lurksville
Well-Known Member
~BHM, ~SWG, ~Gay, Erotica, College romance
Paul took another bite of his chocolate cake, licking his lips to get a wayward piece of icing into his mouth. Opening up a book up, he propped it up near his tray. With any luck, he figured he'd be able to get a good portion of reading done before his next class.
About three pages into the history of Catalan his fork hit plastic instead of soft baked goods. He glanced over at the plate and saw that only crumbs remained.
Damn, he thought. And there were twenty more minutes left before he needed to go.
The smells of the dining hall continued to call to him, like they had been since his first month of college. It was both exciting and frightening to have so much food available to him, in unlimited quantities, nearly fifteen hours a day. He'd been overdoing it, he knew, but self-control when it came to eating had never been his strong point.
He stood up from his chair, ignoring the way his pants were starting to cut into his overfull stomach. He'd had several pieces of pizza that afternoon already, as well as french fries, macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, a donut, and that piece of cake. But with so much time left to kill, he couldn't help going back for just one more desert.
He ended up with three large chocolate chip cookies and a piece of key lime pie, resettling in his seat after tugging uselessly at the waistband of his khakis. The little potbelly he'd sported upon arriving at school had definitely been growing, and deep down he knew the situation was starting to get out of hand. But at the moment he chose to ignore it—to ignore the way his stomach was making soft folds when he sat, ignore the way his thighs were spreading out further along the chair. As long as he didn't think about it, he could just go on pretending that it wasn't happening.
By the last cookie his stomach was really starting to hurt, though he wasn't sure if it was because he was full or because of the tightness of his pants. He shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the pressure, and suddenly heard a terrifying sound. With a ping the button of his pants flew off, hitting the metal bar under the table. Even worse, his zipper immediately gave in to the pressure of his belly, opening up and allowing his stomach to spill into his lap.
"No way!" A table away, a muscular jock pointed at him, breaking into peals of laughter. "That fat little freshman just busted his pants!"
More laughter ensued, from the guy to the right of him, as well as from the tiny blond cheerleader-type draped on one of his arms. Only one person at the table wasn't laughing, but he was staring with such shock and apparent disgust that his face was somehow even worse than all the other mocking grins.
Paul's cheeks turned crimson, and he felt frantically for the flaps of his pants so he could hold them up as he stood. His fingers sank into soft flesh before he managed to achieve the feat.
"Freshman fifteen, huh," his tormentor sang out. "Better watch it, tubby, or you'll just keep busting out of your clothes. Just because the food is all-you-can-eat doesn't mean you're actually supposed to eat it all."
Paul's vision blurred as he ran to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall. He stood in the corner, panting, out of breath, and so embarrassed he couldn't stop the tears from falling. He wanted to sink down onto the floor into a little ball, but his disgust at being in a men's toilet kept him from doing so.
Why had he eaten so much? Why hadn't he watched his weight, like his mother had told him? Still clutching at his pants, he could feel just how jelly-like his stomach had become. What had he done?
The door to the bathroom swung open, and loud footsteps rushed in. Paul quickly stifled his crying, holding in the sobs.
"Hey, are you in here?" a voice called out quietly.
Frightened, Paul shrank back against the wall.
"I know you are, I saw you come in. Listen, I'm not here to bother you. I just want to help."
A tiny whimper escaped, and though Paul immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, whoever-it-was that was after him clearly heard it.
The guy knocked on his stall. "Hey, there you are. I've got something to help, okay?"
"Please, g-go away!" Paul cried, too humiliated to face anyone. He stared down at his pants, having no clue what he was going to do get them to stay up properly so he could make it to class.
A hand appeared under the stall door, palm open, holding a few safety pins. "See? I swear, I just want to help."
Paul quickly weighed his options—and it didn't appear he had very many. Tentatively, he reached down to grasp the pins, only to have them be snapped out of reach.
"It'll be faster if I help you. C'mon, let me in."
"N-no . . . I don't . . . I don't want anyone to s-see . . ."
"I'm not going to make fun of you."
Paul leaned back and hit his head against the tile wall. He needed the pins, but he still felt far too raw to expose himself to anyone. Yet something about the guy's voice sounded gentle and genuine, and he'd almost decided to open the door when he heard a flurry of movement.
