Work Text:
Whatever Mason might have thought, I never exactly set out to manipulate him. When we first knew each other, I thought he was a man of mystery. I found him very hard to read, and anyway I believe neither of us really knew what we wanted – from each other, or in general.
There was no “meet cute” for the two of us; I couldn’t tell you exactly when our first encounter was. When I started my job, he was already working at the company, in a different department. I’d seen him here and there and, yes, noticed he was cute, friendly and pleasant, and just maybe speculated whether he was single.
Mason was mid-thirties, about five years older than I was, tallish and dark-haired with striking blue eyes. And he was chunky, carrying a round apple belly on an appealingly stocky frame. I’ve always been drawn to bigger guys, though I’d never fully admitted to myself that it went far enough to be “my type”. My previous three-year relationship hadn’t fitted that pattern and though it had seemed perfect on paper, something had never quite worked. It didn’t end well, and in order to forget and move on, I’d changed jobs and moved states, down to Texas. I’d been giving myself a little time to get over it.
So, in the Fall shortly after my 30th birthday, I’d won a promotion at work and changed to a different team. It didn’t pass me by that I’d be working much more closely with Mason’s team, in both the work I was doing and in physical proximity. I hadn’t seen too much of him lately, except in pictures in the staff newsletter, but was looking forward to getting to know him better; I knew he had a tight-knit team and I’d be included in a bunch of social events where we were sure to meet. I’d gleaned from chatting to my cubicle-mates that he was still single, and that was true. But it came as a real surprise that he was also engaged in shedding 50 pounds.
He’d lost some already when we reconnected, the belly still there but shrunken and his whole frame starting to look less stout. Though I wouldn’t have had the nerve, then, to come out about my attraction to bigger men, I did mention after a couple of drinks that I was surprised he wanted to lose weight, that I thought he looked great and didn’t need to lose any. He got a little defensive, muttering something about some photos of him that had been “a reality check”. Well, it was his body. I backed off.
I guess it was a successful diet because by Spring he was much thinner, with the belly completely gone. I figured it was the wonders of the male metabolism. By most people’s standards, he was looking great, in all-new clothes that showed off his trim body. And I did still feel attracted to him, though the force of my disappointment surprised me. I’d spent too much time daydreaming about getting my hands on that cuddly body, the way it was before.
As spring moved into summer, the social life of our little group continued apace and we were often thrown together. I had half-decided to stop sighing over skinny Mason and look elsewhere when I noticed that his weight, which he had maintained for several months, just might be starting to creep up once more.
Nothing dramatic, but his newer shirts fitted close, and his midsection was starting to look a little thicker. There’d been cookouts and picnics and opportunities to eat aplenty, and I’d certainly seen him pig out a time or two when everyone else was doing so too. After the first time, I had to watch him to see how he’d do. I thought I was being subtle, but I found out later he was aware of my eyes on his minor belly bulge.
I couldn’t keep myself from sneaking looks, though. He was gaining for sure and the spark of my attraction, which had dwindled as his waistline did, sprang up renewed. I couldn’t tell whether Mason knew I was interested, and I was too cautious to come right out and tell him, but whenever we were at the same events, I started to try to be wherever he was. But getting to know him better didn’t calm my crush any. As far as I knew he thought of me as just a friend.
By Labor Day he was sporting a very nice starter belly, and when we saw each other at a coworker’s cookout, I watched from behind sunglasses as he stuffed his face. There was a LOT of food available, and really Mason wasn’t eating that much more than all the other guys. Why was it so compelling to watch him chow down? But it was. Was that his fifth laden paper plate, or had I lost count? That little tummy of his was really starting to stick out.
After a while I lost track of Mason. It was hot, and I’d had a few beers; I hooked my sunglasses into the neckline of my top and headed indoors. I cursed myself for a lightweight, and thought I’d get some water to head off the tipsy feeling that was starting, from the combination of beer and sun. On the way, I picked up some empty platters and bowls from the trestle table to take back into the kitchen.
As I approached, I could hear laughter; clearly the real party was going on in the kitchen. As I came through from the hallway, my sun-dazzled eyes adjusting, suddenly Mason was there, his body half-blocking where I wanted to go. I just missed bumping into him, fumbled the pile of platters, and semi-intentionally brushed a hand against his distended stomach, half caress, half nudge. I saw his eyes widen – with startlement certainly, maybe with annoyance? – though he kept it light and seemed to recover quickly, smiling blandly and taking the platters out of my hands.
Oops. Was that too blatant? Or maybe he thought I was trying to ward him off? Mortification and doubt swept over me. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten he didn’t like his belly, but proximity and (maybe, okay) beer had brought my inhibitions down. I didn’t dare get too close to him again that evening and sought solace in more drinks and a renewed attack on the party food myself. And the karaoke machine. Eventually my friend Jess told me that there was no way I was driving home, and took me back herself.
Work on Monday was… awkward. I was on the receiving end of a little bit of joshing, and I deserved it. It’s hard to apologise for something you aren’t sure if your crush even noticed, but that day and the next, though Mason was around, he was acting a little weird, not saying much to me; by Wednesday all I could think of for a peace offering was food. Whether he welcomed my infatuation or not, we were friendly as well as coworkers, and I didn’t want that to change. So I snagged him a bagel from the break room as soon as they were set out, larded it with a generous spread of cream cheese, and brought it over to his desk.
He looked genuinely pleased to see me. “Thanks Heather! This looks delicious – I forgot it was bagel day. And I’m starved, I didn’t have time to get a real breakfast earlier.” I wondered if the cupcake wrappers and empty Pop Tarts box in the corner of the desk were from another day then. None of my business…
Thursday night we went out for the NFL season kickoff and Mason was the first person I saw once I arrived.
“I didn’t know you liked football?” he said.
