No One Goes Hungry By Coyote Wild “Am I getting fat?” he asked, examining himself in the mirror. “Haven't you always been fat?” I teased while carefully applying mascara. “Chubby. I've always been kind of chubby. But this ” he grabbed two handfuls of belly and shook. “...this is recent.” I reached over and clicked off the lamp, having finished my makeup. I stood from my desk and sauntered to my sweet boyfriend Neil as he stood on the scale in the bathroom. I came up from behind him and slid my hands under his arms, over his smooth hips, and my fingers grazed his fuller belly. Yes, he was getting fat. And it was my fault. I glanced down just in time to see 247 disappear from the display. Involuntarily, my eyes widened but I quickly composed myself. For a moment, I considered slowing down his gaining. But I've already gotten him so accustomed to such large portions that he isn't satisfied until he's surpassed his capacity. I realized at this point, it may be out of both of our hands. “Well suit up, Tubbo. We got to get moving,” I said, slapping him on the ass. It wobbled for a fraction of a second and I cringed. Yes, I was making him fat, but not because I liked it. Because I didn’t back then. I was fattening him up because we were over. You see, Neil was a super nice guy. Everyone loved him. Hell, I loved him. But he just wasn't really...doing it for me lately. He was boring to be honest. Though only to me, I guess. Everyone else thought he was a lot of fun. But they didn't have to live with him. Either way, there weren't a lot of legitimate reasons for me to leave him that didn't make me come off as a bitch. The thing is: I’m kind of hot. Not quite out of Neil's league (he’s pretty good-lookin’ himself), but almost. And there aren't many people that would fault me for leaving Neil if he no longer met my standards. I'm sorry but there's a reason you never see women like me out with fatties. So I decided to make him a fatty. But I also realized that I had a narrow window to work with. I had to make him get fat enough to justify a breakup, but not so fat that he'd need my assistance to do daily tasks. The goal here was to make a clean break without seeming like a terrible person. So I really had to plan my timing accordingly. The initial breakup weight I had planned for was an even 300. But when I saw he was nearly 250 after only a few weeks of my guidance, I wasn't sure if I should slow down or set a higher goal for him. Fate has a way of sorting these things out. “Who are these people again?” Neil asked, coming out of the restroom, buttoning his shirt. “Trent and Mallory,” I replied, putting in my earrings. “You know Trent! You met him at that thing. He works with me at the gym. And Mallory is his girlfriend.” As if he suddenly decided he didn't care, he rubbed his belly and replied: “Well let's roll. I'm starving.” ---- A Moovn ride and an awkward shuffling past the hostess later, we were munching on chips, salsa, and guac while discussing the annoyance of “surge pricing.” Trent was a gorgeous specimen. Late twenties, coffee-and-cream-colored chiseled body, deep brown eyes, curly-yet-kempt hair, modelesque features...the woiks. His girlfriend Mallory was adorable. She just seemed super happy to be there. Her eyes would make little crescents whenever she smiled. While she was quite attractive, she didn't seem like a good match for Trent. Mallory just wasn't in perfect shape. She was thin, definitely, yet also soft. “So how’d you two meet?” Mallory asked as if she was digging into something scandalous. “Neil was the IT guy sent to the gym to install our new digital record-keeping system.” I answered since Neil was pushing a chip carrying a wad of queso past his lips at the moment. “Oh cool!” Mallory declared. “And you and Trent met working for the gym! How funny! Have you met all the men in your life at your job?” I was thrown off guard and couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or subtly threatening. Hoping for the former, I chuckled and replied: “I guess so!” We all shared a laugh and I realized Mallory was just messing with me. Around this moment, the waitress appeared and with a friendly smile, flipped open her note pad before asking: “What can I get ya?” Placing my left hand on Neil’s right shoulder as he hunched over a basket of nachos, scooping them into his mouth, taking two or three bites before swallowing, I ordered for him: “He’ll have two chicken tacos, two fish, two steak, three porkbelly, two veggie avocado, the rice plate with refried and black beans, and a fajita-veggie bean burrito, please.” I paused for a moment to let the order linger in the air and for the waitress to catch up as she scribbled furiously to record it all. And to my delight, she read it back to us, each dish said landing like a thud in my chest and stomach, like the potential pounds these words will eventually become on Neil’s body. I requested the house salad for myself while Trent and Mallory each asked for two chicken tacos. When the food finally arrived, it took three waitresses to carry and disseminate the plates. The table began to groan as dishes pushed other dishes aside, bits of avocado spilling onto the chicken tacos. My focus was on Neil as he watched his meal multiply before him. A moan hummed from between his pursed lips. He seemed to be a little embarrassed but I believe his rationale was that he didn’t order it all; I did. And at this point, I had already sabotaged