mygoo

[mygoo]

The scene at their house as they were taken out by emergency services after falling was surprisingly not the most embarrassing thought rattling around in their brain. Just hearing the numbers threatened to stop their already stressed heart cold.

992lbs.

You'd have thought the nine burly firemen it took to carry them out past the broken down wall, through their garage would have tipped them off. Of course they had to know they kept gaining after the scale at home stopped being able to weigh them, but the obfuscation of reality allowed them to hope in vain that it wasn't this much.

Less than ten pounds shy of a thousand. Quadruple digits are of course constantly on the mind of a person so ruled by their fatty desires, dreaded as another milestone to their super morbid obesity. Confronting it was enough to seriously kick them into gear about turning things around, though they knew it was entirely too late... But it was going to be different this time. Different than all the other health crisisies and weight milestones that sent them into the same frenzy countless times before.

The diet lasted three days after getting home. Followed by the biggest all out binge of a week and a half of their life. They reluctantly and shakily hefted themselves on the extra capacity scale provided by the hospital intended to track their weight loss.

1,021lbs.

What should be a shock was a foolish relief. It happened. Then a moment later it's already in the rearview mirror. Besides realistically what's the next meaningful milestone? a ton? That's inconceivable... well with them at least absurdly far away. Right?

[mygoo]

I'm going to outlive my son. It's the saddest realization for any parent, but it's one I can't deny anymore. See, my son is fat. No really, faaaaaat. Take whatever you're thinking in your head and double it, heck triple it even and you're probably still thinking too small.

His mother and I tried for years to get him active, to get him interested in the outdoors, sports, heck any physical activity, but the only physical activity he cared about were ones that ended in food.

We tried at first to guide him into making better decisions. Surely as he matured he'd realize that all the food and all the weight wasn't worth it, but the gentle treatment didn't work. We never wanted to be strict parents, but we decided that drastic measures had to be taken when he reached his teens with his weight still climbing. We rid the house of anything unhealthy and kept an eye on his eating like a hawk and he finally started dropping weight to our slight comfort.

Looking back now I see how short-sighted we were. It's one thing to control your kid, but he won't be a kid forever. At some point he's going to need independence, a job, a car, all the facets of a normal adult life and hopefully someone to share it with. Out on his own he could eat as much as he wanted, when he wanted, especially once we found out his first job was not what he originally told us, but a job at one of the local fast food joints.

Slowly at first, but surely his weight started creeping up again. He'd bounce around between jobs depending on what cuisine he was especially feeling and how long they'd keep him on before realizing how much he was literally eating into their profits. We'd failed. Just like his youth anything he did was motivated by food. We were all out of ideas. Time passed by in this stalemate, the only needle moving faster being the one on our bathroom scale.

We had thought about kicking him out, but at this point I don't think he could even live on his own. He had every weight-related medical condition in the book, every one a missed wake up call to turn back. Things that people in their 50s would start worrying about, not someone less than half their age.

Getting on disability took away the last reason for him to ever get off his copious ass, so it's no surprise that his mobility vaporized shortly thereafter. Some days I wonder if he'll see 30. It'll surely be a miracle of medical science if he does.

I couldn't tell if it was a blessing or a curse the day I found his online persona, through the further I looked, the more I gravitated towards the latter. It finally made everything make quasi-sense, a reason for the way he lived his life, if you can even call it that, but it did so in such a disgusting, heartbreaking way. He catalogues his gains to a sadistic audience hungry to watch him blow up. He talks about how much he loves his weight, shockingly especially its side-effects, reveling in being out of breath simply from rolling over in bed. The post where he declared himself immobile is proudly pinned to the top of his page, racking up comments of support and congratulations from the people feeding into his addiction, both figuratively and literally with constant food deliveries I had long-assumed he had ordered for himself. It's all so fucking disgusting, and it's something I will never tell my wife, something I will take to my grave long after his.

As far as I'm concerned, he's already gone. He was lost 100s of pounds ago. There's no son in that void of a room, just a mound of flesh, endlessly growing until the day it doesn't. Goodbye, son. I hope you really love all your flab like you say you do, because it's all you got, and there's a ton of it.

[mygoo]

Thanksgrowing

Just a quick holiday vignette that I wrote out in one go.

Sean had an ulterior motive for his first year hosting his extended family for Thanksgiving. The spread was huge and decadent, spilling over the large table set up in his living room leaving the plates as the only surface clear of food.

A spread like this would be unexpected for his normally-sized family, but Sean had made sure to use his secret enchantments to make sure no one would see it as odd and especially sure that they wouldn't notice what came next.

As they all dug into the feast they were blind to the fact that regardless of the ungodly amount of food sliding down into their gullets, it only felt like a drop in the bucket. Sean was siphoning off almost all of the food his 35+ member family was eating, growing himself rapidly while he chowed down in his natural manner as well.

By the end of the meal, everyone had collapsed back in their chairs, rubbing their bellies, finally having eaten enough to stuff themselves. Enough meant there wasn't a scrap of food left on the table, bones licked dry, even crumbs hoovered up.

In the middle sat Sean having gained 100lbs+ from the ordeal patting his own now much larger belly, his family oblivious to the gain. His dad spoke up in between sighs due to his overstuffed belly, "Wow son... you really put out a great spread... I think we have a new family tradition."

Sean imagined next year with excitement and anticipation. Does he have to wait a whole year though? He's sure there's more holidays he can offer to host.