“Oh, I was bored.” I thought I should play it cool. I have no interest in football, I’m only here to check you out didn’t sound like the right note to strike, although I couldn’t prevent my eyes slyly dipping to his belly… and again, later. He didn’t look to have eaten so much this evening, at least not yet, but that chubby tummy wasn’t shrinking.
The next day, standing at the copier not far from Mason’s desk, I overheard him telling a colleague he was starting his diet again after the weekend. My heart sank a little. Then I wondered why he was holding back till Monday, and if he was planning a little weekend fun before then. A last hurrah, maybe. I would so like to be there for that, I thought, thinking back to how he’d gorged himself the previous Saturday.
We encountered each other in the break room, and I was struck by inspiration.
“I’m thinking about a football party,” I said. “Want to help me plan?”
“Football party?” Mason’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you didn’t like it.”
“Well, the rest of you do.” I sighed internally. Maybe this wasn’t such a good pretext. “So I figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least try to like it, and why not throw a party at the same time?”
“Okay, sounds like fun,” Mason agreed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Okay – ” I wondered if anyone else could overhear us – “come tomorrow; college football is on Saturdays, right?”
“Yeah.” Mason grinned. He knew I barely knew more than that, having grown up in an all-female household that didn’t follow sports. Time to milk my ignorance.
“Will you come over and explain it to me?” Oh, lord, I sounded like such a feeble little girl. But Mason appeared to buy it. He agreed to come over.
By the time I had almost finished preparing snacks for Mason’s visit, the meager countertops in my little kitchen were pretty well covered. It was worth the effort. “Whoa, what smells good?” were Mason’s first words as he entered. He smiled, looking truly relaxed for once, and I relaxed too. Maybe this would work.
“Football food,” I said happily. “I’m glad you came. Which game are we watching?”
“Well, we’re in Texas, so you have a choice. The University of Texas or Texas A&M.”
“You know I’m from Illinois, right?” I wasn’t really too invested (and maybe he was joking) but taking the question seriously seemed to be the right call. And it was a tiny bit narrow-minded to pick the two closest teams… But hey, Mason was a loyal guy.
I beckoned him to follow me into the kitchen to help get the food ready, and encouraged him to explain all the different teams, the background, who I should root for. Also about the timing, if this was going to be a regular thing. I hadn’t done a lot of hosting as the new girl and I had been feeling like it was time for me to give back. The best thing about my apartment is the spacious living room and the huge couch, but did I mention my kitchen is tiny?
My kitchen is tiny. Mason seemed to be in my way a lot, and I had no objection to that. It was the perfect opportunity to check out his belly… and his butt also, and if we occasionally bumped into each other I may or may not have steadied myself with a hand on his gut or side. And he on mine for that matter. He didn’t seem to object although he did blush heavily whenever we had a brush with each other. Didn't stop him eating.
The proposed Sunday gathering of our friends went off well. Everyone else enjoyed watching the game; despite the potential eye candy of well-built football players onscreen, I enjoyed watching Mason more. If this really was his last indulgence before starting to diet, he was using it to the full; most everyone brought food or beer and Mason dove right into it, including the dishes I’d trialled on him the day before. By the end of Sunday, just as on Saturday his food-baby was visibly filling his shirt out and he must have been stuffed to the gills. Though I overate myself. We all did.
If he ever started that diet I didn’t see any sign of it. We had more get-togethers during the next couple of months, and though I didn’t often get him alone again, I did start to feel a little more confident about how to be around him.
He wasn’t getting any thinner. Quite the reverse. In August he’d been just edging into “could lose a few” territory, a little soft round the edges and with a slight gut on him. By now that gut was burgeoning outwards and starting to hang a little over his waistband, even his looser shirts were looking less roomy, and his love handles were making a reappearance, I could see that. And just occasionally engineer a touch. I was finding it hard to keep my hands to myself. Meanwhile, Mason said nothing I could read anything into, but I thought he was starting to blush a little less around me.
The girls in the office had noticed the chemistry between us. We did discuss it, trying hard not to be overheard. “He’s a sweet guy,” Jess said to me. “Not my type, but he’s kind and funny; he gets along with everyone and he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Literally the worst I’ve ever heard anyone say of him? He’s grouchy when he’s hungry.”
“That can’t happen too often,” Gretchen grinned wickedly. “He eats a lot, wouldn’t you say? Not surprising that he’s getting a belly on him again. I wondered how long that skinny phase could possibly last.”
“But clearly that’s fine with you, Heather?” Jess observed. “And I’m sure he likes you. I mean, LIKE likes you. He might be shy about making a move, but he thinks you’re pretty, I heard him say so. So what are you waiting for?”
I sighed. “I can’t just… Can’t come forward and make a move. Maybe that would be okay if it was just going to be a fling, but…”
Gretchen quirked an eyebrow. “So you’re actually pretty serious about this?”
“I don’t want just a short-term thing. And I have to be sure he really, really wants me.”
“Why? Take the initiative! What are you worried about?”
This was it, the confession that always made me feel like a bad feminist. “Well… I grew up with a single mom, okay? She’s a strong independent lady if ever there was one. She wouldn’t dream of waiting for the guy to make his move. But she’s a romantic. And ever since I was a teen and she started dating again, she’s been let down over and over by guys who were… not as into her as she was into them. Sure, she’s fun to be with, and they’d date her for a while. One of them even married her because Mom wanted it so badly. Suffice it to say, it didn’t work out, any more than it did with my dad.” He had split when I was a baby.
“I have seen her heart break too many times over a man who didn’t really want her. I don’t want to get to her age and look back on a string of heartbreaks. I’ve had one… and I’m not putting myself on the line for it again. I’d rather stay single.”
Gretchen shrugged. “I think your mom had terrible luck, that’s all… but whatever works for you. And maybe it’ll work for Mason too. Just be aware you might be courting too slow.”
