he started to lose that.
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Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 14 part 1

This website was fucking wild!

It was late at night now and she’d been surfing it and curating her profile for the last three hours.
Even completely photo-less she was bombarded by messages. Most from shirtless guys with their heads cropped out. Still mostly the boring stuff she always got on dating apps.

“U have a kik?”
“I’m in Chicago too and looking for a feeder. You into role play??”

The longer messages did catch her eye though. She noticed one in particular, because it came from an account with a face picture and a name in reference to a band she liked.

Some people have those faces that are just immediately welcoming, like just something about their look makes you feel they’d already treat you like a friend, though you were a stranger to them.

This guy had one of those faces.

He was a dark-skinned black guy with long-ish grown out hair, that looked almost like the halfway point between an afro and dreadlocks. Full towards his scalp, then sectioning off at the top into hundreds of swirled spikes. His face was chubby, but he had no double chin, instead just a slight softness around his jawline.

His message read: “Hey, so I'm new to the whole "feedee" side of things, previously having been a feeder. I thought I'd hit you up, cause we live so close. I'm trying to put on at least twenty pounds before the start of the new year! (my name's Darrell, by the way).”

Interesting, so he too was getting straight into talking directly. She wasn’t sure whether she preferred that approach or the small talk first approach.

She clicked on his profile, looking for details she could reference in her message to make the conversation a little more interesting. His descriptions were pretty bare, but she saw that he was 5’9 and 280 pounds. Wow that would be a whole lot smaller than she was used to. But he did look very cute in his photos. Maybe this was the perfect type of guy to talk to, to readjust her brain. Already she somewhat regretted including her real location, so many of the people who messaged her clearly wanted to meet up in person given that they seemed to only be messaging her based on her location.

“Nice! What made you switch? I’m new to this website, it still feels super weird to me to talk about this stuff directly, but it’s pretty cool. I’ve never gotten to talk about it openly with anyone. Before I’d only ever really used more one-sided websites for this stuff like YouTube and such.”

He responded quickly, “Yeah it’s refreshing to see people so open about it. It definitely inspired me to be more open. As for my ‘switch’ I've always been a huge fan of food whether it be cooking or eating it. Couple years ago, like yourself I stumbled upon a lot of content on DeviantArt and YouTube. Also, my ex was into the whole weight gain thing a few years ago. So, I really started off as a feeder mainly because of my relationship with her. Sadly, that whole thing broke apart. Have you ever had any in real life experiences with it?”

She hesitated. She kind of wanted to tell him about her experiences and current dilemma, but obviously she couldn’t tell him she was currently still in a serious relationship.

“Not really. I once dated a guy who badly struggled with his weight, and as someone who wanted to be a feeder, I could kind of dabble in the experience with him. But not completely because he wasn’t into it at all, in fact he really hated all that stuff. So, we were never totally compatible that way. But we made it work for a while. So short answer is no. Long answer is also no, but it feels like I have because I’ve dated someone who was perpetually gaining weight unintentionally, which I could never fully enjoy because it made him miserable. I’d like to have a real experience with it one day. Something truly consensual that we both get pleasure out of.”

She closed her laptop, feeling incredibly guilty at that last message. Here she was full on pretending Scott was this long-gone past experience that she’d already learned from and moved on past.

It felt wrong, how easy it was to talk about the problem baked into the foundation of their relationship. It sounded so straight-forward. As if being with him was blatantly and objectively wrong. Even though in real life, she never felt that way. Had he not been acting weird lately, she wouldn’t have even still been thinking about that particular problem.

She really wanted to call him and talk to him about normal random things. She picked up her phone and clicked his name.

On the third ring he answered, “Hey,” the sound of his disembodied voice unleashed a flood of feelings in her. She could almost physically feel how badly she missed him. Which immediately made her feel dumb, he hadn't been gone that long.

“Hey! How are you? I wanted to check how things were going there.”

The line was silent. For a moment she wondered if the call had dropped, then he spoke again, “I dunno how to answer that truthfully. Weird. Things are going weird here.”

Okay, that’s a good sign, he’s actually talking and not pivoting away from her question.

“How come?”

“Ahhh it’s just…weird being back in my Dad’s house.”

“Why didn’t you stay in your old apartment?” She had assumed that was where he was all this time.

“Cause remember? I have tenants there now. I rented it out when we left.”

