detheyeball
New Member
~Male, ~Gay, ~WG? Two good friends do...something. Haven't really decided where this is going yet.
Hey guys, long time lurker, first time poster. Somehow, I figured the best way to introduce myself was with a story. What a bad idea.
This might not work.
(Please note that this is my work, recently posted on BellyBuilders under my correct username)
Sophomores
by HugeAssPanda
Part 1 - Wednesday
As I walked through the automatic doors into the lobby of the 'Media Center' (they couldn't call it 'library' anymore because it sounded too antiquated,) I felt the cool blast of air conditioned bliss start to blow against my warmed, burnt skin. Ugh. August weather sucks. Rounding the corner and seeing the array of tables for the students, I scanned the room and found James' mop of rather unkempt brown hair. He was sitting at the back, at our table, hunched over a book disinterestedly.
He looked up and called, "Mark, down here!" in his best library-quiet-shout voice. As I approached I glanced at the title, something foreign and pretentious that I wouldn't dare pronounce in such judgmental company.
"What are you reading?" I asked, a half-assed politeness, as I took a seat next to him.
"Oh, nothing. Just some post-feminist bullshit. Heard it was good Guess not." He continued reading, as if to somehow make a point. To James, you couldn't properly insult something unless you understood it. To wit, he once read all of the Twilight novels over a weekend so he could deconstruct it right in front of the Twi-hards in high school (that's what you call them, right?) In any case, you could see the contempt in his eyes as they begrudgingly scanned the pages.
"So, what did Steven say?" I asked, referring to our previous conversation over text. Short story is, James' boyfriend Steven of 3 years casually dropped something along the lines of, 'oh, hey, maybe we won't be dating in a few months' out of nowhere. Ironically, although James was very open about, say, your shit taste in movies, he was less open about how he felt, especially to his boyfriend. So, naturally I had to force James to try and talk to Steven about it. Now, mind you, Steven can be kind of dramatic at times (and this is only second hand knowledge, he's a cool guy in person from the few times I've met him) but he has to know how shitty it is to say that to someone, you know?
No! I'm not prying, how could you say that!
"Oh, you know. Just a half-hearted apology and then vague dismissal." James sounded comfortably agitated, if such a tone could exist.
"He'll sober up. Just make sure he understands how you feel, you know? Sometimes people don't understand how words can hurt someone."
"Yeah " He drifted off, his eyes lazily falling back into the clutches of post-feminism whatever that was.
"Anyway, when's your first class?"
"Oh, 10:45, you?" he replied, losing interest in the novel.
"Actually, same which is cool, we have time." I started rummaging though my pack on the chair beside me to retrieve a folder.
"Time for what?" James questioned.
You see, James and I aren't friends because we're both gay (though we both are,) or because we both like to shout at bad movies (though we both do, and shut-up, it's not rude if the theater is empty!) but because we both are kind of into the whole 'gaining' thing. Specifically, the part where we like to watch guys get fat. I mean, not that we're against it on ourselves (and not that we're in the best shape anyway) but to both of us, it really seems like almost a fantasy. I mean, Steven's a big guy, but not the type to want to get bigger, and I do just fine with the occasionally big guy fling, thank you very much. But for us, it's almost like it's our only outlet for those feelings and desires, even to just listen or sit in quiet understanding. For us, our friendship kind of blossomed around it.
I pulled out a stapled stack of papers and handed it to him. "Now, go easy on me."
A few weeks ago I tossed around the idea to him of trying to write a gainer story. I thought it'd be fun to try it out and let out some pent up emotion. (Now, hey, we may have been a little drunk, but, you know, I'm sure that has nothing to do with it.) Naturally, he was less than enthused.
"Aren't those all just trashy and poorly written?" He asked, an almost genuine sense of wanting to tear my soul apart. "I mean, I'll read them on a whim on occasion, but I wouldn't want to write one. So cliche."
"I think I want to do it." If I could've looked at myself, I'm positive I would've seen stars in my eyes.
And that was it. Two days of midnight stares into the blue hue of the computer screen and I had something probably resembling a narrative.