[mygoo]

Too Fat

Too fat to run

Too fat to ride

Too fat for any sizes at this store

Too fat for a booth

Too fat for shoelaces

Too fat for stairs

Too fat for your office chair

Too fat for any chair

Too fat for the grocery store

Too fat for the doorway

Too fat to reach down there

Too fat for the couch

Too fat for the bathroom

Too fat to walk

Too fat to waddle

Too fat to move

Too fat to talk

Too fat to breathe

Too fat to live.

[mygoo]

The familiar noise of the video call coming in pulled me out of my normal trance. What could it be this time? There was only one overarching reason why he would ever call, to humiliate me by flaunting his taught, strong body. The call connected to show him in a convention center, all tanned up. It was a familiar sight to me having once lived in that same world.

It's hard to remember that just a few short years ago I looked like the man on video in front of me. That man once being my gym buddy and best friend. We practically did everything together, we trained together, competed together and eventually lived together. I suppose the last of those was something we still technically shared, if you could even call what I'm doing living anymore.

I was always second fiddle to him. A dynamic in our friendship that I had never paid much attention to, but I'd come to find out was crucially important to him. Everything changed the day after I placed ahead of him for the first time ever in competition. He had feigned excitement for both of our accomplishments like the supportive friend I thought he was, but in the harsh daylight of the following morning his true feelings were unveiled.

When I awoke, I could tell immediately that something was off. I was restrained to my bed with a mask covering my mouth. He was standing there monologuing away before I had even awaken, spouting off about my audacity for trying to usurp him, how only he can be on top, and on and on. Clearly one sided jealousy worked up in his own brain based on his neurotic interpretations of my actions. I tried in vain to talk him down, afraid of what his plans were next, but the mask prevented me. Though I hadn't known it, the words I uttered last night were the last I'd ever say.

As his strange mutterings wound down, I saw him press a button on his phone and a machine to the left of me whirred into life. In a few seconds a greasy, sugary slurry started inching down the hose attached to the mask eventually forcing its way into my stomach. Without another word he left the room, closing the door behind him.

And that's pretty much what my life has been since then. Of course I had tried to get away in the beginning, but that got harder and harder as time went on and the effects of the round-the-clock feedings he was subjecting me to started taking shape. I watched as my fit, tanned, competition-winning body, started bloating up with fat. My abs were the first to go being replaced with a droopy gut that I'd happily go back to today given the choice. My skin lost its golden glow being trapped indoors with minimal light taking on a pale, fleshy tone.

It's traditional to have a spread of junk food backstage at a fitness competition as a treat to those who want it after starving their bodies of such luxuries to have the winning physiques they displayed. So of course, this is where he chose to call me.

"Hey bud, just a bit of Saturday night motivation for ya," he started. "Now normally, I wouldn't touch anything like this, but I want to make a point to you. See this donut here?" he takes a bite, even his chiseled face flexing while he chewed, "This fat, this sugar, it's not even worth it. Do you know what is? This medal. These abs. They both taste way better than this ever could... It's a shame you've lost sight of that."

He loves talking to me like this, pretending that he isn't the sole reason my body has taken the form it has today, but hey peep the 2nd Place, at least someone's keeping him down a peg still. As he turns away to laugh at the audacity of his comment and the sick pleasure he gets from the irony I feel an uptick in the flow of the machine, my already stressed stomach being pushed even tighter. I moan in a distressed pleasure, though I know what it means, the feeling of fullness is one of the few I can even register anymore, the only feeling left that can overwhelm me. Well that and the feeling of him caressing and fucking my folds, which he would assuredly do the second he came back.

I sit in anticipation after the call hangs up waiting for him, not like I could do anything else anyway. The restraints are long gone, but there's no risk in me running away, my fat is enough of a restraint to keep me pinned to the ground and my once powerful arms too weak to remove the mask. I don't think I would if I could at this point, there's no coming back to where I've gone. Eating is the only constant I have left in my life, if I stopped it, even for a second I worry about the intense emptiness I'd feel physically and mentally. Heck, it might even be too much of a shock to my body after getting used to and dependent on its presence.

My depressive thoughts are broken as he swings open the door. He stands there only in his competition shorts, standing tall and proud like the adonis he is, like we both used to be. His raging hard on strained painfully against the stiff material. He frees it as he saunters over. Standing there naked, the disparity of our bodies is on full display. His one of strength and health, and mine weak and overburdened.

I run naturally hot buried under however many hundreds or thousands of pounds of flesh I've accumulated, but I'm practically burning up waiting for his contact. These fuck sessions are the only connection I have with the world outside of these four walls anymore and I crave it, even more so than the slurry that sustains and grows me.

Of my many holes and folds, he chooses his favorite, my favorite too, my cavernous bellybutton. He drives his eager cock into it, his hard fuckmeat being enveloped and caressed by my supple gut fat as he works in and out. I stare at his tight abs and plump v taper almost in a trance, watching as they dance while he thrusts. Deep within my fat, my own withered dick jumps when they slap into my gut, the momentary feeling of the hardened bumps against my soft flesh serving as a pleasurable reminder of what I used to have. Nearing completion, he reaches up for my moobs. Practically laying across my body he is almost unable to, but he manages to give them a good squeeze as he releases, allowing me to do the same. His dick spits powerfully into me, cum oozing down my bellybutton as he drains while I weakly dribble into my dirty fat pad.