“Right! Duh! Well how is being with your family?”

He paused again, “Look, now’s not a great time for me to chat. I’ll call you back later.” He hung up without waiting for her to respond.

She looked at the phone, dejected. The call length flashed on the screen, one minute and fourteen seconds. That was all he could muster.

She shook her head, as if she could shake off the bad feelings and opened her laptop again. Whatever, she shouldn’t feel guilty. If he can make her move and give up everyone she knows, the least he can do is do his job as her primary companion. And if he doesn’t then it’s only fair to talk to people elsewhere. Isolation makes people go crazy, after all.

This was self-preservation.

A sharp plastic edge scraped against his skin as he was abruptly woken up by the sound of someone yelling.
Without opening his eyes, he reached down to push away whatever had scraped him, only to find the feeling of a plastic bag and some sort of thick lukewarm residue. Ughhh! He opened his eyes.

For a split second he didn’t recognize where he was. The bed was covered with a smattering of empty takeout boxes, his hand had hit against one that was open and still had clumps of cheese sauce left in its corners. The sound of yelling sharpened into focus as he processed that it was his sister’s voice. He rubbed his eyes, this room was way too bright. It had floor to ceiling windows with no curtains, barely shrouded by the trees just outside. Wiping the hand that still had cheese sauce on it into his shirt, he then picked up the empty takeout box. He hadn’t fully remembered that he’d eaten last night. From the look of all the boxes on the bed, he must’ve had quite a lot. Slowly he began collecting them into a pile to throw away.

He must’ve fallen asleep mid-binge. It was rare for him to wake up feeling this disoriented. There wound up being six boxes in total, on the bed at least. He noticed one left on his nightstand. Reaching over for it, he realized it was unopened. Nice. Pulling the tabs on the side open, the smell of cinnamon hit his face.

It was some sort of dessert platter, loaded with brownies, cinnamon rolls, and a large cannoli. Without hesitation, he plunged half the cannoli into his mouth, closing his eyes and allowing himself to get lost in its flavors. The brownies followed. They were the best kind, laden with massive chocolate chunks, gooey chocolate syrup, and walnuts. And there were four of them. He mentally thanked his past self of last night for falling asleep before eating this. It was way more enjoyable in its unexpectedness than it likely would’ve been then. As he finished the last cinnamon roll, he became aggravated that he’d now awakened his appetite so early in the day. He badly craved more food now. Better just find something, rather than obsessively fixate on it for the next few hours.

He dragged himself out of bed and pulled on his painfully tight jeans, in case his sister came downstairs. As he walked out both his upper arms smacked hard against the door frame. He grunted in pain; he had forgotten to angle himself before walking out the door. He wasn’t used to having to do that in this house.

The kitchen was almost right beside the guest room. It really was a good choice to sleep there instead of in his own room. Stepping into the massive walk in pantry, he scanned each shelf.

They were stunningly empty. As if no one had lived there for months. His dad must not have eaten there much now that he lived alone. He wondered whether his illness had also played a role in the lack of food.

Well that was an utter disappointment. He needed something now, he was just going to have to lower his standards.
He wandered over into the wine cellar. Ironically, these shelves were still well stacked. He grimaced, feeling a sinking sort of melancholy at the sight of it. He picked up a bottle of Cabernet. I guess this will have to do, he thought. As he headed back to his room, he decided to take a second look at the kitchen just to be sure there was nothing there he could have.

“Are you raiding the wine cellar at 7 in the morning?”

He looked up, to see Rachel standing at the top of the staircase watching him from afar. She began to quickly walk downstairs. When she reached him, he could see she must’ve been crying earlier when she’d been arguing on the phone, because her mascara was smeared all over her face.

“Without me?” she grinned.
Last edited:


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 14 cont*

And that is how both Pafford children wound up half drunk by 9 AM at the hospital visiting their father who was dying of alcoholism. He was particularly grateful for his slight buzz as he never did manage to get anything else to eat, leaving him with a well of nervous energy. That on edge, wired, tense state he tried to always avoid. On the way there he had asked Rachel if they could stop at McDonald’s, but she patronizingly told him ‘no you don’t need it,’ despite that for all she knew, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. He pointed that out to her as if it were the truth, ‘I haven’t eaten in twelve hours!’ but she seemed to enjoy her silly little power trip too much to give in. And all he could do about it was curse himself for not renting a car separately.