His would-be helper had stepped up on the sink and was now peering down at him from above. Paul's heartbeat instantly picked up speed, because he quickly recognized the face as one of the jocks from the crowd that had been mocking him. This particular tormentor was tall; probably around 6'2", and he had dark, wavy hair and a broad chest.
Paul started to cry again. "L-leave me alone! Go away! W-why can't you find something better to do than pick on me?"
The jock pulled himself up over the edge and jumped down into the stall. "Just calm down. I'm not picking on you."
Trying to make himself as small as possible, Paul squeezed himself into a corner. "St-stop! D-don't come any closer!"
"Shh," the invader whispered. "Let's see the pants, okay? We can fix them up so you can go . . . and you left your stuff out there, you know."
Paul remained perfectly still, except for the trembling that came from crying.
"I'm so sorry they laughed at you. It's gonna be okay, though, all right? I promise. Don't let them get to you."
Paul knit his brows together. He couldn't understand why this stranger was being so kind to him, and the most prominent theory running through his head was that it was all the build up to some kind of cruel joke.
"I'm James, by the way. What's your name?" James reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Uh . . . P-Paul," Paul stuttered, despite his fear that even that small omission was a huge mistake.
"Okay, Paul. Now let me look at the pants, okay?"
Paul shook his head. "I . . . I'll fix them. I don't n-need . . ."
But James was already reaching out to him, bending over to take a look at the damage. "Yup, ripped the button clear off."
Cringing, Paul brought a hand to his stomach, trying to cover any part that might have been exposed.
James chuckled. "You're gonna have to move your hand, you know, or I won't be able to get the pins in."
Gently but firmly, he took Paul's hand and pushed it aside, then lifted up his t-shirt.
Paul inhaled sharply, trying to suck in his stomach. Looking down, he was mortified to see what little effect the action had. There simply was too much of him to suck in. He squeezed his eyes shut in painful embarrassment, waiting for more torture to ensue.
His heart nearly stopped when he felt James grabbing his lowest, softest roll—the one currently preventing his pant flaps from meeting. James ran his fingers over it, almost caressing it, and Paul trembled, which only caused the pink flesh to jiggle in James' hand.
"Aw, you poor thing. You're getting chubby so fast, aren't you?" James said, his voice almost a whisper. He traced a faint stretch mark with his thumb.
"I . . . I . . ." Paul began, trying to pull away. James stopped him with his other arm, wrapping it around Paul's thickened waist.
"It's all right. It must be hard for you, with so much good food around. You don't have to feel bad about it."
Confused, Paul stared up at him. He couldn't quite figure out if he was being chided for letting himself go, or consoled. Either way, it just didn't seem like James was trying to hurt his feelings. He finally managed to get his crying under control.
James placed his hand flat against Paul's plump belly. "Okay, you're gonna need to suck in now."
Obediently, Paul did, although he had been trying to do so the entire time. James got a little more slack and managed to put the safety pin in where the button had been, leaving a small space between the two flaps.
"Lemme put one more in just to make it more secure," he added before placing the second one about a quarter of an inch away. "You can let your stomach out now, but you should exhale slowly. And be careful when you sit."
He gave Paul's tummy one last pat before pulling his t-shirt down. "See? All better. No one'll notice a thing."
Now that the immediate problem had been taken care of, Paul could feel his cheeks begin to color with a furious blush. He'd just let an incredibly good-looking guy feel his disgusting, flabby body, and he really had no idea why.
"Why . . . why are you being so nice to me?" he asked.
James smiled at him softly, then reached past him to grab a handful of toilet paper. "Here, dry your eyes. Billy and Josh—the guys that were bothering you—they should be gone by now."
The door to the bathroom suddenly swung open, and James put a finger up to Paul's lips, signaling quiet. They stood close together, waiting for the interloper to do his business and leave. Paul could feel his soft stomach pressing up against James' toned abs and his cheeks flamed even redder.
"Okay, he's gone." James said, still standing close. He seemed almost reluctant to pull back. "I gotta go, too. You take care, okay?"
Paul blinked, eyes wide as saucers as he stared up at his rescuer. He could feel wild emotions surfacing, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was suddenly and quite unreasonably enamored with the person standing before him.
"Th-thank you," he whispered.