As he gets up, I notice that his competition tan has rubbed off on me, leaving an outline of his body against mine. The comparison is shocking with the mark leaving only a narrow looking strip in the middle of my expansive gut that had to be 8-10x wider.

"Don't worry man, this will all be over soon..." he announced while composing himself. He was right I was surprised how long I had lasted, my only saving grace likely being that I had stared out so healthy. This most recent illustration of how far I've gone notwithstanding, I had increasingly started wondering how much further I could possibly go before... He continues speaking before I finish my dark thought making it obvious that we weren't thinking the same thing "I have another competition in a few weeks, I'll for sure take home first place, for both of us."

[mygoo]

Life in seconds and pounds

They say you spend a third of your life sleeping, one look at you and it's obvious that you spent the other two-thirds eating. It's not always an immediate thought when looking at a land whale like yourself just how much time you've devoted to expanding your body so wildly. You don't just wake up one day 600lbs+, it's an every day commitment to stuff yourself bigger. Every bite a decision to consume more and more despite your body and the world around you telling you to stop.

How many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, god even years have you cumulatively spent of your life stuffing your face? Each bite, each conscious decision taking you ever closer to the brink. The minutes spent gorging ticking away as they also shave away years of your life expectancy. Truly burning the candle at both ends, or would a food analogy be more apt? of course it would... eating the party sub at both ends.

But the party has to stop eventually and when it does, will it all have been worth it? Would having spent your entire life devoted to consuming instead of doing literally anything else have given you the pleasure you desired? Will you be satisfied when that day comes?

Of course you would. Your last breath will be one with a full mouth and a smile on your face, your only regret being that you didn't manage blow yourself up larger. Look at that, your pudgy hands are empty, that of course means its time for your next meal. Eat up piggy, you've got so much farther to go on your borrowed time.

[mygoo]

Sorry for the Inconvenience

You rolled into the lobby of your apartment complex, after barely fitting through the front doors, blissfully unaware of the earth shattering revelation that awaits you. Your focus was of course on the mountain of fatty delicious treats piled high in the basket of your rascal after your most recent trip to the grocery store next door to your complex.

You of course chose this complex due to it's proximity to the shopping center adorned with fast food joint out lots and a selection of mom and pop restaurants in the strip in addition to the store. Heck, leaving your apartment to eat or get food is about the only thing you do now, outside of seeing the plethora of doctors keeping your sorry excuse for a body going with medications on medications to make up for your consciously bad decisions. Let's zoom out a bit to set the scene.

You're sat heavily on the seat of your motorized scooter as it groans away being meant for someone less than half your girth. Your colossal ass cheeks and back tits almost entirely engulfing the seat. It's surprising you haven't managed to tip yourself over yet, your thighs and gut spilling over the sides making you three to four times the width of the cart. Your flabby arms are barely able to reach the handlebars having to reach over your huge truck tire sized gut rolls and mountainous moobs. Reaching so purposefully for your tenuous grip of the controls they bunch your moob fat up, which in turn collides with your neck fat leaving your face sunken deep behind a tide of chins, truly illustrating the fact that you are drowning in a sea of your own fat.

And you know what the most fucked up thing is? You want this. No you're not some weight loss reality TV personality with a sad backstory of childhood trauma causing your sustained weight gain. Nope, you consciously chose to shove every last fatty calorie in your mouth for the simple reason that you found it so undeniably hot. Each goopy pound adding to your frame and sloshing around amplifying the ever increasing pleasure of more. Every struggle and thing you can no longer do due to your size arousing you deep within your core. From the outside someone may mistake your life for one of sadness, but for you, sitting within your cushy throne of your own making it's a life of limitless pleasure.

That was all until today of course. The day where you might just meet your match. It's weird how impactful such a common object would be to you. A hastily made sign printed on plain old office paper out of the management office's run of the mill laser printer, hung up with generic branded scotch tape, heck they didn't even bother to change from the default font. But it wasn't the physical aspects of it that caused your already stressed heart to sink even further into your flabby chest, it was the content:

Attention Residents,

The elevator is temporarily out of service until tomorrow. Sorry for the inconvenience,

Management

No, no, no, this can't be happening. You think to yourself. What are you going to do? You look to the stairs, the thought of hauling your carcass up them increasing your panic. You look down at the food in your cart and seriously ponder sitting in the lobby all night and chowing down, but the pains of the normal sized seat pressing into your less than normal sized body puts a stop to that train of thought. There's gotta be a way out of this. You call the Super, Victor, feigning an excuse of needing help carrying something into the lobby knowing he won't come if you immediately ask about the elevator. It's a common enough occurrence you need help carrying something, so he agrees to come on down. You rustle through the bags of food to find something to settle your nerves while you wait the few minutes it'll take him to walk up from the sub basement. You spy the pink and blue wrapping of a bag of Double Stuf Oreos, ripping open the top and dumping an entire sleeve into your waiting maw, not caring who could possibly see you pigging out in the semi-public space.

You finish your chewing as Victor opens the door. Victor is not what you would think of when you hear the title Super, being a fit young man with a baby face that hides the fact that he is wiser than his years. You usually love the way his young, agile body plays in comparison to your bloated, overburdened, and astonishingly younger body. You look at him and wonder if you could have looked like him if you had made different choices, but you didn't, and you wouldn't anyway. Fuck, yes. But today you don't feel that, today you are only full of worry. Lazily wiping excess crumbs from your lips with your fleshy forearm you ask him what's up with the sign hoping that it's just an inspection or something that you can convince him to make an exception for. Unfortunately he explains to you that it's truly broken down and the earliest he could possibly get someone out was tomorrow.

