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Steven’s girlfriend Tracy had been ignoring him for a week now. They lived together, paid rent together- and yet, she avoided him, refused to look at him, refused to speak to him. He was starting to get pissed off and wanted her to at least look at him.
It wasn’t until a session at the gym that he got an idea. A woman was working out, about a hundred pounds overweight. She was good at it and was a very pretty woman, but everyone was staring at her. It was impossible not to, really. And Steven got an idea.
That day, he suspended his gym membership for a year. He needed a break, he explained to the receptionist. Then he headed to the store and grabbed some protein powder, meant for bulking, and some vanilla ice cream. Tracy was out at the moment, so he was able to hide it with no problem. He whipped up a shake, filled with twice the average dose of powder and a couple cups of ice cream. It took a while to chug it all down, but he managed.
Now, he just had to wait.
---
Any time Tracy was either out of the apartment or asleep at night, Steven snuck into the kitchen and made another shake. Tracy was at work? He made a shake. Out with friends? Shake. Just sleeping? Shake. He usually had one or two a day, sometimes three if the opportunity arose. This, coupled with regular meals daily, meant results began showing very quickly. Within the first two weeks, he started sporting a belly, noticed how tight his shirts were getting. It was strange to have muscle definition hidden by fat, but he sort of liked it.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough for Tracy to notice. She probably didn’t even realize that he had stopped going to the gym. Every time Steven tried to talk to her, tried to get her to treat him like her boyfriend again, he got ignored.
His anger made him hungry. He wasn’t sure why- hunger was never usually the response his body gave him. But he’d easily put on ten, fifteen pounds already, how would she not have noticed?! Once she was gone, Steven made the largest shake yet. He used the ice cream tub, since it was three-quarters empty, and just made the shake in that. It took almost an hour to get it all down, and resulted in streaks of ice cream drippings down his front and a rock hard belly from it being so full.
And yet, he was still starving. So, he went into the fridge, found some leftover Chinese food. Then he found an uneaten box of Valentine’s chocolates. Then the sticks of butter. Soon enough, half of the fridge had disappeared into his stomach, and he was finally full. He was barely able to pull himself out of the chair he was on, having to waddle off to the bathroom to clean off.
This, unsurprisingly, became a regular thing for him. Tracy finally noticed that the fridge was being emptied quicker than usual, and ended up buying more groceries. Then, when she left for work or to hang out with her friends, Steven would eat through half of it, chug his shakes, and lounge about to let it all digest. His favorite thing to eat was easily his shakes, as he always had a sweet tooth, but biting off and eating chunks of butter had a strange effect on him. He always got a thrill from it, from eating pure carbs and fat. It made his heart skip a beat in a way Tracy never did.
A month passed, and Tracy’s silent treatment was still going strong. Steven now sported a potbelly, a nice, round gut that hung out of his shirts. He had finally passed 200 pounds, something he swore he’d never do.
The closest he got to Tracy even speaking to him was her asking for the rent money without even looking up from her phone. Steven, defeated, had just sighed and handed her the cash.
Steven refused to get new clothes. Firstly, he swore that, once she actually paid attention to him, he would lose all of the weight. It couldn’t be that hard, he’ll be fine, he thought. Second, tight clothes made it more obvious that he had gained weight, meaning it would be easier for her to tell.
Yet, she acted like he didn’t exist most days. She was beginning to spend two and three days out, staying with her friends. In those days alone, Steven routinely emptied the fridge, the cupboards, and a few deliveries of warm, greasy food. He’d spend the days either eating or lounging around, nursing his sore belly. He’d burp and wonder if he was going too far. Then, he’d heave himself up and make another shake.
---
Two months. He began this whole experiment two months ago, and now, he stood on a scale, staring at the number ‘251’ on the scale. His whole body was soft, flabby, and round. His face had filled out, neck had sprouted a double chin. His belly resembled a beach ball, round and soft and rumbling from being too empty. His clothes barely fit, his shirts all having become crop tops and sometimes ripping up the sides. Pretty much every pair of pants had been ripped across his ass, all but his stretchy sweatpants, which he practically lived in now.