I saw his eyes scan the pages, but this time unsure of whether it was contempt or surprised approval. The scariest time for an artist is that moment before you know the impressions, that last second before the curtains close and the audience applauds, the final note in the song before the conductor takes a bow upon-
"This is pretty terrible." James says, in that dry, self-assured voice that he spent years perfecting. "I mean, how can a guy gain 300 pounds in two weeks? Also, Part 1? How can the story continue in any interesting direction when the main character is already 800 pounds?" He chuckled, finishing his point.
I shriveled up. "Well," I replied feebly, "I was thinking "
He cut in, sharply, "Let me guess. Something something his friend joins in? Bleh, that's somehow worse."
He was right though. Let it be known to the world that "Jimmy's Freshman 15(0), Part 1" was a complete disaster. I didn't see it at the time, but the inconsistent characters, extreme, yet poorly described weight gain, and ridiculous cliffhanger we're just the icing on the cake next to the poor grammar and punctuation that littered the piece (ever have that feeling where you just have to get something out as fast as possible? It was like that, but with words. Totally.) Occasional asshole or not, James had that quality about him that was hard to describe, like when your friend tells you 'Hey bro, you really need to cut back. You're letting yourself go,' in a way that's somehow sobering, except for the fact that it's not like that at all because we're both encouragers and this is a terrible metaphor.
I glanced at the time. "Well, it's 10:38, better get going." I snatched the paper from him with just the slightest hint of snark. "I'll do better next time. And hey, thanks for the critique. I'll be sure to remember it when I take a look at your next masterpiece." James fancied himself an artist, but his pencil strokes weren't nearly as measured yet. The nice thing about good friends is that you can make fun of them without fear of true repercussions.
"Hey, what class do you have?" He asked inquisitively.
"English 102."
"Oh. Good for you."
Damnit.
----
Vvvvp. Vvvvp. It was the first day, so class was mainly just going over the syllabus and introductions. I managed to take a peek at my phone under the table, as the teacher was one of those strict, traditional types, complete with a large, cartoonish phone clipart with a cross through it at the top of the page.
JAMES: "Tell me you have an hour for lunch soon. Starving."
MARK: "Meee tooo. Gimme 20 mins."
I mashed my message out and quickly slid my phone back in my pocket. I'm no star student, but I don't want to make a sour impression on my first day.
Twenty minutes passed quickly enough, (Good news! the ice breaker wasn't completely awkward!) and before long I was making the short walk from the west hall to the common area, where the cafe was. Now, not that this food was spectacular, but it wasn't spectacularly terrible either. Plus, we had made a habit last year of eating at the corner of the cafe, where there was a small, comfortable booth and an excellent window where you could see the entryway to the campus. For us that meant a perfect area to people watch.
I saw James at the end of the line and jogged up to him. "Do they still have those mini apple pies? Those were delicious last year. Borderline addicting." I saw him tippy-toe over the guys in front of us to try and get a glimpse at the snack area, where the pies would be. Now, James wasn't short per say, but he wasn't tall either, which made the 20-30 pounds we both put on freshman year just a bit more noticeable on him. As he peered, I saw his rear stick out in a way I hadn't noticed before in those old, tattered cargo shorts. He turned to face me, his scruffy hairs, (or 'nerd beard,' as I called it) pushing away to form a pursed smile. "Sweet, they do."
Loaded up with fairly decent mac and cheese, some acceptable garlic toast and those legendary pies, we headed toward our secluded spot. It was out of the way enough to where it usually wasn't taken, and thankfully this year that hasn't changed. Sliding down into the booth, I noticed my slightly larger paunch was just barely starting to edge closer to the table, to where slinking in wasn't as easy. Damn. I mean, it's not that we have anything against filling out, but we had images to maintain. For one, Steven (somewhat deludedly, considering his size) didn't want James getting fat, and boldly told him as much. As for me, I wanted to keep that encourager/chaser look about me, and I was starting to get dangerously close to losing that. Never mind that though, at least for now I could relax, eat processed food, and judge people indiscriminately.