I'm sorry but you'll just have to take the stairs, he says to you, you're only on the second floor, one flight of stairs won't kill you, right? His tone was one of joking, but you could tell there was a serious question under there. Was he right? Had you really gotten yourself to the point where you don't think you can make it up a single flight of stairs? Could he just tell by looking at you that you hadn't taken more than five steps from your cart to whatever flat surface you collapsed yourself onto next in more than a year? Let alone hauled yourself up from one elevation to another. Disguising your inner turmoil you chuckle joking that you think you can do it this one time. You ask Victor to at least schlep your groceries up as a favor, explaining you don't think you'll be able to carry those and this, patting your hands on your expansive belly. You watch him closely as he bunches up your haul, behind his cheery veneer you can see him judging the contents. Not a single vegetable in sight, just sugar, fat, oil, and salt. Just what a body needs. Just what your body needs. God, in any other situation this humiliation would have really got your engines revving, but all you can think about are the dammed stairs.

You follow Victor into the stairwell, your sides again brushing heavily against the door frames. Before you even make it over to the first step he has vanished, lightly vaulting up two steps at a time. You roll yourself all the way up to the steps, hoping to line up the platform of your cart to the first one to save you at least one step up. Before getting up you sit there and think about Victor's speedy scaling of the stairs. How can it be that something less than a thought or more than seconds of someone else's life be such an insurmountable obstacle for you? Almost as if in response, your cavernous stomach growls. Taking a moment to make light of the situation you chuckle to yourself. Oh yeah, that's how. Sitting in your chair a few moments more you contemplate, afraid to take the first step. You eventually realize you need to make a move eventually, using the promise of the delicious treats waiting for you in your apartment to motivate you. Wow, food motivating you, how original.

With all the energy you can muster in your worried state you push yourself up out of the seat, but predictably fall back. You rebound and push up again like always using the built up momentum to pull you into a standing position, your pendulous gut pulling down aiding you in straightening your back as much as you can to get you across the finish line. You take a moment to catch your breath, already being winded from simply standing up, let alone taking a single step. Your mass nearly fills the width of the stairwell, which thankfully means you can brace yourself with both handrails on your journey. Already standing, the clock is ticking. You lift your leg up and place it on the first step, having to move your gut out of the way with it as you do making the even objectively easy first step a partial struggle. With all of your might, you pull with your weak arms and push with your weak legs to complete your first actual step. You've done it! One down, only 1, 2, 3.. 18 more to go. You repeat the effort up a few more, but your attitude quickly takes a downturn as you do. Only those few more in, you're already starting to feel the pain.

Sweat stains begin forming under your pits, rolls, and chins, looking more like a shirt of someone running a marathon, not having made it up four steps. Gasping for air you consider taking a break, but worry about losing what little momentum you have you solider on. Half way up the pain in your back and chest builds, sharp and radiating, your heart pounding through your chest its beat visible even under your piles of chest flesh. Your vision begins to narrow, but you can't stop now, if you do you'll never make it up. You're in a painful daze as you see yourself nearing the precious landing. You realize you're going to have to walk without the rails for the final trip to the door, so you practically launch yourself forward hoping you can stumble to it.  As you do, a new pain rips you back to reality as your knees take on your full weight for the first time, screaming and ready to give out at any moment. You plow into the door, resting your full weight on it to give yourself some reprieve. You stand for only a moment, fruitlessly attempting to tame your labored wheeze.

You reach to grasp the handle with your flabby hands. They're so bloated and stiff from the exertion that you can barely bend your fingers to grab and turn it. Once you do, you bust through the doorway, your weight pressing on the door causing it to swing wildly and smack the adjacent wall. Still comfortably wedged in the door frame you count up the 10-12 steps to your apartment door, your salvation. Your breath is sharp in your chest, signaling it was now or never. Again using momentum to your advantage you propel yourself. Each heavy step you wheeze as you feel your flabby chest paradoxically tighten. You again collapse against the door, this time your own, as you come in contact you slip slightly, your sweat-laden body and drenched clothing preventing you from gripping the surface. You reach for the handle and try to turn it. Thankfully Victor left it unlocked, your stiff hands likely would having been unable to hold your key.

For the last time tonight you burst through the opening, but this time in your weakened state you lose your balance and begin falling to the floor. In an act of agility unbecoming compared to every other movement you've made you grab at one of the bags of food on your table on your way down. Your body lands on partially on its side with a thud, your gut thankfully cushioning at least some of the blow. Without even processing what just happened, you ripped into the bag to see what you snagged. You pull out a package of bacon, ripping into it with your teeth. Holding it with you arm that isn't pinned down you knaw and slurp the raw rashers into your mouth, grease covering your maw like the hog you are, gulping down air like a fish out of water in between bites.