Once they’d wound their way through the maze of a hospital, they found their dad awake, propped up like a rag doll by thin pillows with his eyes on the small TV in the corner of the curtain walled room.

“How are you feeling?” Rachel spoke in an unnaturally sweet voice, as if she were talking to a child. It made Scott cringe.

“Been better,” he grunted, looking at the two of them, with an expression that immediately made Scott feel like they were in for some criticism. He imagined viewing the two of them standing there from his dad’s perspective. Rachel with her stringy bleached out white blond hair and her worn out thrift store clothes and her mass of somewhat shitty tattoos. And himself, well-groomed and decently dressed. A carbon copy of his dad in both presentation and lifestyle. Except massively comically obese. They looked like a warped bizzaro land version of his parents. Like a well-beloved classic film and it’s trashy modern remake. Regression towards the mean.

He wondered, does ‘been better’ mean he’s been feeling better since when he was originally hospitalized? Or does it mean he’s not doing well and has been better at every other point in his life… Hmm.

“That’s good,” so she interpreted it the first way, “Well the doctor said you’ll probably be able to go home by tomorrow!”

He didn’t answer her.

Scott felt like he needed to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. “Are you in pain?” he asked.

He nodded, “I’m always in pain now,” he said it so matter of fact without a trace of emotion, and somehow that made his words more unnerving.

“I’m sorry,” Scott murmured awkwardly.

“Not your fault,” he lifted his head to look at them again, “I do have a bone to pick with you though Scott.”

Here we go, now for the life lectures. He could feel himself physically tense up in preparation.


“You never contact me,” his tone again was neutral, but the hurt edge to it was obvious.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. On the one hand, he was shocked his dad would ever say something so openly vulnerable. The hospital must’ve brought out a new side to him.

On the other hand, he felt a bit angry. His dad was really about to frame their lack of relationship as his fault? For years he never cared whether his kids stayed in touch with him or not anyways, but now he gets sick and he expects everyone else to know how to suddenly flip the script? Suddenly he was the victim?


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 15

The bright light of the screen lit up her face as she stayed planted on the living room couch. It had gotten dark outside before she’d had the chance to turn on the lights. She’d lost hours on the phone texting Darrell.

He was nothing like Scott. He was into comics and sci-fi, like she was. He actually read more obscure favorites of hers, like Wet Moon and Daytripper. When she sent him her own art, she could tell he genuinely was interested. Scott always acted interested, but she never fully trusted it. He wasn’t enough of a nerd to care. Before her, he’d never even read a comic, not even as a kid. She appreciated that he tried to get into the stuff she liked, he always read anything she made, but it never felt authentic when he said he liked it. He still seemed like a stereotypical cool guy, or a basic normie on her more cynical days, trying to appease his geek girlfriend.

Plus, out of nowhere Darrell started talking about police brutality, which made her squirm at first. But she remembered how much she used to enjoy talking and debating about difficult political things, before she’d lulled herself into the habit of avoiding such topics with Scott. Even though he said he was a liberal, she couldn’t shake her suspicions of him because of his background. No matter what he said, (and he didn’t say much, he too mostly kept conversations apolitical) he was still an upper-class white guy from Texas. She was always scared he’d say something ignorant or offensive and she wouldn’t be able to look at him the same way after that.

“I’m about to get dinner and I’m up north closer to your side. You said you lived around Boystown right?”

Oh no. He was about to suggest they meet in person. Should she pretend she’s not at home?

“Yeah I live in Boystown,” she answered before a lie could come to mind.

“Nice, well I know we just started talking. But since I’m near, how about we meet up? What’s the best restaurant around here?”

It’s just a dinner.

Not a bit deal. It isn’t cheating to have dinner with someone is it?

“Let’s do Yoshi’s Café at 8?” she texted back.


After spending most of the day in the hospital, they were finally driving back home. They’d gotten clearance for their dad to be able to come home tomorrow morning. It was good timing, since that would also be Scott’s last day in town.

“Should we throw away all the alcohol before he gets back?”

Rachel grimaced, “Ughhh that’s gonna take forever, there’s so much! I don’t know. It’s really expensive. And he’s gonna be sooo mad at us.”