"Ooh, there's someone," I said covertly, "Black hair. Big belly." I nodded towards a short guy wearing a wife beater, one hand on his drawstring backpack, the perfectly groomed beard just barely hiding the double chin.
"Meh, not that into Mexicans. Cute belly though." James replied.
"Racist."
"It's preference. There's totally a difference."
"Whatever."
"What about him?" He motioned with his eyes toward a mountain of a man, tall and older, his thinning grey hair somehow accenting the full, round face, leading perfectly to a ponderous gut and some generous man-boobage.
"Okay, fine. I was going to disagree on principle but he's kind of adorable." I reasoned.
"Ever dated someone older like that?" He asked. In all his nonsense of 'long-term relationships' and 'devotion,' he had spent less time just dating. Sometimes I'd let him live vicariously through me.
"Once. It was fun, but the age started to get to me." I mused.
"Energy levels?"
"Nah, he just didn't get my references."
"Oh man, must be a major buzzkill when you can't casually name-drop Firefly at every opportunity," he snickered.
"Hey, it was a GOOD SHOW."
"Right. Nerd." He ended, ironically, knowing full well the occasional boughts of DnD that would occasionally rear their head in our friend group. "So, got a date tonight?"
"Yup."
"Which one? Is this asshole, pasty, chubby or tall, scruffy, stupid?" he remarked, just a hint of snark.
"Hey, Jason only showed up 40 minutes late once. And Matt's idiocy is kind of endearing." I defended.
" So, which one?"
"Scruffy stupid " I grumbled, knowing full well he was right.
"Oh, hey, what time is it?" James asked, jumping back into reality from Boy Talk.
"12:43."
"Shit, I gotta get going. Have CSE120 in two minutes. Should be easy, but I heard the professor's kind of a hard ass."
"Literally or figuratively?" I interjected.
"You dog. Only figuratively. You expect a computer science teacher to be thin? I'll let you know the details later."
"Good. Now, fly off, my pretty." I motioned off my winged monkey spy. I watched him turn the corner towards the East Hall, his back to me. There's that plump ass again...
Hey guys, long time lurker, first time poster. Somehow, I figured the best way to introduce myself was with a story. What a bad idea.
This might not work.
(Please note that this is my work, recently posted on BellyBuilders under my correct username)
Sophomores
by HugeAssPanda
Part 1 - Wednesday
As I walked through the automatic doors into the lobby of the 'Media Center' (they couldn't call it 'library' anymore because it sounded too antiquated,) I felt the cool blast of air conditioned bliss start to blow against my warmed, burnt skin. Ugh. August weather sucks. Rounding the corner and seeing the array of tables for the students, I scanned the room and found James' mop of rather unkempt brown hair. He was sitting at the back, at our table, hunched over a book disinterestedly.
He looked up and called, "Mark, down here!" in his best library-quiet-shout voice. As I approached I glanced at the title, something foreign and pretentious that I wouldn't dare pronounce in such judgmental company.
"What are you reading?" I asked, a half-assed politeness, as I took a seat next to him.
"Oh, nothing. Just some post-feminist bullshit. Heard it was good Guess not." He continued reading, as if to somehow make a point. To James, you couldn't properly insult something unless you understood it. To wit, he once read all of the Twilight novels over a weekend so he could deconstruct it right in front of the Twi-hards in high school (that's what you call them, right?) In any case, you could see the contempt in his eyes as they begrudgingly scanned the pages.
"So, what did Steven say?" I asked, referring to our previous conversation over text. Short story is, James' boyfriend Steven of 3 years casually dropped something along the lines of, 'oh, hey, maybe we won't be dating in a few months' out of nowhere. Ironically, although James was very open about, say, your shit taste in movies, he was less open about how he felt, especially to his boyfriend. So, naturally I had to force James to try and talk to Steven about it. Now, mind you, Steven can be kind of dramatic at times (and this is only second hand knowledge, he's a cool guy in person from the few times I've met him) but he has to know how shitty it is to say that to someone, you know?
No! I'm not prying, how could you say that!