Not immediately noticing it, a shadow casts over you as you eat, you look up, it's Victor. Tsk tsk tsk. Look at you... Look at what you've done to yourself... Knocking on death's door from a simple activity most wouldn't even think twice about, pathetic. With that you see him crumple up the sign from the elevator and toss it into the direction of one of the many garbage piles in your apartment. He knew. He planned this. Laying there in your disgusting state, being judged and tricked, it was all too hot, it was all too much. Just like on the stairs, your vision started to narrow, oh god this is it. Between gulps you desperately try to wheeze he.. hel... What's that? Help? Victor replies. Of course, he continues in his normal chipper tone, but with a distinctively dark undertone. He looks away, you expecting him to call 911, but he obviously has other plans. His eyes light up as he spies a box full of doughnuts in the outlay of treats adorning the grocery haul that sealed your fate tonight. Without another word, he stares you down as he shoves the first one into your face. Reflexively you begin chewing and gulping ignoring all the other alarm bells ringing out throughout your body. Another one, the sugary goodness lifting you up in your final moments. Another, and another. You lose count as you lose consciousness. Your last breath fittingly exiting as an earth shattering belch.

That's just like Victor, always willing to help.

[mygoo]

Choices

You can try to blame others, the world, this situation or that, but when it comes down to it, your choices are what got you here.

While other kids went out and played, it was your choice to laze around and snack 24/7.

It was your choice to manipulate your parents into plying you with more and more junk food lest you throw a tantrum.

When they went to bed it was your choice to sneak back in the kitchen for hours long late night binges, poorly hidden wrappers and an ever expanding wardrobe an inadequate keeper of your supposed secret.

It was your choice to drop out of high school out of humiliation. Out of breath walking between classes, inability to fit into desks, and of course gym class.

It was your choice to go on disability before you even turned 21 due to your shocking obesity.

When it was clear that disability was not enough, it was your choice to use the gaining community as an excuse for your gluttonous life, and to move in with a feeder you barely knew that promised to take care of you.

It was your choice to not leave the bed, first a few days, using the tiring move into his apartment as an excuse to take it easy, but then soon enough turning into a eternity.

It was your choice to let him force feed you through a tube, more concerned with decreasing the effort and increasing the quantity of food flowing into your maw, regardless of the skyrocketing effects it started having on your already massive body.

So here you are now, faced with your final choice. Your chubby face adrift in a sea of blubber chewing away as the pain radiates from deep within your flabby chest. Your flabby arms too tired and atrophied to even attempt grab at it.

Do you stop gulping down your latest binge in a last minute attempt to stop the heart attack already in full swing? or do you keep eating to fulfill your immediate desire for more? A life filled instant gratification and never knowing the word no means the choice was already made. "Besides, it's my favorite food, I can't stop now..." the last thought echoing in your brain as you drift away.

[mygoo]

Goal Weight

"601lbs" the scale announces loudly in its electronic voice. Looking down in a fruitless effort to see over your plump moobs and expansive gut to see the display, you're glad you splurged for the audio feedback version of your high-capacity scale.

You smile with the realization that you have finally passed the goalpost you set for yourself what seems like ages ago. Looking up, the man staring back at you in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable, even to yourself. Gaining over 450lbs in a year and a half will do that though.

Yeah, you read that right. 450lbs in just a year and a half. 17 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days to be exact. The extreme weight gain a product of the laser focus you've had to reach your goal and the body of your dreams in as little time as possible.

You had always been fascinated by fat people, from the first times you saw someone on TV blowing up in a dream or in real life waddling down the sidewalk. You wondered what it would be like to be like them, covered in squishy, soft, jiggly fat. Just taking up so much space. It was mesmerizing.

What you also noticed though was how society viewed them. Fat people are practically shunned. Judged at every turn for the perceived waste of space their obscene consumption has created. From that you learned to hide your desires deep down in order to live the type of life society deemed normal.

Years later, in your early teens, to your surprise you managed to find a like-minded community online filled with not just admirers, but the object of your admiration, what you quickly learn to be deemed "chubs." It rocked your world. Not just that these people exist and celebrate a desire that society tells them so strongly to ignore, but that many take it a step further and actually gain weight on purpose.

You ingrain yourself in your new secret culture. Watching and sometimes even supporting some of your favorite chubs blow up with more and more delicious, gloopy, fat. Watching their numbers tick up on the scale fills you with a rush like nothing else can. But that rush fades over the years to come as you eventually circle back to your own self.

Your average frame that hovers somewhere around the 150s would definitely classify you as a chaser, but your true desire was always to be on the other side of the equation. To truly become the embodiment of your taboo desires.

That brings us to the day you made the decision to go for it. You were watching a live streamed weigh-in of one of your favorite chubs, FatJake500. People were placing bets of the number on the scale, Jake hoping to finally have a reason to update his username to FatJake600. After much buildup, Jake places the camera down on a low stand, in plain view of the display on the scale. His fat-embellished lower body the only other thing in frame outside of the bottom of his gut drooping in and out of frame as he heavily waddles up to the platform. When it read out 600 the chat and Jake exploded with excitement.

You feel the familiar rush yourself, but it dissipates quickly. That could be you if you really devoted yourself to your true desires. That should be you. That NEEDS to be you.

From that point on, the decision was made. You were done playing by everyone else's rules. It was your time to shine. To become the chub you knew you could be. Your goal would be the same as Jake's, you quickly decided, 600lbs. You had always liked that number and the guys that embodied it. In your opinion it was the perfect tipping point between run-of-the-mill morbid obesity, and fuckkkkkk and that fact really revved your engines.