his diet to the point that his hunger at its lowest simmer would never refuse such vast amounts of food. I momentarily thought about my earlier consideration on slowing things down, giving him a chance to adapt to his thickening body and swelling hunger. But it was gone when I saw him bring the first porkbelly taco to his mouth and crush half of it in an enormous bite. He began chewing, holding the torn edge of the latter half inches from his lips. “That’s quite an appetite you got there, man!” Trent exclaimed. Neil was waiting to swallow before he could respond, but I interjected: “It’s how we’re kicking his metabolism into high gear. Ain’t that right, babe?” Neil nodded. Still chewing. “I’m thinking of introducing this method to my clients, but I have to see how it plays out first. Neil, my sweet baby, has been gracious enough to be my guinea-” I paused while Neil stifled a belch with his mouth full “-pig.” “Honestly, I’m not sure if it’s working,” Neil admitted after he swallowed. “I’ve gained nearly twenty pounds this month alone. Forty since the beginning of the year.” “Babe, I told you there would be some weight gain. It’s experimental and unorthodox but I really think once we hit phase two, you’re going to see a dramatic loss in mass. You will tighten up and slim out and in an abnormally short period. It’s going to blow minds and we are going to revolutionize fitness and weight management,” I lied. Neil rolled his eyes, shoveling a mound of black-bean-topped rice into his mouth. And another. And another. In retrospect, I have no idea how he managed to finish off those churros we got at the end of the meal. But it also explains what happened next. ---- Bills were paid, tips were left, and we were standing out front saying our goodbyes. Jokes were made, hugs were had, we parted ways, and requested a car. With a chime, the app informed us that we’d soon be picked up in a Camry driven by a woman named Tiana. When it pulled up, I opened the rear passenger door for Neil and with a hand on his belly, he sidled into the seat; grunting as if in pain and being careful not to disturb the injury. I watched him move with the carefulness of someone transporting an explosive by hand, cradling the fragile package as he eased into rest. I shut the door for him and moved around to the other side, settling into the rear driver-side seat. And we rolled away from the restaurant, on our way home. “How are you guys this evening?” Tiana asked. “Wonderful, how are you?” I reciprocated while Neil stifled another belch, causing his stomach to growl impatiently. “Just fine, thank you,” Tiana answered. She read off our home address in the form of a question and I confirmed that was our destination. I could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “Alright then!” “How’re you holding up, baby?” I asked Neil, resting my hand on top of his while his right hand rubbed his expanded stomach. The buttons were straining against his swelling belly and breasts, like he had been inflated. He stopped rubbing and let his hand rest on the crest of his tummy and he moaned. His moaning slowly twisted into a strained grunt and his face tightened in exertion. But it was futile. A yawning rumble of gas exploded from Neil’s softer butt. It flowed from him for what seemed like minutes. My jaw fell, yet the corners of my mouth turned upward into a grin as I watched his face slowly relax from the release of pressure. The roar of his ass ended in what seemed like a question, the pitch gradually rising towards the end. There was a moment of silence for Neil’s dignity before Tiana broke it. “Wow,” she said before breaking into a fit of laughter. She rolled down all the windows, giggling to herself, trying to keep a low profile. I couldn’t tell if Neil realized what he had just done as he was clutching his belly and gasping for air. It took everything out of him to unleash that into the world, formed in his belly, birthed by his butt. “I am so sorry!” I said, laughing from feigned embarrassment. “He isn’t normally like this.” “Oh don’t worry. I grew up with an older brother that was about twice your boyfriend’s size. I’m no stranger to gassy fat guys,” Tiana laughed. “Well,” I said as my eyes moved up Neil’s more rounded form. “This is new territory for us.” ---- About two months later, Neil had reached 300 pounds. Maybe more. We didn’t know until he stepped on our scale and it read: “Err.” Our scale maxed at 300, so we’d have to pick up a new one for a more accurate reading. But that was neither in the budget nor the cards. We had to keep Neil fed. I had to keep him fed. And therein lies the problem. At some point before we found out Neil was too fat for our scale, I had become...invested. His size was a direct result of my influence. His mass was cultivated by me. I was an artist, a sculptor, and Neil was my masterpiece. Or rather, a work-in-progress. I wasn’t done with him. I couldn’t be. It felt wrong to leave now. We had to go further. The question entered my mind before I had manufactured an answer: “Just how far can we take this?” Trent, however, needed a bit more convincing. Over the past few months, he and I had developed something of a rapport. I guess it goes back even further than that, but he had almost as much invested in Neil’s growth as I had. The understanding was, after leaving Neil, I would be able to be with Trent. “The guy’s a pig! I don’t think anyone would fault you for taking your leave,” Trent