"Oh, you know. Just a half-hearted apology and then vague dismissal." James sounded comfortably agitated, if such a tone could exist.
"He'll sober up. Just make sure he understands how you feel, you know? Sometimes people don't understand how words can hurt someone."
"Yeah " He drifted off, his eyes lazily falling back into the clutches of post-feminism whatever that was.
"Anyway, when's your first class?"
"Oh, 10:45, you?" he replied, losing interest in the novel.
"Actually, same which is cool, we have time." I started rummaging though my pack on the chair beside me to retrieve a folder.
"Time for what?" James questioned.
You see, James and I aren't friends because we're both gay (though we both are,) or because we both like to shout at bad movies (though we both do, and shut-up, it's not rude if the theater is empty!) but because we both are kind of into the whole 'gaining' thing. Specifically, the part where we like to watch guys get fat. I mean, not that we're against it on ourselves (and not that we're in the best shape anyway) but to both of us, it really seems like almost a fantasy. I mean, Steven's a big guy, but not the type to want to get bigger, and I do just fine with the occasionally big guy fling, thank you very much. But for us, it's almost like it's our only outlet for those feelings and desires, even to just listen or sit in quiet understanding. For us, our friendship kind of blossomed around it.
I pulled out a stapled stack of papers and handed it to him. "Now, go easy on me."
A few weeks ago I tossed around the idea to him of trying to write a gainer story. I thought it'd be fun to try it out and let out some pent up emotion. (Now, hey, we may have been a little drunk, but, you know, I'm sure that has nothing to do with it.) Naturally, he was less than enthused.
"Aren't those all just trashy and poorly written?" He asked, an almost genuine sense of wanting to tear my soul apart. "I mean, I'll read them on a whim on occasion, but I wouldn't want to write one. So cliche."
"I think I want to do it." If I could've looked at myself, I'm positive I would've seen stars in my eyes.
And that was it. Two days of midnight stares into the blue hue of the computer screen and I had something probably resembling a narrative.
I saw his eyes scan the pages, but this time unsure of whether it was contempt or surprised approval. The scariest time for an artist is that moment before you know the impressions, that last second before the curtains close and the audience applauds, the final note in the song before the conductor takes a bow upon-
"This is pretty terrible." James says, in that dry, self-assured voice that he spent years perfecting. "I mean, how can a guy gain 300 pounds in two weeks? Also, Part 1? How can the story continue in any interesting direction when the main character is already 800 pounds?" He chuckled, finishing his point.
I shriveled up. "Well," I replied feebly, "I was thinking "
He cut in, sharply, "Let me guess. Something something his friend joins in? Bleh, that's somehow worse."
He was right though. Let it be known to the world that "Jimmy's Freshman 15(0), Part 1" was a complete disaster. I didn't see it at the time, but the inconsistent characters, extreme, yet poorly described weight gain, and ridiculous cliffhanger we're just the icing on the cake next to the poor grammar and punctuation that littered the piece (ever have that feeling where you just have to get something out as fast as possible? It was like that, but with words. Totally.) Occasional asshole or not, James had that quality about him that was hard to describe, like when your friend tells you 'Hey bro, you really need to cut back. You're letting yourself go,' in a way that's somehow sobering, except for the fact that it's not like that at all because we're both encouragers and this is a terrible metaphor.
I glanced at the time. "Well, it's 10:38, better get going." I snatched the paper from him with just the slightest hint of snark. "I'll do better next time. And hey, thanks for the critique. I'll be sure to remember it when I take a look at your next masterpiece." James fancied himself an artist, but his pencil strokes weren't nearly as measured yet. The nice thing about good friends is that you can make fun of them without fear of true repercussions.
"Hey, what class do you have?" He asked inquisitively.
"English 102."
"Oh. Good for you."
Damnit.
----
Vvvvp. Vvvvp. It was the first day, so class was mainly just going over the syllabus and introductions. I managed to take a peek at my phone under the table, as the teacher was one of those strict, traditional types, complete with a large, cartoonish phone clipart with a cross through it at the top of the page.