You set about planning your rise to superchubdom thinking you had taken in enough knowledge as a passerby of others on the same journey to pack it on. An intense plan of binging and fasting to really mess up your metabolism at the core of it.

The beginning was tough. Your body simply did not want to deal with the amount of calories you were forcing down your gullet during every waking hour, but you easily found encouragement online. When you felt like you were going to throw up if you ate one more slice of that greasy double-cheese pizza, there was always someone right there with you, pushing you to ignore that feeling and go for more.

The weight began packing on fast, which grew your following almost as fast as your waistline. You quit your job realizing you were receiving enough financial support through your gaining to keep you comfortable, not to mention the constant surprise food deliveries coming to your door from your most devoted followers on the daily. It was just taking up time you could devote to gaining anyway.

With your stomach continually stretching out your original plan shifted to consistent binging with some more binging thrown on top. The bliss of your dreams becoming reality and your online support system distracting you from noticing some of the side effects of your massive gain. Despite what you would like to believe, the human body is not designed to carry on like this, especially at the rate you're going.

You came onto the underside of your belly when you stepped on and annihilated your old bathroom scale. You knew it was coming, its capacity a paltry 300lbs. Thanks to your supporters you pick up a new one with a capacity of 750lbs, safely much higher than your goal, you thought.

Your days begin to blend together. A constant stream of food entering your mouth. You were blowing up quicker than anyone had ever seen, a fact that should garner at least some concern, even for a gainer, alas your only concern was your next feast.

This tunnel vision wouldn't clear until the day where we started, the day you finally reached your goal 'and an extra pound,' you giggle to yourself. You take yourself in standing there. Your chins perched above your, soft, floaty chest, nipples the size of saucers resting gently on your doorframe-demolishing gut. These days you were squeezing through any opening deemed "normal" sized, even turned to the side.

To your sides hang your weighty arms. And I mean hang. The only reason you ever exert the effort to move their mass being to convey the latest junk food to your mouth. Your once average looking arms appear to be practically melting with fat exaggerating their form into something not immediately recognizable as a human appendage.

Behind, your titanic ass juts out, its globes swaying gently as you ever so slightly rock back and forth on your tired legs, not being built for supporting the weight of your form. The legs themselves encased in fat that leaves you with only the most extreme waddle when walking. You're mesmerized by the constant slight jiggles across your body. A body this fat is never not in constant motion, especially when standing, a never-ending ballet of fat crashing up against fat.

A loud grumble of your cavernous stomach breaks you out of your bliss. It had been over an hour since your last binge that finally broke you past your coveted goal and your body is ready for more. You suddenly realize that you had never considered what you should do next. You had been so focused on reaching this magical number that you were blind to everything else going on in your body.

You can't just cut back to a more normal diet and maintain this weight. What an absurd thought, "maintaining" 600lbs. Right.

You had been so focused on the outward changes that you never really gave any thought to what was going on inside of you. You had transformed your body into not just something that wants to be absolutely filled to the brim with only the most fattening calorie-laden food, but something that NEEDS it to survive. It wouldn't, no couldn't, be satisfied until you've packed it full enough to stretch your stomach out so you can fill it even more next time. You had created a body that only lived to consume and produce lard.

Your turmoil is accentuated even further by the aches and pains all around your body that begin to come into clearer focus. From your knees aching and wobbling to keep your weight upright to your back straining to hold up your gut as it sticks out multiple feet to the front and sides of you. You're sweating profusely and breathing heavily from the moobs crushing down onto your chest. You need to sit down and fast less you collapse right there on the floor.

Your doorbell rings to break you out of your panic. 'What the hell is that?' you think. Out of the corner of your eye you spy your laptop, open and pointing in the direction of your massive form. The chat and donations wizzing by as your admirers celebrate your latest milestone. It dawns on you that it must be a food delivery from one of them. You instinctively turn to start moving towards the fattening food on the other side of your apartment door, but you hesitate as you remember the internal crisis you were just experiencing. You struggle to think critically, your thoughts muddled by the innate desire to consume.

You had made a mistake. You never should have started down this path. There's just no way this can end well. You need to make a change and you need to make it yesterday to have any hope of going back to normal. This is the tipping point, you need to turn that food away and shut that laptop so you can think clearly on what to do next. Your rational thoughts, however, are halted with another loud growl of your gullet. The growl pervades deep within your fat-riddled brain clearing out any thoughts other than ravenously attacking the feast on the other side of your door. You body WILL NOT be denied. You complete your turn towards your front door thereby sealing your fate.

Just another year later and you're barely recognizable again, even compared to your 600lb form. You're sat heavily upon a king size mattress, your body swelled up to take up every inch, even spilling over the side in some places. The room is dark, the only light being the flicker of the TV. Its pale blue flashes illuminating your massive form and the disgusting piles of food trash on and around you. You wheeze heavily as you eat despite the oxygen tank fruitlessly attempting to push air into your suffocated lungs. The flavor of your current binge, who even knows what it is at this point, tasting consistently bittersweet as you internalize deeply in the back of your fat head that it's bringing you ever closer to the brink.

You have no idea how much you weigh at this point. The industrial scale your followers funded long since being able to weigh even half of you. You could get another one, sure, but there's two issues with that. The first being that it assumes you can even stand up to use one, mobility long being a luxury of the past. The second being that your followers dropped drastically as your exponential gain continued leaving only a handful of the most sadistic fucks left. For most there's a point where it's too much, too real, too close to the reality of the endgame: A race to the grave fueled by pure excess and gluttony. They’ll move onto their next project, only every so often thinking back and wondering if your poor body has given out yet, correctly assuming as time goes on that it has.