Hmmm. I might not have the strength to put myself out there for rejection, but I didn’t want to show too little interest either. As usual, the best tokens of affection I could think of were food. I’d made a habit of stopping by Mason’s desk on Wednesday to offer to snag him a bagel, but by now I didn’t bother to ask first (well, he never ever said no…)
And one day the drive-thru operator at McDonalds messed up my order and gave me extra food (I hope whoever got mine didn’t go hungry). I didn’t open the bag to find out till I returned to the office, and I hate throwing food away, so the obvious thing was to offer it to Mason. He looked surprised… but it disappeared pretty quick.
This opened the door to a new habit, difficult to resist: order a little extra for Mason. I knew the excuse about messed-up orders (it was true the first time, I swear) wasn’t going to bear much repetition. And some of my replacement excuses were baaaad. “I forgot I brought my lunch, just take my order from Taco Cabana, okay?” Who was going to believe that?
Sometimes Mason would demur: “But I already ate.”
“Oh… well… you’re a guy, guys can eat more than girls.” I knew it to be true, and I could tell he was just going through the motions. The look in those blue eyes said he wanted it… “My treat, okay?”
Mason seemed to take this at face value. He clearly enjoyed the food, although sometimes he seemed to veer close to a mini food coma, even at work, leaning back in his desk chair with his well-fed stomach pulling his shirt taut and with a faraway look in his eyes, before he shook his head and snapped to it. I wondered what he was thinking about during those moments. He looked happy, just dreamy.
Although it was tempting to hit the drive-thru just so I could “accidentally” order too much, I did bring my lunch in most days. For one thing it was cheaper; for another I was getting more and more into cooking – my mom didn’t teach me to cook, she was too busy earning a living for us and my sister. This was new for me – and fun. Also, I felt good about bringing a dish I’d made myself to our social gatherings, especially if it was well-liked.
At the end of one of the Saturday football evenings, I stopped Mason at the door. I’d meant to put a hand on his arm, or thought I did, but somehow it ended up on his belly, which was starting to hang lower, and was bloated rounder with wings and beer.
“Will you come over tomorrow night for the game?” I asked. “I need help… I’m helping Gretchen with her Halloween party.”
“Okay, sure.” Mason said. So I cooked up a storm all of Sunday, and during the game Mason “helped” me by being my willing victim as I offered up cakes, cookies, even homemade candy. He was reassuringly enthusiastic, and I was getting more and more turned on as I offered him treat after treat, and he got more and more stuffed. Mason seemed delighted with the extended tasting session, but although he made sure to mention how full he was, he didn’t seem to notice how flustered I was getting. Maybe he just wasn’t that into me. Maybe he was asexual. Or maybe he had a stomachache. That one might be the real answer. His tummy looked so solid, he had to be nearly fit to burst. He still helped me to clean the kitchen up afterwards, though.
I took some of the remains into the office to show Gretchen. I’d thought it wasn’t that much, but as I unlidded the containers of decorated cookies and cupcakes she smiled, then laughed. “These are amazing. We could hold a bake sale with all of this. Hey, Heather… it kind of looks like you’re auditioning for the role of PTA mommy?”
I felt wistful. I was going on 31, of course I’d thought about having kids and wondered if I’d ever get the chance. Mason and I would make adorable dark-haired blue-eyed chubby babies… if that was even something he’d want. “Touché, Gretch! Maybe… the chance would be lovely… though seriously, I don’t know if I’m getting anywhere. Mason comes round to my apartment, eats my food, we have a great time, he gets full and then he goes home. And with all these parties I maybe need to start watching what I make and eat. I’ve gained almost ten pounds since summer.” It was true. I’d always been curvy so my shape wasn’t much changed, just a little softer, but some of my clothes were getting tight. I poked myself in the side and sighed. “Wish I was done looking for love… then I could relax and enjoy getting fat.”
Gretchen laughed. “If you’re so set on only getting a man who wants your authentic self, or dying single, maybe you shouldn’t wait till you’re all coupled up! What are you gonna do if your dream guy falls for skinny Heather, you duly pork up, and then he decides that’s not the girl he married?” Gretchen was teasing me, and I’d been joking but… maybe she had a point. I put aside the idea of losing weight for now. Maybe I could try out life with a few extra pounds. Just for a little while.
Mason also hadn’t mentioned diets recently. He was looking closer to his old self, in more ways than one. The new clothes he’d had in the summer were now significantly too small, and he was starting to run out of business casual attire he could still fit his rounding body into. He’d dug out some mid-size “fat clothes” from storage but they were tired-looking and a little out of style.
One day Mason came into work in a pair of khakis that barely fit, and a shirt that strained to button around his chubby torso. He seemed strangely unselfconscious for him, but… despite the ill-fitting clothes, to my libido he looked the best I’d seen him since the old chunky days. The outfit didn’t conceal a thing, outlining his butt and belly and making me wonder if his pants could survive him bending to tie his shoes. I couldn’t help looking him up and down.
“I’m going to run to the cafeteria for something,” I blurted, desperate for something to say.
“Do you want anything?”
“I’m good,” he said, then seemed to consider. “Kinda in the mood for a muffin, but I really shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” I smiled. Don’t say you’re getting fat, don’t say you’re getting fat. It’s more and more difficult to lie to you.
He actually put a hand on his jutting belly! “Getting up there again.”
“Uh, up there?” For a guy who purportedly didn’t like being overweight, he surely liked to draw my attention to it.
“Yeah, put on a few,” he said. “In fact, I’ve had to dig out some bigger sizes, but I find that I don’t really care for them anymore. Do you want to go clothes shopping with me this weekend?”
“You haven’t packed on a few,” I reassured him with a nervous smile. Nope, it’s more than a few. “If you need an excuse to go shopping, though, then I’m your girl for the job.”