Scott was surprised, he asked the question as a formality. He’d assumed the answer was a no-brainer. “Yeah... But you heard what the doctors said.” The official diagnosis was that at the stage his liver was in, he has six months to a year, but maybe that could extend quite a bit longer if he adopts a fully healthy lifestyle. Meanwhile, if he drinks at all, he’ll be unlikely to even get six months.

“Well it’s not like he can’t just replace it all anyways, so what’d be the point?”

“To make it easier for him! Not to have all that temptation blown up right in his face. If he can see it, he’ll have it. Really someone should’ve gotten rid of it all ages ago, when we first found this out.”

“You were the one who still lived in town then.”

He looked at the floor, “Yeah. I didn’t fully get it then I guess,” he mumbled. With that, he’d decided. Whether she agrees or not, he was going to throw everything away as soon as they got back to the house.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t been physically hungry like this in forever. It made him nauseous. He had managed to sneak off and buy some Subway, the only restaurant they had inside the hospital, but didn’t have time to eat much.

“Can we just stop at the store real quick?”


“I just wanna grab some things.”

“To eat?”

Ugh not this again. Hadn’t he been punished enough? “…No?”

“Well what do you want to get then?”

His mind drew blanks, “…Okay fine. Yeah. To eat.”

She took her eyes off the road to look at him, “I wanna make it easier for you. Not to have temptation in your face.”

The car in front of them came to a sudden stop, as Rachel kept her foot on the gas. Scott yelled out, “Look where you’re fucking going, not at me.”

She rolled her eyes, “I was looking!”

“It isn’t the same thing,” he resented her quoting his words at him.

“How is it not??”

“Because! As a human, I still need food to survive. And more obviously, because I’m not in the middle of a massive health crisis.”

“Do you ever stop and look at yourself?”

He was getting so frustrated, he couldn’t think of a response. For a moment they sat in silence, Weezer playing in the background.

“Rae, I’m fine,” he said quietly, “Save your worries for other people.”

“You’re going to die, maybe even before dad,” she sounded genuinely upset now, much to his surprise, “And definitely before me, and I can’t have that!! You’re my baby brother.”

Despite her apparent emotion, it was still the most ridiculous melodramatic thing he’d ever heard. He laughed loudly, rolled his eyes, and pantomimed sticking his finger in his mouth to throw up, “Yeah okay sure. Maybe if I keep letting you drive me around, I’ll die.”

“It’s not just me that says this, you know. Dad has too. He just can’t be bothered to talk seriously about anything for more than two minutes, because ya’ll are exactly the same.”

He looked at her in disbelief, “Dad has said he thinks I’m going to die before him? Yeah fucking right.”

“Well not in those words. But yeah. He has.”

“In what words then? Do tell.”

“Well... And this is pretty fucked up, so do remember these are his words not mine. And you can’t say anything about it, because I shouldn’t be telling you. But...” She speaks in a hurried, hushed tone as if their dad might somehow hear, “He’s said that he doesn’t want to leave as much to you in his will, because he thinks you’re going to marry your girlfriend and he thinks she’s only with you because she thinks she can make money off you because you’re going to die soon because of your weight.”

He laughs again. This time from a slow building mix of outrage for himself, outrage for Mia, and annoyance at himself for feeling so much sympathy for his dad these past few days.

“Wow… Fucking hell,” he doesn’t know what else to say. He has too much to say really, thoughts flying through his head all at once, too fast to even express.

“Yeah… He’ll probably bring it up to you in some way, so your welcome for the warning.”

“He shouldn’t find it so fucking hard to believe she’s attracted to me, lots of people are attracted to me. I’ve never had issues dating, that’s more your department.”

“Hey! Fuck you man! I’m just the messenger!”

“Sorry, that part just really pissed me off.”

She laughs cynically, “Huh, that’s the one part you care about. He dissed your dating skills. You’re ridiculous. What should be the takeaway here is that we were wrecked when we saw…how huge you’ve gotten. You…can like barely breathe, it’s fucking disturbing. We both found it so… upsetting and sad, just looking at you. And we want to help you fix it.”

He scoffed, “How? By making me not eat for the three days out of the year that you’ve been with me? Yeah that’ll surely fix it.”

She shrugged, “I mean yeah man, what else can we do? I guess dad can cut you out of his will unless you lose weight, but I kinda talked him out of that already.”

“Yeah, no need for that. I’m not marrying anyone anytime soon. I’m fucking 25.”