James smiled one last time before he turned and left.
Paul
By lurksville
Paul took another bite of his chocolate cake, licking his lips to get a wayward piece of icing into his mouth. Opening up a book up, he propped it up near his tray. With any luck, he figured he'd be able to get a good portion of reading done before his next class.
About three pages into the history of Catalan his fork hit plastic instead of soft baked goods. He glanced over at the plate and saw that only crumbs remained.
Damn, he thought. And there were twenty more minutes left before he needed to go.
The smells of the dining hall continued to call to him, like they had been since his first month of college. It was both exciting and frightening to have so much food available to him, in unlimited quantities, nearly fifteen hours a day. He'd been overdoing it, he knew, but self-control when it came to eating had never been his strong point.
He stood up from his chair, ignoring the way his pants were starting to cut into his overfull stomach. He'd had several pieces of pizza that afternoon already, as well as french fries, macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, a donut, and that piece of cake. But with so much time left to kill, he couldn't help going back for just one more desert.
He ended up with three large chocolate chip cookies and a piece of key lime pie, resettling in his seat after tugging uselessly at the waistband of his khakis. The little potbelly he'd sported upon arriving at school had definitely been growing, and deep down he knew the situation was starting to get out of hand. But at the moment he chose to ignore it—to ignore the way his stomach was making soft folds when he sat, ignore the way his thighs were spreading out further along the chair. As long as he didn't think about it, he could just go on pretending that it wasn't happening.
By the last cookie his stomach was really starting to hurt, though he wasn't sure if it was because he was full or because of the tightness of his pants. He shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the pressure, and suddenly heard a terrifying sound. With a ping the button of his pants flew off, hitting the metal bar under the table. Even worse, his zipper immediately gave in to the pressure of his belly, opening up and allowing his stomach to spill into his lap.
"No way!" A table away, a muscular jock pointed at him, breaking into peals of laughter. "That fat little freshman just busted his pants!"
More laughter ensued, from the guy to the right of him, as well as from the tiny blond cheerleader-type draped on one of his arms. Only one person at the table wasn't laughing, but he was staring with such shock and apparent disgust that his face was somehow even worse than all the other mocking grins.
Paul's cheeks turned crimson, and he felt frantically for the flaps of his pants so he could hold them up as he stood. His fingers sank into soft flesh before he managed to achieve the feat.
"Freshman fifteen, huh," his tormentor sang out. "Better watch it, tubby, or you'll just keep busting out of your clothes. Just because the food is all-you-can-eat doesn't mean you're actually supposed to eat it all."
Paul's vision blurred as he ran to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall. He stood in the corner, panting, out of breath, and so embarrassed he couldn't stop the tears from falling. He wanted to sink down onto the floor into a little ball, but his disgust at being in a men's toilet kept him from doing so.
Why had he eaten so much? Why hadn't he watched his weight, like his mother had told him? Still clutching at his pants, he could feel just how jelly-like his stomach had become. What had he done?
The door to the bathroom swung open, and loud footsteps rushed in. Paul quickly stifled his crying, holding in the sobs.
"Hey, are you in here?" a voice called out quietly.
Frightened, Paul shrank back against the wall.
"I know you are, I saw you come in. Listen, I'm not here to bother you. I just want to help."
A tiny whimper escaped, and though Paul immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, whoever-it-was that was after him clearly heard it.
The guy knocked on his stall. "Hey, there you are. I've got something to help, okay?"
"Please, g-go away!" Paul cried, too humiliated to face anyone. He stared down at his pants, having no clue what he was going to do get them to stay up properly so he could make it to class.
A hand appeared under the stall door, palm open, holding a few safety pins. "See? I swear, I just want to help."
Paul quickly weighed his options—and it didn't appear he had very many. Tentatively, he reached down to grasp the pins, only to have them be snapped out of reach.
"It'll be faster if I help you. C'mon, let me in."
"N-no . . . I don't . . . I don't want anyone to s-see . . ."
"I'm not going to make fun of you."
Paul leaned back and hit his head against the tile wall. He needed the pins, but he still felt far too raw to expose himself to anyone. Yet something about the guy's voice sounded gentle and genuine, and he'd almost decided to open the door when he heard a flurry of movement.