So we did. Had I ever shopped for menswear before? I had not. Did I enjoy having an excuse to get my hands all over Mason? Yes I did. If I hadn’t figured out some time back that he seemed to want me to observe and reassure him about his personal growth, I would have wondered why he needed my help with so many little adjustments which surely he’d been able to do himself for decades. He was testing me. Okay, Mason, I’ll test you in return. I suggested we went out for pizza and ordered way too much, about four times what I could eat myself.
Or three and a half times. Since I had relaxed a little about my own food intake, I seemed to be able to get through more pizza than I’d thought. I was never a particularly delicate eater, but I think I still surprised Mason by putting away three massive pieces. That was my limit though. My tummy was full to the brim and the tight waistband on my jeans was cutting me in half. Mason was on three as well, with two left over. Could I get him to aim for the total, or were my eyes bigger than his stomach?
He chowed down on the fourth slice with apparent enthusiasm, then reached for that last portion.
I was impressed, and pleased. “You’re gonna go for it, huh?”
Mason nodded, still chewing.
“Good for you,” I said. “I hate to see good food go to waste.”
While I was proud of Mason for pushing his limits, he looked like he was paying for it. That last half-piece went down sloooowly and he was leaning back, face flushed. But I could tell from his expression he was liking the attention. I certainly couldn’t take my eyes off him.
As we headed for the parking lot, my gaze was riveted to the bloated swell of belly lifting the front of Mason’s T-shirt. He had a button-down worn open over the top, but no way could he have fastened it. I was longing to touch his belly to feel just how firmly stuffed he was, but how could I? The answer came when I slipped slightly stepping down a kerb. It wasn’t exactly an accident, I knew it was there, but I was too distracted to look where I was stepping. I stumbled, turned my ankle for real just a little, and swayed into Mason’s side. He kind of stepped into it, so I ended up half-hugging him. He felt so nice, warm and solid; his side felt soft and pudgy but his belly itself was firmer, at least at the higher part where my arm was touching it. I could feel the rumbles of his massive lunch digesting. I slid my hand a little lower as I shook the pain from my ankle, down to a thicker layer of softness near his navel.
Mason was blushing but he didn’t look mad. He looked a little euphoric, in fact. I wished he would draw me in for a real hug… and then kiss me… but maybe he was too full to want to be squeezed. I only had myself to blame if he did.
Talking of which. “Hmm, you feel stuffed after all that pizza,” I said. Augh, that sounded awkward. Better make it sympathetic, not triumphant. “Did you eat too much?”
Mason’s blush deepened but he looked just a little proud of himself. “Yeah, probably should have skipped that last slice.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” I said with emphasis. “It would have gone into the trash and fed the rats. I’ll tell you what. When we get back to my place I’ll make you something that’ll make your full tummy feel good. Okay?” Think, Heather, what are you going to give him?
Weirdly, by the time we reached my apartment, my own pizza bloat had gone right down and I felt like I could eat again, although Mason still looked less than comfortable. We had been too full of pizza to get dessert, but I knew I had chocolate ice cream… and milk. And not a whole lot more – I’d have gone to get groceries that morning if not for helping Mason out, but maybe a milkshake wouldn’t be too filling, and the coolness might be soothing?
Mason might have felt like a snake trying to digest a whole goat at once, but he didn’t demur when I suggested a milkshake. I knew I’d have to drink right alongside him but my glassware was mismatched and mine came out a little smaller. I tucked myself next to Mason on the couch and took a long pull. I’d gotten the mix of icecream and whole milk just right, and it slid down like silk, but I was so very heavy and full when I was done. I could feel the weight of the thick liquid inside my stomach. And if I felt that way, how about Mason? I leaned a little closer, daringly touched his bulging front, and asked if he felt any better. He smiled, placed his hand on top of mine on his belly, and said he did. I wasn’t sure how he could feel any less overstuffed, but he certainly looked happy to have me there, and for now that would have to do. We turned on the TV to a sports channel and prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon resting… and digesting. I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Back at work, I was starting to get some teasing from the girls about the amount of time Mason and I were spending together. You couldn’t say we were dating. We hadn’t kissed, and he hadn’t said a single thing that made me sure he saw me as more than a friend. Sigh. It had to be that the most cautious girl in the office had set her sights on the most reserved man… I didn’t feed their curiosity too much. Meanwhile though, they were looking more closely at Mason to try to get clues as to how things were going between us. And looking that closely… they were going to notice other things as well.
“Hey, Heather!” Michelle had joined the team six months ago or so. “I don’t know how to put this, but when did Mason go from regular-size guy to fatass-in-training?”
“Michelle!” Well, that was blunt, but basically true. “He’s… well, he used to be bigger than this before, actually. He just lost some a while ago.” When I thought about it, ‘Chelle would never have seen him at his peak weight. “He has gained a little back, I guess. I hadn’t really noticed.” (Lies. I had noticed.)
Jess joined in. “A little? Maybe. If thirty pounds is a little, sweetheart. And it’s ALL belly, isn’t it?” Hmm. Speaking as someone who had helped him pick out shirts and pants, it was not all belly. Other parts of Mason were getting their share of the bounty. I knew my cheeks were growing pink thinking about Mason’s butt and legs. And back. And other things I hadn’t exactly seen yet.
I made excuses, stepped out of our corner of the cubicles and almost bumped into Mason himself, apparently heading for a conference room. How long had he been there? He had definitely overheard something; I’m not sure who was blushing harder, and he looked unhappy. Compelled, I glanced down at his midsection, which was looking nicely round today and filling out one of those newer shirts, said something incoherent about coffee, and dashed for the break room. Where I found a pan of brownies. Of course I snagged one and left it on Mason’s desk for when he returned. And one for me.