He wanted to stop. He wanted to go back to the gym and feel the thrill of a good workout, wanted to pull a shirt down over his stomach. But, when Tracy left, and he so much as glanced at the fridge, something took over. He got butterflies in his stomach when he thought about eating, felt the thrill of a first kiss when he drank his shake, felt like a giddy schoolgirl every time he ripped a pair of pants.
He loved being fat. It was at this point that he was gaining for two reasons. To get Tracy’s attention, and to fulfill his own desires.
---
Steven would admit that this whole thing was dumb, that he was probably going to regret it all in the near future, that there was truly no going back. But he wanted to.
He realized very quickly that the things he loved most about all this were the things that ruined him. Excessively fatty and carb-filled foods were his favorites, and he’d regularly buy multiple packs of butter just to eat plain. He loved his heart skipping a beat from how fast he ate, loved how it was getting a little harder to move, loved the idea of completely destroying his once sculpted body from the inside out.
Tracy was around even less, which meant Steven usually had the apartment all to himself. He began keeping packs of beer around, would drink a few bottles while he binged and get off to the idea of his brain cells dying off. He began to get a little less secretive, spending hours in front of the fridge without caring if Tracy came back.
With his newfound realizations, he began packing it on even quicker. After another couple months, he had broken 300 pounds, bounding towards 400 with no remorse. His late night snacks were usually full meals, and in place of full meals were his binges.
One day, Tracy told him, without even looking at him, that she’d be going on vacation with her friends for a couple weeks. Steven realized as she was talking that the day she’d get back would be the six-month-mark of his gaining journey. So, he tuned her out- it wasn’t hard, she was yelling from the other room- and decided to up the ante until then.
First, he began putting more powder into his shakes, as well as melted butter and, occasionally, box cake batter. The shakes were always huge with this new recipe, but he worked up to getting at least two of them into himself a day.
Second, he made sure that he was always eating past his limit. Before, he knew when to stop, knew when to let himself digest all of his food. Now, even when he felt fit to burst, even when he wheezed and puffed from eating so much, he ate more. It would have been a sight- his belly round and full, the man groaning and moaning from how much it hurt, yet reaching towards a box of donuts and slowly eating another.
Last, he rarely moved. He spent most of his time either in the kitchen or on the couch, and he made as few trips as possible. Many nights he resolved to sleep upright on the couch, too full to move, eating right up until he passed out.
---
This very obviously worked. Steven honestly forgot when Tracy was set to come back and had neglected to keep the apartment clean while she was gone. He had fallen asleep on the couch again, surrounded by empty boxes, wrappers, shake glasses, and other matters of food waste. His body was covered in drips and crumbs, all sticky and gross. He had just woken up, and picked up right where he had left off; eating a family-sized cake, of which there was little left.
Tracy, finally looking Steven in the face after months of the silent treatment, was stunned, speechless. It took Steven a moment to pull himself away from the cake to finally look her in the face. He swallowed his mouthful and burped, smiling sheepishly. “You’re back,” he said in a quiet voice, knowing she was finally paying attention to him.
“What the fuck happened?!” Tracy blew up, looking at him in disgust. “Look at you, you’re a whale! When did this start?!” She gasped. “Is this why groceries have been used more than usual? Cause you’ve been eating it all?! ”
Steven, taken aback, scowled at her. “You were paying me no damn attention, you weren’t even looking at me! I needed to grab your attention somehow!”
“Well, congratulations, now you’re a fucking cow.” She scoffed, looking over his body again. “How much do you even weigh, fatty?”
Steven shrugged. “Dunno. If you’ll be fucking patient, I can go check.”
They bickered the whole time Steven pulled himself up, waddled to the bathroom, and stepped on the scale. He couldn’t see the number around his belly and made Tracy do it, earning him a roll of her eyes.
“467,” Tracy said as she stood up straight again. “You swore you’d never get above 200, and look at you now. Fucking double that.”
Steven grinned, glad that his plan had worked. “Good.” He let out a burp, rubbing his belly.” And just so you know, I’m not stopping anytime soon. I fucking love it like this.”