JAMES: "Tell me you have an hour for lunch soon. Starving."
MARK: "Meee tooo. Gimme 20 mins."
I mashed my message out and quickly slid my phone back in my pocket. I'm no star student, but I don't want to make a sour impression on my first day.
Twenty minutes passed quickly enough, (Good news! the ice breaker wasn't completely awkward!) and before long I was making the short walk from the west hall to the common area, where the cafe was. Now, not that this food was spectacular, but it wasn't spectacularly terrible either. Plus, we had made a habit last year of eating at the corner of the cafe, where there was a small, comfortable booth and an excellent window where you could see the entryway to the campus. For us that meant a perfect area to people watch.
I saw James at the end of the line and jogged up to him. "Do they still have those mini apple pies? Those were delicious last year. Borderline addicting." I saw him tippy-toe over the guys in front of us to try and get a glimpse at the snack area, where the pies would be. Now, James wasn't short per say, but he wasn't tall either, which made the 20-30 pounds we both put on freshman year just a bit more noticeable on him. As he peered, I saw his rear stick out in a way I hadn't noticed before in those old, tattered cargo shorts. He turned to face me, his scruffy hairs, (or 'nerd beard,' as I called it) pushing away to form a pursed smile. "Sweet, they do."
Loaded up with fairly decent mac and cheese, some acceptable garlic toast and those legendary pies, we headed toward our secluded spot. It was out of the way enough to where it usually wasn't taken, and thankfully this year that hasn't changed. Sliding down into the booth, I noticed my slightly larger paunch was just barely starting to edge closer to the table, to where slinking in wasn't as easy. Damn. I mean, it's not that we have anything against filling out, but we had images to maintain. For one, Steven (somewhat deludedly, considering his size) didn't want James getting fat, and boldly told him as much. As for me, I wanted to keep that encourager/chaser look about me, and I was starting to get dangerously close to losing that. Never mind that though, at least for now I could relax, eat processed food, and judge people indiscriminately.
"Ooh, there's someone," I said covertly, "Black hair. Big belly." I nodded towards a short guy wearing a wife beater, one hand on his drawstring backpack, the perfectly groomed beard just barely hiding the double chin.
"Meh, not that into Mexicans. Cute belly though." James replied.
"Racist."
"It's preference. There's totally a difference."
"Whatever."
"What about him?" He motioned with his eyes toward a mountain of a man, tall and older, his thinning grey hair somehow accenting the full, round face, leading perfectly to a ponderous gut and some generous man-boobage.
"Okay, fine. I was going to disagree on principle but he's kind of adorable." I reasoned.
"Ever dated someone older like that?" He asked. In all his nonsense of 'long-term relationships' and 'devotion,' he had spent less time just dating. Sometimes I'd let him live vicariously through me.
"Once. It was fun, but the age started to get to me." I mused.
"Energy levels?"
"Nah, he just didn't get my references."
"Oh man, must be a major buzzkill when you can't casually name-drop Firefly at every opportunity," he snickered.
"Hey, it was a GOOD SHOW."
"Right. Nerd." He ended, ironically, knowing full well the occasional boughts of DnD that would occasionally rear their head in our friend group. "So, got a date tonight?"
"Yup."
"Which one? Is this asshole, pasty, chubby or tall, scruffy, stupid?" he remarked, just a hint of snark.
"Hey, Jason only showed up 40 minutes late once. And Matt's idiocy is kind of endearing." I defended.
" So, which one?"
"Scruffy stupid " I grumbled, knowing full well he was right.
"Oh, hey, what time is it?" James asked, jumping back into reality from Boy Talk.
"12:43."
"Shit, I gotta get going. Have CSE120 in two minutes. Should be easy, but I heard the professor's kind of a hard ass."
"Literally or figuratively?" I interjected.
"You dog. Only figuratively. You expect a computer science teacher to be thin? I'll let you know the details later."
"Good. Now, fly off, my pretty." I motioned off my winged monkey spy. I watched him turn the corner towards the East Hall, his back to me. There's that plump ass again...