Mason had overheard some of the gossip for sure. Later in the week he brought up dieting again, a sure sign of Not A Happy Mason. I made the usual noises about him looking fine the way he was, but he was hinting that he’d recently hit an unwelcome milestone. I wondered what it was – 190? 200 even? The thought of him dieting filled me with dismay – well, let’s not panic here: although he’d successfully followed a diet once, far more often he’d said he’d start again then not carried through. The critical things he would say about his body and the way he treated it just did not match. He was a bright guy, he must have known that he couldn’t pig out to the extent he did, as often as he did, and expect to lose any weight… I waited a few days, then tentatively resumed my habit of buying or making a little extra food and leaving it around for him. I made some chocolate chip soft cookies that were so delicious I had a hard time not eating them all myself.
Better be careful. I was getting further into the habit of eating more whenever Mason was around, and I knew I had stacked on a few more pounds myself. It was still evenly distributed, but I could feel I was softer all over, my thighs were thicker, my tummy was beginning to round out and all my pants were really tight. And my bra band. And some of my work blouses. The softness felt good… but outgrowing clothes was inconvenient. Unless I wanted to go shopping for a whole new work wardrobe soon, I needed to steer clear of inhaling entire batches of cookies. Maybe I could pretend I’d forgotten our diet conversation and offload some on Mason. I tried that… Mason didn’t tell me to take the cookies away again…
I wasn’t going to see family for Thanksgiving and neither was Mason. I hatched up a plan to gather the waifs and strays from our friend group at a Thanksgiving potluck and football night, but I wasn’t sure how many people that would be. As the day drew nearer, some of the crowd got better offers. I still shopped for more than just me and Mason, you never knew.
On the day, though, I wasn’t too surprised that Mason was the only guest. My kitchen table was crowded with food, all the old favorites, my mom’s cranberry salad, a special sweet potato pie recipe I had from Gretchen, and a few extras.
We watched football, or Mason watched football and I watched Mason. He was wearing a nice polo shirt, fairly new, but already snug, and as the afternoon wore on and I switched out his empty plates for full ones, it was becoming much too small. It was pulled tight around Mason’s tubby midsection and as his belly swelled with fourth and fifth helpings, I could see it lift the untucked shirt a little.
By the middle of the evening, the front hem was no longer touching Mason’s lap and the bottom of Mason’s bare belly was peeking out. I was mesmerized. His belly was really starting to sit in his lap; he surely must be heavier than 200 now. I wasn’t really tracking how much I was eating myself till I saw my reflection in the dark kitchen window, and saw my own noticeably full tummy outlined by my stretchy red top. It was low-cut and usually made my boobs look great… it still did, but the boobs were not the main event right now. And while I could claim it still fit, because of the stretch, it left nothing to the imagination. I had a little back fat and muffin top going on, too.
What did Mason think about my newfound fluff? Was he watching how much I ate, just as I did with him? We were a weird pair. We clicked so well on the everyday level, we spent so much time together, I had been pining for him for months now and I was nearly, nearly certain he wanted me back… yet there was an elephant in the room that it took me all my courage to ever mention. Nope, I couldn’t ask him. I didn’t want to set off any diet talk today. I shook my head at my reflection, loaded up two large plates with a selection of pieces of pie with cool whip, and headed back through to the couch, where I longed to snuggle up next to Mason. He looked so cuddly.
But I couldn’t work up the courage. I knew if I sat next to him, I’d be all over him. Instead, I lay sideways along the couch, extending my legs and placing my bare feet (with newly painted toenails, who was I kidding?) in Mason’s shrinking lap. Wait, this was no better; every time one of us shifted position, my toes would brush against his belly and I’d be reminded of the nearness of his physical bulk, that I longed to touch and couldn’t. I got a real good view of his expanding belly from side-on. And I was pretty sure my tickly toes were distracting him, too. Shut up and watch the game, I told myself. And I did. And ate pie, feeling my own tummy swell even more and my spandex top stretch out around it. And continued to yearn to get closer. Tell him how you feel said the voice in my head. Or don’t tell him, show him. But I remembered my mother crying after being rejected or dumped one more time by a guy who’d made her do all the work and I. Just. Couldn’t.
No surprise, both Mason and I were looking a little rounder still after that Thanksgiving weekend. And from eating the leftovers. And from the approach of December and holiday goodies everywhere. Mason was clearly well over 200 now, thicker all over and whatever he wore, he couldn’t hide the round belly, thrusting forward. Instead of going shopping again, he’d pulled out his larger “fat clothes” (now why had he kept them, exactly?) It wasn’t that long since he’d been at his highest weight, they were still in style. Meanwhile I had gained fifteen or twenty pounds from my starting 145 and even my loosest and stretchiest clothes weren’t fitting anymore. I braved the mall and picked up some basics, even bigger underwear (would Mason notice my cup size had increased?) plus a crimson party dress that was on sale and looked hot on my thicker curves. I needed a dress for the office holiday party, and the colour looked great with my dark hair and olive skin. Maybe it would catch Mason’s eye?
I kept falling back into my habits of bringing Mason offerings of food. Sometimes I baked treats for my coworkers and somehow the lion’s share or the whole container ended up on Mason’s desk; sometimes I “ordered too much”, sometimes I “forgot I had leftovers in the refrigerator”. And the coworkers had noticed, much to their amusement. Gretchen and Michelle brought in baked goods regularly, too, claiming that there was never enough of my food to share because Mason got in first, but strangely they always seemed to make sure Mason got some of theirs as well. I was a little jealous, even though I knew none of them was really angling for his attention. He always ate the food, with predictable effects.
One night we were hanging out at his apartment and he picked himself up with a grunt of effort to go refresh our drinks. His couch was lower and older than mine, and harder to stand up from. His belly swayed as he rose and bounced a little as it settled. “Man, I’m getting fat!” he groaned.
“No you’re not,” I was anxious to reassure him. “You look good.” That was the simple truth, well, my truth anyway. I thought he looked amazing.
“You can tell I put on weight though. I need to cut back or I’ll be huge before I know it.”