Any money you do get from that chosen few of course goes straight into more food. Besides you don't need to know the number. You can feel the weight. Each and every day pushing down on you, pinning you further and further down into your wretched habitat until the day that it becomes too much. You can feel it coming and there's no slowing down until it does.

This is what you wanted, right?

[mygoo]

Cheat Day

Derek was driving home after a particularly brutal workout at the gym. It was leg day, a day he never particularly looked forward to since it meant walking around on sore legs for at least a day or so. To reward himself on these days, he would always make leg days his cheat days for his strict muscleboy diet.

He wonders to himself what he'll splurge on this time when a building catches his eye. Looks like a new doughnut shop has moved into town. Perfect, he thinks, as he turns into the parking lot. Not only will the treats surely be delicious, but he'll also love the taste of the fatties getting upset when he posts his pigout cheat day online.

Honestly, Derek doesn't even care for the sweets, he takes the most delight in their displeasure of him binging on something they know they shouldn't have, due to their already exaggerated waistline. He talks about his plans to his gymbro on speakerphone while waiting in line to place his order.

He reaches the front of the line with a "see ya brah" to his friend while he hangs up. The owner overhears everything and was displeased with this cocky young man, but he didn't let this show as he cheerfully asked Derek what he wanted.

"A half dozen of whatever," he replies. The owner stuffs six of his favorite doughnuts in a box. As he's setting it down he lets Derek know that he's throwing a free one in on the house for their grand opening. "Make sure to eat this one first," he says, Derek not thinking much of the semi-strange remark.

His haul of doughnuts in tow he heads home to indulge in his treats and take his shots 'for the gram.' He lays out in one of his deck chairs by the pool, the late afternoon sun bouncing off his golden skin. He lays the doughnuts out on himself thinking "yeah, that'll really get 'em going."

He grabs the first doughnut, the one the manager suggested. He can't say why, but it looks really good, his mouth is watering for it. He takes a bite. The flavor rushes over him. It's better than anything he's ever tasted before. Like a thousand sugary treats hitting his taste buds all at once. In a second the first doughnut was gone. He reaches for another. Two become three in quick succession yearning for nothing else then to have another one of the unimaginably delicious treats completely fill his mouth. What he doesn't notice is that the number of doughnuts on his chest never decreases, in fact, they may be increasing.

Unaware to him, his gym body is picking up some heft as he blows past his second dozen, but who's counting? Doughnut after doughnut the world melts around him as his increasing hefty body is transported from his pool to his king size bed where he spends most of his life. His body increasing to take up the entire space.

His blood sugar is spiking due to his feast, not a good thing for a Type II Diabetic like himself, among the litany of other medical issues his gluttonous lifestyle causes. Derek passes out, another doughnut firmly lodged in his mouth, ready for him when he wakes up.

He had often joked about not being able to walk after leg day and this day in particular would not disappoint.

[mygoo]

It’s a Hoax

Andrew had never really taken this whole pandemic thing seriously. I mean it all sounded so preposterous to begin with. A virus that, among other things, turns you obscenely fat in a matter of moments? Yeah I'll believe it when I see it.

Regardless of Andrew's skepticism, most of the rest of the world was taking the pandemic seriously. The world's obesity rate was already climbing high before this, so something had to be done to stop the spread. Scientists had determined that main way it spread was through the air, so mask mandates started being enforced in more and more places.

When the mandates were extended to gyms, Andrew was furious. His main source of income was posting sponsor-heavy thirst trap pictures and videos on his Instagram, so obviously these masks were really cramping his style. 'The fuck is the reason we need to wear masks at the gym, Andrew thought, it's really going to fuck with my training.' Besides, as far as his uninformed mind would accept, the people who fall victim to this virus are super fatties as evidenced by articles he refused to read featuring pictures of sad, bloated bodies. Those were nowhere in sight at his gym, so no reason to worry.

Just a bunch of fatties looking for another place to pin the results their unhealthy habits on, other than themselves, Andrew would joke with his fellow gymbros. What Andrew didn't know, is that him and his friends were the most vulnerable of them all. This virus liked one thing the most above all, muscle. And what would it do with that muscle? Convert it into saggy fat of course! Connecting the dots, that means the more muscle mass you have now, the fatter you end up.

If he had looked closely he would have noticed that a lot of those pictures in those articles were of previous bodybuilders, awestruck at the new build of bodies. Hard muscles replaced with goopy, doughy, fat. But enough with all this hindsight (hah, hindsight I bet Andrew can't even see his ass anymore) let's check in on him how.

Andrew's at the gym, having posted the latest of his almost daily workout selfies. "You want arms like this? you gotta put in the work. #staysafe" the caption read. 'Yeah, that'll get them wet, and maybe finally off my back for not wearing a mask,' he thought. He had gotten a lot of flack over going out maskless, so to appease his audience he started posting pics with it on. Of course, he would peel it off right after, as well as his other gymbros. Their disbelief in the virus was strong their bulging muscles.

That would all change today however. Near the end of his last set of curls, he felt a wave of heat rush over him. 'Man, must have pushed myself a little too far,' he thought. His breathing was picking up as sweat started seeping out of him, despite the fact that he had already stopped. He stepped outside to get some air, his stomach turning over as he stepped out of the front door.