He knew it was inevitable that they’d give him a weight lecture at some point. If anything, he’d been grateful it had taken them so long. He was so bored of hearing this stuff. Every time his family saw him, they lectured him about it. This was the first time they’d used this hardcore ‘you’re gonna die soon’ language though. To this extent anyways. It almost made him jealous of alcoholics, at least it wasn’t visually obvious like this was. Suddenly a thought dawned on him.

“Wait did you throw out all the food in the house??”

She smiled slyly, “Yeah. I didn’t plan to, I just did it,” her expression shifted to somber, “After you were being so choosy and specific when we were picking which car to rent, and you were sending me all these links, I didn’t get it at first. But then I realized it was because you literally can’t fit in most cars… Do you get how fucked that is? I felt so bad about it I had to do something.”

“I should’ve known. Well in that case we’re definitely dumping all the alcohol tonight. Fuck all that, I’m not the one in need of an intervention, so I won’t be the only one who has to suffer.”

Her expression became dubious, “Do you really think we should dump all of it though?”

“Well I mean yeah of course we should have a bit.”

“And maybe hide a bit of it for the rest of the trip?”

“Yes… definitely.”
Last edited:


Well-Known Member
Mar 29, 2020
Scene 16

Only once she arrived at the restaurant, saw him seated on the patio, and registered his lack of reaction did she remember that he had no clue what she looked like. Her profile picture on Feabie was a stock photo of a dog wearing a tuxedo for god’s sake! Not to mention, he was only into fat girls. Suddenly she felt woefully inadequate, like a disappointing Christmas present. It was a strange feeling, she’d never been self-conscious about her body before.

Stranger yet, given the fact that the plan wasn’t to seduce this guy. That was the opposite of the plan really. What was the plan again?

Oh right, the plan was to talk online and meet no one in person at all. How did she end up here? Why did this guy even want to meet a photo-less woman?

Conceivably, she could dip right now, right before this guy’s eyes and he’d never know who it was that stood him up.
But then what would she do? Sit at home bored, now without even her new internet buddy to talk to? Nah. She was going in.

She walked up to him, “Hi! It’s me, Mi-… um Christine,” she’d almost forgotten she told him a fake name.

“Ah a face to the name! Though I must admit, I never stopped thinking of you as BringDatAzzOver69,” he said standing up and walking over to her.

She laughed and slapped her forehead, “Oh god, I forgot that was my username! That’s super embarrassing, I was super bored when I made the account and didn’t think I’d actually talk to anyone!”

“Hey never apologize for your hustle,” he joked pulling her in for a casual introduction hug. He smelled like spearmint. Hugging him felt so normal. She could wrap her arms all the way around him easily, and still enjoy the squishy slight roundness of his body. Hugging Scott always felt more like attempting to hug a waterbed.

He was so much closer to her height as well. If she ever wanted to, she’d be able to kiss him easily while standing up, which was never possible with Scott.

Once they had ordered their food and been talking a while, she was ready to dive in past small talk. She’d remembered the original goal of this Feabie venture now. She wanted to have the chance to flirt in that very specific way, with a real person who had a gaining fetish. But she wasn’t sure how to work up the nerve to get there. It was one thing talking openly about it online, but with an in person human being? She didn’t know if she could do it without cringing into the floor.

“So, am I what you expected?” She asked.

He laughed, “Not at all. Shit I mean, I thought you might be an old man or something? Not a catfish technically, you can’t really catfish somebody with no photo, but yeah I was prepared for anything. I had real low expectations.”

“What made you wanna meet up then?”

“Curiosity! You had so much to say, while not really saying anything. I had to know who you were, and what you were really about.”

“Yeah I guess I seemed pretty cryptic huh?”

“I get it though. Wanting to be anonymous. It’s not a scene everybody respects or knows what to do with. You’re still scared you’re a pervert,” he laughed.

She felt her face grow hot, “Noooo it’s not that! I’ve long come to terms with… my interests.”

“Alright, alright I see you. So why be so vague?”

Aghh because I have boyfriend! She realized she’d talked herself into a corner. She bit her lip, “Umm…. I guess because… okay you’re right I’m scared someone I know will find me on there.”

“Thought so. Well you shouldn’t worry, cause anybody who might find you on there must be into feeder stuff themselves to know that site!”