I smiled at this vision, and shrugged. “The girls made all these treats. You’ll hurt their feelings if you waste them. It’s the Christmas season, may as well enjoy it. Right?”
And he did seem to enjoy it. There were certainly plenty of opportunities. I was baking a lot, and between Gretch and Michelle and me, we kept him and the break room well supplied. On days when I didn’t bake, I’d buy something. And… sometimes Mason himself did. I’d noticed a snack habit creeping up on him; he never used to leave his desk mid-morning in search of food, but now it was a regular occurrence for him to sneak off to the cafeteria or vending machines. Interesting.
Apparently I meant what I said about relaxing and enjoying the season because I was still getting plumper as well. It might not be that obvious since the chub was going on all over, but my clothes didn’t lie, everything was tight again, and one day I managed to split the zipper on my skirt at work. I couldn’t manage to fix it and that skirt had no other fastening, so I had to beg Jess for a safety pin (she has everything in that purse). I frowned as she pinned me back together. “I guess I have to face up to it, I’ve been hitting the Christmas treats too hard.” And Halloween candy and Thanksgiving treats, and Mickey D’s and vanilla crown danishes and caramel macchiatos and brownies and pizza and loaded nachos and pigs in blankets on football night, and, and… “I never thought I’d gain weight this easily. This is new.”
Jess laughed. “Welcome to your thirties, sweetheart. You can’t shake it off the way you could when you were younger, it’s just a fact of life. Maybe that’s why Mason is blimping up as well? He is older than you, no?”
“He’s six years older…” I knew when Mason’s birthday was now. April. We hadn’t been close enough the previous year for me to be invited to birthday drinks, now it was well known we were best friends if not more, I’d probably be the one organizing the party…
When it came time to get ready for the office Christmas party, I had a nasty surprise; that dress that I’d bought in preparation? It barely fitted. It looked okay standing up, and my matching heels helped to lift my ass and lengthen my silhouette, but the moment I sat down, my tummy formed rolls and the clingy fabric tucked itself in between them, emphasising the bulge of my lower belly. I could fasten the zipper, but the dress was pretty much shrinkwrapped around my extra curves. Oh well, maybe I wouldn’t need to sit down much. I put my hair into an elegant updo with sparkly clips, checked my lipstick (even my face looked rounder now) and prepared to have a ball.
Mason and I paired up as soon as we got there, and we did have a wonderful time. The buffet was good and plentiful and naturally we hit it hard. We had a few drinks as well… just enough to relax us, and we weren’t exactly drinking on an empty stomach. Now I was heavier, alcohol didn’t affect me quite as quickly as it used to, either. After spending time with our friends, late in the evening we ended up slow dancing – if you can call it dancing; it was the kind where you just lean on each other and revolve in a gentle shuffle. My heels were abandoned under a table somewhere, but I didn’t care. This was the most intimate we’d ever been; we were finally getting somewhere. I leaned into Mason’s belly, resting my head on his chest as he held my hips. I could still just make my hands meet behind his back. We gazed into each others’ faces, bright-eyed… the difference in our heights accentuating his slight double chin. Our slow progress took us to the middle of the room where there was a bunch of mistletoe, and to my delight Mason leaned down and kissed me tenderly.
We got out of there. I found my shoes and purse and Mason called us a cab. We decided to head back to my apartment first. I was secretly hoping it would be first and last, for tonight. Mason looked hotter than ever to me, though we were both bearing the signs of serious overindulgence. My overpacked stomach was straining against my tight dress and I had to sit carefully for fear of splitting a seam. I draped my arm artfully across my lap, pretending I was just holding my purse steady; I wasn’t sure how it looked from across the cab. Mason’s shirt was stretched to the max as well; he didn’t pop a button but I thought he might any minute. He looked as big as he’d ever been, or nearly. He saw me looking at his round gut and smiled, putting his hand to it. It looked packed solid, it was so bloated.
Inside the door, Mason stretched out on the couch with a grunt, half effort, half satisfaction. His belly rose up in a half-globe, too stuffed to subside. I kicked off my shoes, wriggling my toes in the rug, collected two beers from the fridge and sat down at last. I wasn’t as comfortable as I’d hoped; that dress was still forcing me to hold my stomach in, and I hardly could any longer.
“I gotta get this dress off,” I said a little ruefully. “I feel like a sausage.”
Mason grinned at me – I guess I looked like one too. Then again, so did he. His belt looked to be really cutting in under his belly and his shirt, still tightly tucked, was stretched to the limit.
“Did you bring sweats or anything?” Mason shook his head. “Well, I know those pants can’t be comfortable. You probably want to at least take that belt off.” Subtle. That’s me.
Mason took it off with relief, and untucked his shirt. I headed for the bedroom to wriggle… okay, struggle… out of the dress, let my poor tummy out with a groan of satisfaction, unpin my hair so it hung loose and slip into a flowing robe. I had my prettiest underwear on, and I left it on although I’d have loved to take my bra off. I tidied away my shed clothes and made sure the room was neat.
I padded back into the living room. Very gentle snores arose from the sofa. In the few minutes it had taken me to get comfortable, Mason was asleep. I hung around a little, feeling funny about watching him sleep, but then realised that he wasn’t waking soon. He looked so peaceful. I fetched a quilt from the closet and laid it over him, and a little later, took myself off to bed.
In the morning, we didn’t mention the kiss. Obviously that was how the evening was supposed to go. Two best friends having fun together and then a chaste sleepover. Of course. One step forward, two steps back.
New Year we spent at our friends’ house party, and there wasn’t a quiet moment for a repeat attempt. I thought Mason was arranging it that way on purpose, and I was bitterly disappointed. Mason announced that he was making a resolution to lose weight, to really do it this time. Okaaay. I thought I’d better be supportive. Saying that I didn’t think he needed to lose any hadn’t worked so well, had it? I asked him how much he wanted to lose, but he wouldn’t get specific, except that he wanted to get back to 170, where he was in March, or maybe even lower. That idea didn’t fill me with joy, but I was curious about how much he had really gained. He wouldn’t say.