His would-be helper had stepped up on the sink and was now peering down at him from above. Paul's heartbeat instantly picked up speed, because he quickly recognized the face as one of the jocks from the crowd that had been mocking him. This particular tormentor was tall; probably around 6'2", and he had dark, wavy hair and a broad chest.
Paul started to cry again. "L-leave me alone! Go away! W-why can't you find something better to do than pick on me?"
The jock pulled himself up over the edge and jumped down into the stall. "Just calm down. I'm not picking on you."
Trying to make himself as small as possible, Paul squeezed himself into a corner. "St-stop! D-don't come any closer!"
"Shh," the invader whispered. "Let's see the pants, okay? We can fix them up so you can go . . . and you left your stuff out there, you know."
Paul remained perfectly still, except for the trembling that came from crying.
"I'm so sorry they laughed at you. It's gonna be okay, though, all right? I promise. Don't let them get to you."
Paul knit his brows together. He couldn't understand why this stranger was being so kind to him, and the most prominent theory running through his head was that it was all the build up to some kind of cruel joke.
"I'm James, by the way. What's your name?" James reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Uh . . . P-Paul," Paul stuttered, despite his fear that even that small omission was a huge mistake.
"Okay, Paul. Now let me look at the pants, okay?"
Paul shook his head. "I . . . I'll fix them. I don't n-need . . ."
But James was already reaching out to him, bending over to take a look at the damage. "Yup, ripped the button clear off."
Cringing, Paul brought a hand to his stomach, trying to cover any part that might have been exposed.
James chuckled. "You're gonna have to move your hand, you know, or I won't be able to get the pins in."
Gently but firmly, he took Paul's hand and pushed it aside, then lifted up his t-shirt.
Paul inhaled sharply, trying to suck in his stomach. Looking down, he was mortified to see what little effect the action had. There simply was too much of him to suck in. He squeezed his eyes shut in painful embarrassment, waiting for more torture to ensue.
His heart nearly stopped when he felt James grabbing his lowest, softest roll—the one currently preventing his pant flaps from meeting. James ran his fingers over it, almost caressing it, and Paul trembled, which only caused the pink flesh to jiggle in James' hand.
"Aw, you poor thing. You're getting chubby so fast, aren't you?" James said, his voice almost a whisper. He traced a faint stretch mark with his thumb.
"I . . . I . . ." Paul began, trying to pull away. James stopped him with his other arm, wrapping it around Paul's thickened waist.
"It's all right. It must be hard for you, with so much good food around. You don't have to feel bad about it."
Confused, Paul stared up at him. He couldn't quite figure out if he was being chided for letting himself go, or consoled. Either way, it just didn't seem like James was trying to hurt his feelings. He finally managed to get his crying under control.
James placed his hand flat against Paul's plump belly. "Okay, you're gonna need to suck in now."
Obediently, Paul did, although he had been trying to do so the entire time. James got a little more slack and managed to put the safety pin in where the button had been, leaving a small space between the two flaps.
"Lemme put one more in just to make it more secure," he added before placing the second one about a quarter of an inch away. "You can let your stomach out now, but you should exhale slowly. And be careful when you sit."
He gave Paul's tummy one last pat before pulling his t-shirt down. "See? All better. No one'll notice a thing."
Now that the immediate problem had been taken care of, Paul could feel his cheeks begin to color with a furious blush. He'd just let an incredibly good-looking guy feel his disgusting, flabby body, and he really had no idea why.
"Why . . . why are you being so nice to me?" he asked.
James smiled at him softly, then reached past him to grab a handful of toilet paper. "Here, dry your eyes. Billy and Josh—the guys that were bothering you—they should be gone by now."
The door to the bathroom suddenly swung open, and James put a finger up to Paul's lips, signaling quiet. They stood close together, waiting for the interloper to do his business and leave. Paul could feel his soft stomach pressing up against James' toned abs and his cheeks flamed even redder.
"Okay, he's gone." James said, still standing close. He seemed almost reluctant to pull back. "I gotta go, too. You take care, okay?"
Paul blinked, eyes wide as saucers as he stared up at his rescuer. He could feel wild emotions surfacing, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was suddenly and quite unreasonably enamored with the person standing before him.
"Th-thank you," he whispered.
James smiled one last time before he turned and left.