“Yeah that’s true. I don’t even remember how I first heard about Feabie.”

“My ex, that one I told you about, got me into it. We were poly too, we used to both meet people on there while we were together.”

“Damn, so like ya’ll were… having orgies?” She giggles, feeling like a dumb innocent kid as she says the words out loud.

“Sometimes,” he laughs, “But nah mainly just alone. Like she was my primary, but we could hang out with other people on the same. And we were both cool with it, into it even. We were into total indulgence of the senses, you know? Full hedonism. No restrictions, no holding back. I think that’s part of what was so sexy to me about being a feeder too, just making someone enjoy themselves in more ways than one. Being directly in control of their bliss. Helping someone push past their limits, go further than they thought they ever could, unlock whole new levels of pleasure. Both of those did that for us, both being poly and being into weight gain.”

Whoa. She could listen to him talk about this on and on.

His voice was silk smooth, not gravelly like Scott’s, like the bass notes of a piano in human form. This was what feederism was supposed to be, she realized. Not watching someone manically compulsively harm themselves in a way that just so happened to be ridiculously hot. It made her almost wish she’d never met Scott, so she wouldn’t have fallen so in love with him that she’d allow herself to get trapped in his self-destruction.

“And we were both bisexual,” he continues, “Probably should let you know that off the bat, many women take issue with it.”

“Oh, not at all! I don’t care about that. I’m kinda bisexual too.”


“Well yeah I guess on a spectrum of how much you like men versus women, I’d be mostly into men, like maybe 70% straight, but when it comes to fat women, especially very fat women, I’m super attracted to them.”

“I feel you, yeah same for me. I’m much more into women, but I’m attracted to fat no matter who it’s on.”

“Right on,” she felt so understood, but then she remembered what she looked like again, “Oh so what do you think about thin women in that case?”

He smiled knowingly, “Eh it’s hit or miss, but I gotta be real. You’re exactly my type.”

She looked at the table, too embarrassed to make eye contact, “Oh yeah? What’s your type then?”

“You know, I like women who know what they want. I like beautiful smiles, big curly hair. Short girls, ooh,” he made the hand sign for perfect, “I’m real into that.”

“Okay okay, not a bad answer.”

“And what’s your type?”

“I dunno. I like whatever really…I just like really big guys,” she laughs.

“Well we’re getting there, we’re getting there. Slowly, but eventually.”

“Do you find it hard to gain weight?” she asked.

He nodded exaggeratedly, “Yes! For sure, for sure. I have a high metabolism, I think. It’s hard especially when I’m single and there’s not that fun element to it. I do still enjoy it though. I never really thought I’d be into my own weight gain, it was an accidental surprise. When I was with my ex, I just wound up gaining without trying to, I had been skinny as fuck before that, like 140 most of my life. And I realized it turned her on and I don’t know if I conditioned myself into it, but after a while I couldn’t get enough of it. Now I just think it suits me to be bigger. I feel like I have more presence in the world somehow. I can’t explain it. But it’s a crazy thing being turned on by anything to do with yourself really, cause you find yourself thinking sexually in the weirdest moments.”

“Like what?”

“Like just feeling the differences with how you move through the world. Anything like that, any kind of difference I notice can be a turn on.”

“I can imagine!”

“You laugh, but it’s very inconvenient!” He says laughing as well.

She felt her phone vibrate and took a look.

A message from Scott, her heart skipped a beat.

He hadn’t texted her first this entire time he’d been out of town. He’d barely even responded to her messages even. Was he going to tell her what was going on finally? Or had something bad happened? She entered her password and opened the message.

It was a link to someone’s Soundcloud account.

He was… sending her random new music?

Well that was refreshingly normal. He used to do that all the time when they first started hanging out.

Another message from him popped up.

“My cousin’s trying to be rapper, it’s fucking hilarious and terrible I had to show you. You're gonna love it. Me and my sister just found his account, we've been dying laughing all evening.”

A smile took over her face. He sounded so regular and happy. Maybe his trip home had taken a turn for the better. She badly wanted to click the link now so she could respond right away.

But bleh she had to wait for her date to end.

It was crazy how one little message from Scott could totally flip her attention away from this so far pretty alluring guy. It was confusing really, more than anything. Here she’d been thinking for the last thirty minutes that maybe the healthiest thing to do for them both was to move on from him.

But maybe that’d be easier said than done.

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