I thought by now he was at least as fat as I’d ever seen him, and through January I didn’t see much indication that Mason was really making any attempt to slim down. Our routine seemed to carry on just the same; I provided food and company, he accepted both, we both ate way more than we really planned to – either on our own or with others – and we both continued to gain. By the beginning of February I was easily fifty pounds heavier than I’d been the previous summer. I’d gotten so squishy I needed yet another emergency shopping trip to buy business casual clothes I could comfortably fit into – all from the plus size racks – and increasingly I was wearing stretchy yoga pants and sweats in my downtime, as the jeans I’d bought after Thanksgiving no longer fit over my expanding thighs, hips and butt. I knew Mason liked the way I looked in jeans, so I bought one larger pair, but replacing clothes was getting expensive. So were my grocery bills.
Mason and I held a Super Bowl party at the beginning of February. By this point he was definitely heftier than ever before, and everyone could see it. Michelle observed to Gretchen, Jess and me that he was no longer a fatass-in-training, and it was hard to disagree that he’d graduated to full fatass status. He was wearing an untucked shirt that was kind of roomy, but it hardly disguised his size. Mason didn’t seem to notice that he was the subject of their gossip, but I wondered how oblivious he really was when I realised later that the girls were now talking about me… without me. And it was pretty obvious what they were saying. Maybe I’d never been skinny, but I too had left “could stand to lose a few” far behind by now. No way could I still kid myself I didn’t look much different; I was keeping Mason company in the fat lane.
Mason stuck around as usual to help me clear up, which I appreciated, especially when he stooped to retrieve paper plates and Solo cups from the living room floor, not such an easy task at his current size. And considering how stuffed he probably was.
I was in the kitchen assessing how much food we had left over. Mason entered – we took up most of the space in that tiny room now – and asked me if I was hungry.
“Oh, I ate too much already,” I said, and it was the simple truth. My stomach was full and I was feeling pressure from my waistband, even in the new jeans which I hoped might still stretch out a little more.
“Me too,” Mason agreed, looking down at his portly belly which stuck out further and wider than ever, curving like a beachball.
“Well, we have these leftovers.” I’d been contemplating stashing them in the refrigerator for later, but what the hell. “I don’t want to save them because it never tastes as good reheated. You can eat a little more, can’t you?”
I saw him think about it and nod in assent. I smiled back – that’s my guy. I offered him a beer and took a sip from one myself.
I swear I intended to load a normal sized amount for a snack on to that tray but once I started, I just couldn’t stop. By the time the tray was fully loaded, there were a few sections of a six foot sub, baked potato skins, cheese fries, pigs in a blanket, mini meatballs, cheese cubes, chips and mini pizzas along with the two dark beers. I bore it to the couch, pulling out the coffee table to take it.
Though I hadn’t intended to eat more myself, the food was right there, and Mason wasn’t getting started. Maybe he needs company. I took a few nibbles of various things, but Mason was just sitting back and watching me. I really did not have much room, I thought, so took the bull by the horns, or rather the pig by the blanket, reached over and popped the snack into Mason’s mouth. He looked surprised for just an instant, then munched it down. I followed it with another, seeing that he was enjoying himself and somehow looking more relaxed. He shifted his bulk closer along the couch towards me and put an arm round my back, his hand winding up on the soft bulge, the love handle, that had formed just above the waistband of my jeans on that side and wrapped around to join my belly roll. That spare tire was getting quite noticeable when sitting, and it filled Mason’s hand. I sat up too and grabbed food off the tray for myself, and Mason joined in, eating with abandon.
As we gorged, our eyes were locked not on the food but each other. Mason’s gluttonous feasting was… inspirational. And super hot. We ate faster, almost in competition, but moved to concentrate on our favorites. Mason went with the meaty treats, the pigs in blankets and meatballs and also the cheese fries; I was like a garbage disposal for mini pizzas and the baked potato skins. We were both replete already but we pretended we were starving and began to eat faster and faster.
I wasn’t sure which I felt more keenly, the overstuffed ache in my bloated belly, or the laser-like focus with which Mason watched it swelling even further as I polished off the food. Of course I couldn’t take my eyes off Mason either: that mighty ball belly seemed to have an infinite capacity for food.
I didn’t have an infinite capacity. I was definitely in difficulties, slowing down as I realised I was just too full to eat much more. My tummy was lifting my shirt, just like Mason’s had on Thanksgiving, thirty pounds ago or so. With my left hand I unsnapped the button on my jeans to release a little pressure, but it was no good… I really was full to bursting now. I could see Mason’s gaze was locked on my tummy bulge as it peeked out plumply between my shirt and my partly-open waistband.
“I’m done,” I groaned. “I can’t believe how fat I am already.”
“You?” Mason said. “You’re not fat at all.”
“You’re crazy!” I let out a snort of laughter. Well, this is a role reversal. “I totally got fat.”
Mason glanced downwards, not sure what to say. He chuckled awkwardly, then picked up a section of sub to cover the silence. I could not imagine where he was going to put that as he chowed down on it.
I kept my voice neutral. “If we keep eating like this I’m totally gonna be 200 pounds.” I put both hands on my bared belly, gave it a shake, and surprised even myself with how much it jiggled. “Can you believe this?”
Mason shook his head, swallowed, and smiled.
“Heather, you look great,” he said. “Really great. Whatever your weight is, it suits you perfectly.”
“Awww. You’re so sweet!" I could feel myself blushing. "I’m so glad I have somebody to hang out with who loves food as much as I do.” Were we edging close to the truth here? “And you have a big appetite too and you’re not afraid to eat.” Understatement of the century…
“Oh, I have a big appetite all right,” Mason said a little ruefully. “You think you’ve gotten fat. Look at me. I put on a ton.”