said during a Saturday afternoon phone call as I sat on the edge of the bed. At that point, I faintly heard a groaning fart coming from the bathroom, amplified by its acoustics. Neil was in there, making room for his next course. Since he’s never in there for less than half-an-hour, I took the time to call Trent and update him on the situation. “It’s not about that, anymore. I feel a responsibility to him,” I explained as best I could. I’m not sure if that was entirely true, but it was how I externally justified my investment, hoping Trent wouldn’t probe any deeper. “So you’re telling me you aren’t leaving him? That you and I will never be together?” he asked. I could tell he was upset. It was obvious in his uneven voice. “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” I interjected before he could continue that line of thought. “What about you and Mallory?” I deflected. But he was in the exact same boat I was. “I’m waiting for the right time,” he said after a pause. “Oh come on,” I groaned. “Look, there’s a way out of this for both of us.” “Oh yeah? What’s that?” “How fat do you think you can make Mallory in six months?” I asked. I heard the toilet flush and the air freshener being sprayed. “I got to go,” I whispered, not waiting for a response as I touched the big red X on my screen to end the call. I heard Trent get out a syllable of confusion. Neil emerged from the restroom and I was greeted with his fragrance. Hiis essence dominated our apartment, with regular bursts to bolster it. I was concerned that I had become noseblind to it, but that wasn’t quite true as I had actually become quite fond of it. It was a reminder of everything I had given him, everything I had pushed past his lips with my own fingers. It was the end result of a relentless diet; a body working overtime to digest, distribute, and disperse every calorie that it had consumed. But it’s also why I don’t invite friends over anymore. “Are you ready for your lunch?” I asked, sweetly. Hand on his belly, soothing it and petting it and enjoying a rare moment of calm within it, he nodded with a smile. I returned a grin, more mischievous than I intended, and rose to my feet. He followed me to the kitchen and I pulled out his chair as I passed it on my way to the fridge. I heard the chair creak as it accepted Neil’s bulk. I moved deli meats, pizza boxes, Chinese food containers, and beer and soda cans to find a tinfoil-wrapped sandwich the size of a football. I turned around to see Neil lick his lips, his eyes lower than my gaze. I realized he had been watching my ass while I was bent over in front of the fridge but suddenly began to wonder if it was my body he lusted after, or all the food crowding the inside. I was in my gym shorts and a belly shirt so I was looking very “comfy chic” which, I think, is Neil’s favorite aesthetic. Neil’s gray undershirt was pulled flat around his pillowy form with half his beanbag belly stuffed into his stretchy pajama bottoms. He was becoming quite cuddly at this stage in his gain. Before, his bulk could maybe be mistaken for muscle but not anymore. Neil was officially taking on a circular, doughy shape, only achievable through excessive eating and minimal activity. With both hands on the sides of his sandwich, his chubby digits sinking into the bread as they would his own fat, he took his first big bite, immediately followed by his second and third before he allowed himself to chew all he had gathered in his mouth. He moaned as if he was a couple of strokes into a handjob, breathing deeply through his nose as he chewed; his eyes closed to maximize his sense of taste. I opened a cupboard and grabbed a family-sized bag of BBQ kettle chips. I watched him shove more sandwich into his mouth, his jaw struggling to keep up with his hands, and pull back again to allow himself a moment to chew. Another moan, another deep breath, and a muffled fart. His eyes shot open and we locked our gazes. With a smile, I placed the bag in front of him for easy access and winked as I slowly and seductively fanned my nose. “Whew,” I breathed. “Sorry,” he said through a mouthful of sandwich, a crimson tone spreading through his cheeks. “Aww, honey, I’ve told you: it’s no problem. It’s a known side effect of the diet I have you on,” I lied. Kinda. “It’s one way the body rids itself of the excess calories it doesn’t need.” “Speaking of which,” he said before swallowing the massive bites muffling his speech. “How much longer do I need to stay on this diet before it starts yielding results? I only feel like I’m getting fatter. I broke the scale!” he reminded me, though he didn’t need to. “Relax or your body will have an adverse reaction to the way it adjusts to the program and you actually WILL get fatter.” I placed my hand on his shoulder and he looked into my eyes for a moment before hanging his head, emotionally exhausted. “I tried weighing myself the other day and it didn’t work for me either,” I lied again. “And I’m obviously well beneath its capacity,” I tried to comfort him without sounding boastful of my own flawless physique. I couldn’t tell if he was buying it but he took another bite of the sandwich so I assumed that was a good sign. “I promise,” I continued. “By the end of this month, you’re going to see some big changes!” I patted his belly and felt my nethers twitch at its malleability. He grabbed a handful of chips and took a bite out of them as if he were eating from an apple in his palm.