Tracy scoffed, storming out of the room. Steven waddled off to the kitchen to start eating again when Tracy came back to talk to him.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“Yeah?” Steven said as he slid a stick of butter into his mouth. “What’s that?”
“We will still live together. I will still sponsor this… thing of yours. Hell, I’ll pay twofold for it.” Tracy crossed her arms. “In return, I want to bring guys over for me to fuck. It’s not like you’re… capable.”
Steven rolled his eyes and swallowed his mouthful. “Firstly, I absolutely am capable. Secondly, I figured that was what you’re doing. Sure, go ahead. My true love is food anyway.”
---
Over the next six months, Steven absolutely blimped up. His waddle became more and more pronounced, his posture worsened, and he began using the wall to hold himself up. His heart rate permanently sat where it had been after he had done a rigorous workout in his gym days and his lungs always felt like they burned. He started his days off with some shakes, some butter, and something hot and greasy. Lunch was carb-filled sweets and treats, and dinner was plenty of beer and fatty foods.
His fingers thickened with his palms, fat bubbling up around the joints. His blubber sagged over his elbow, turning his upper arms into large wings. His head sunk into his fat, any definition between neck and shoulder having long disappeared. Each asscheek was wider than your average person, lumpy and jiggling with cellulite. His belly, the true monument to his love, hung below his knees when he was able to stand up, providing a table for him when he sat down.
His favorite part about all this was how his health had declined. His lungs screamed each time he breathed, weak under all the fat on his chest. He’d asked Tracy for an oxygen machine, though he wasn’t sure when she’d get it. His heart pumped hard and fast, attempting to get blood through all of his clogged arteries. So much as adjusting his position on the couch got him out of breath, made his heart rate pick up.
He had finally had his first heart attack, leading to him being hospitalized for about a week. He got a slew of pills and prescriptions to keep him alive, since he made it very clear to the doctors he wasn’t going to lose any of it anytime soon, and got sent home a few pounds lighter from the damn hospital food.
Tracy paid less attention to him now; she was usually either at work or in the bedroom having sex with another random guy. Steven didn’t mind; he figured from the beginning that she was cheating on him. She had her love, and he had his.
He did nothing but eat. Day in, day out, it was a constant flow of food into his stomach. He was never empty, always out of breath, always a step closer to his body giving out. He loved the feeling of his weakened heart struggling to keep him alive. He loved getting the butterflies when he ate more fattening foods, more foods that destroyed his body. He could feel himself getting dumber by the day, could feel all the junk killing his brain and his body.
---
Tracy unlocked the door, leading her latest fuck inside and shutting the door behind them. “Don’t mind Steven,” she said. “He won’t bug us.”
The man looked around and saw Steven. The mound of man sat propped up on a large bed, both fat arms up to his mouth, shoveling more junk in. He was a mess, covered in stains and sticky bits. He had been eating a handful of donuts, warm and greasy and fatty, and shoved them all down his throat in a matter of minutes. He didn’t realize they were watching, didn’t even really notice they were there. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, an insulin pump, and an oxygen tank, all making sure he was still alive. It was obvious that he had done this to himself, that he had destroyed his body to this extent, but he seemed happy as a clam to have done it.
After sucking his fingers dry, he glanced over to a hose hanging down beside him. It hooked up to a vat of his signature shake, now upgraded with more ice cream and a substantial amount of beer. He weakly pulled on it, attempting to get it into his mouth.
Tracy sighed. “One sec.” She walked over and shoved the tube in his mouth. “There, fatty. You happy now?” She glared at him, though Steven didn’t seem to even hear her. The thick shake poured into his mouth, which he happily guzzled down. Tracy just rolled her eyes and walked back over to the other man. “Sorry, that’s happening more and more often anymore.”
“Who is he?” The man asked.
“He was my boyfriend. Not sure he knows that, though.”
It was true. His brain wasn’t used for anything anymore, nothing but attempting to keep all of his internal systems functioning. Between overloading his stomach with food constantly and drinking excessive amounts of beer each day, his brain had turned to mush. He was barely conscious, aware of nothing but the creamy shake being forced into an overfed gut.
The constant flow of food kept him satiated, the machines kept him alive… yep, this was the life. Steven loved it.