“Have you gained weight?” OMG, Heather, you dork… I put my hands on Mason’s belly. “Oh, wow, you do feel big.”
“I do?” he asked. His blue eyes were dancing. Don’t screw this up.
“Oh yeah.” I nodded. “Let me get this belt off of you so you can finish up all this food.”
Sliding closer, I reached under Mason’s jutting belly and undid his buckle. Clearly I needed more practise at that, but eventually I got it loose and felt his belly roll forward on to my hands, as gravity pushed it down into Mason’s lap. I took my courage in both hands and decided to go for it.
“Well… look at that fat tummy.” I reached forward to give it a loving caress. “I was wondering why you looked so good lately. Now I know… you’ve been packing on the pounds. A lot of them.”
Now I’d done it. I’d finally called him fat. How would Mason react? To my intense relief, he smiled. “You think I look good?”
“Of course.” I picked a mini pizza off the tray, folded it and popped it into Mason’s mouth again. “I was so sad when you went on a diet before. I’m glad those lost pounds came back… and with interest.”
“So you did notice I was gaining weight!” Mason said.
I smiled and nodded sheepishly, then held up another mini pizza. As Mason took it in his mouth, I unbuttoned his shirt to let his bare belly out, winter-pale compared to mine, and placed my hands gently on the sides.
“Wow.” I laughed with delight. “I didn’t realize how fat you’d gotten. Look at this! So tubby!”
Mason was still smiling around the mouthful he was chewing, so I started to play with his belly, lifting it a little to feel the weight, my fingers sinking into the fat as I caressed and rubbed it. Mason was blushing again, but happily. He swallowed, and I picked up a loaded potato skin as my next offering to his waistline.
“Are you the biggest you’ve ever been?” I had to know.
Mason nodded. “By far. Isn’t it obvious?”
I nodded. “By far the heaviest I’ve ever seen you. And don’t you mean – so far?”
“So far?” Mason asked, chewing the very last mini pizza. He leaned further back and I started to massage his bare belly, to sighs of bliss from Mason. “Do you, uh… really think I’m going to keep gaining? I mean I put on so much weight already. Really ought to cut back.”
I bent over to kiss his cheek, then leaned back, eager to survey the situation. I liked what I was seeing. Oh so much. I grinned as I surveyed the ample figure before me.
“No, honestly, I don’t think you should cut back.” I picked up another loaded potato skin. “I don’t think you should cut back in the slightest.”
Mason’s brow knitted, but only a very little. “What if I keep gaining weight?” he asked. “What if I keep getting fatter?”
Did he have to ask? The time for denial was past. “Oh, sweetie, the way you plumped up so enthusiastically, do you really think you’re gonna stop?” I dunked the potato skin in ranch dressing and put it past Mason’s lips. Here it is, the moment of truth. “Are you really going to pretend you don’t want to get bigger?”
Mason shrugged. I glanced down, saw his waistband cutting cruelly into the roll of chub on either side, and decided to do something about it.
I reached under the belly to find out that Mason’s waistband was already unbuttoned, but his zipper still up. Easing it down, I pulled the two sides of his fly apart to give his stomach a little more room. As I rubbed his swollen front and his padded sides, he relaxed and let his belly out even further. What, had he been holding it in all this time?
“Sweetie, we both love food!” I said. “You’re not really going to pretend you don’t want this to continue, are you?”
Mason looked thoughtful. “There is one thing I want to change,” he said, and reached out to pat my own belly. For a moment I panicked, then saw the mischievous look on his face and guessed what he meant.
“Don’t worry,” I smiled. “I’ll be right here getting fat next to you.”
His blue eyes were shining. “How fat?” he asked, quirking a grin.
In for a penny, in for a… pound. Or many pounds. “Really fat.” I bit my lip, then began to giggle. “Not as fat as you. But fat.”
His smile growing wider still, Mason nodded. Wonderful visions danced in my head and I leaned in to kiss his cheek.
“Okay, then.” I pulled back, ready to head to the kitchen. “Let’s get you some ice cream and really fatten you up… or are you going to pretend you don’t want to keep eating?”
Mason grabbed my hand. “Wait! There’s one more thing I want to change.”
He drew me down onto his shrinking lap, pulled me close and kissed me deeply. “I don’t want to pretend we don’t love each other anymore.”
Epilogue – six months later
I don’t think I could be happier than I am now. Thinking back to last summer when we couldn’t spit out what we wanted to say to each other, it seems like a million years ago, not one. Mason couldn’t admit his desires to himself, and I couldn’t admit mine to him. We’ve grown so much in that time.
And we have literally grown, of course. Mason’s sitting in that jacuzzi over there. I can see his round face and thick shoulders, but I know that hidden beneath the foaming water there’s a well-developed round butt, tree-trunk legs and thick arms made for hugging, a soft broad back and chest and an amazing belly. So far it’s mostly keeping the rounded shape it had when he was 200 pounds plus, but now it’s so much bigger, and wider, and hangs lower when he stands.
I love the way he moves, heavily, deliberately. And he loves the way I move, too. As I walk around the pool towards him, every bit of my body sways. Mason says I’m still an hourglass, but with most of the sand in the bottom half. My thick thighs jiggle as they crowd each other, my full breasts bounce and sway, so do my chunky upper arms, and my new swimsuit has to stretch a long way to get around my ass and my soft tummy, which it can’t altogether restrain from wobbling as I walk. Or waddle, let’s be honest here. A year and a hundred or so pounds ago, I had none of that. And couldn’t have pictured that I’d be here or be so fat, or so happy.
Since we got together, I haven’t heard a single word about dieting from Mason. Just today, he crested 300 pounds. The cake and ice cream have arrived; it’s time for us to celebrate. We’ll take it in turns to feed each other, knowing that this is exactly what we both want.