He grasped for his stomach and was met with an unfamiliar feeling, instead of his hard abs, he felt a subtle squishiness. 'What the fuck,' was all he could think as more noticeable changes were happening elsewhere. All across his body, he was losing definition. His veiny arms becoming doughy and featureless. His pecs, pouting out over his newly formed stomach.

He closes his eyes out of disgust and an inability to process what was going on. He was having a nightmare, he was delusional, surely just woozy from his hard workout. This can't be happening to him. Nevertheless even without sight, he could feel himself expanding, his body slowly becoming more tired and unwilling to hold up his increasing bulk.

His eyes shot open when he was startled by the feeling of his arms meeting his sides, not by him moving them, but by his stomach having expanded to meet them. He was surprised and saddened by the sight that met him. His pecs had nearly completed their transformation into soft, pillowy moobs, perched atop his new gut. His stomach dominated his body, pushing out in all directions, taking up more and more space. He felt a coolness near its bottom, hoping that could be signaling the end of the changes. In reality that was caused by the breeze available to it as it sagged down below the bottom of his tank top.

The changes did indeed taper off at this point however, leaving Andrew to come to grips with the events of the previous few minutes. Taking further stock of what he could see, he wanted to cry.

He waddled over to the tinted windows of the gym to inspect himself in their reflection. The unfamiliar feeling of his entire body swaying and jiggling with his heavy footsteps almost tripping him up on his way. He was enormous. Any hint that he had ever stepped foot in a gym, let alone let any food that meets his gaze go unconsumed was long gone.

What was he going to do now? His whole personality and income was based on the fact that he had muscles. How was he going to make ends meet in this doughy body? As that thought echoed in his head his eyes locked onto the reflection of the 24/7 buffet across the street from the gym. His expanded stomach growled loudly.

Without hesitation he turned around and started heading towards it. Flicking on his phone to announce his plans to his followers between heavy breaths due to the exertion of his short walk. 'It's the internet, someone will want to pay to see this body do what it does best,' he thinks.

Andrew may be dumb, but he is adaptable. Ready to swap his gym membership for a buffet membership as he starts his new fat life and schemes how to milk it for what it's worth. 'Hmm, Chocolate Milk sounds good,' he thinks as he squeezes through the buffet's front door.

He finds a table to sit down and catch his breath before diving in. He's sure he'll see his friends over here soon, 'this shit's mad contagious bro.'

Always wear your mask kids.

[mygoo]

Man you really should have thought this through. You had spent your life as a closeted gainer. Frustratingly unable to ever put on weight that would stick.

Like many in your position you found some solace in works of fiction online describing guys blowing up and packing on doughy lard. Sometimes the stories were gradual and realistic, but others would feature something that would produce rapid, massive gains, those were always your favorite.

So one day when a message came across your inbox on your favorite gainer site that seemed to promise these types of results, your interest was piqued. The message was big and flashy, noting in several places to guarantee immediate, permanent gains of your choice. It's hard to take any message like this seriously, but when you saw the price it seemed reasonable. You decided to indulge, even though it'll surely turn out to be just a bit of harmless fun.

The site linked to the message offered brightly colored vials of its special gain formula in three options, chubby, huge, and blob. You of course chose the latter. In your fantasies you often dreamt of possessing a body near the four digits, a far cry from your current 151. A mountain made to consume and produce lard.

When the box arrived on your doorstep a few days later, you excitedly brought it in and ripped it open. Putting aside your doubts to further the fantasy you examined the vial inside while plopping down onto your bed. It's purpleish hue was enticing, but when you popped the rubber cork off the top you were dismayed to realize it smelled just like grape koolaid.

Hah, well what were you expecting? This must be the most expensive grape koolaid I've ever bought. "Well, might as well not let it go to waste" you say to yourself as you gulp it down.

You shuffle back to the head of your bed as you sulk about this latest letdown. This feeling however doesn't last long as you start to feel a bubbling deep in your stomach. You lift your shirt up and find your belly starting to pout out. The feeling quickly spreads to the rest of your body as the same transformation beings to take place elsewhere.

You're stunned. True to its word, the formula was increasing your weight rapidly. Within seconds your clothes were toast. Your eyes dart around your body, first back to your belly surging forward and taking up more and more of your lap, from your arms billowing out with saggy flesh, to your moobs, my god you had moobs, spreading out atop, all nestled on an ever widening base. A minute in you have to be closing in on 500lbs with no signs of slowing down, you continue to sit and admire your impossible gain. Just shy of another minute later you feel the changes tapering down.

"Woah" you gasp loudly, partially due to the situation you just went though, but also partly due to the fact that your breathing, well, it's just like that now, your lungs buried under piles and piles of new flesh.

You gaze out over your expanse, your monstrous belly dominating it. You feel it resting on the tops of your pudgy feet. A tiny story detail you had always relished in, but this, this was real. You guessed your weight to be close to, if not more than your goal weight. A gain of around 800lbs in the course of two minutes, you'll say it again "woah." A blob to be sure.

You go to lift your arm to touch your belly and find that you have to exert a lot more force just to move its heft. You push and lift it up partially, your saggy arm flesh never losing contact with your moobs and side rolls. You slam it back down after simply letting go and letting its flab rocket it back down. The motion causing ripples and waves across your expansive flesh that to your delight take a long time to dissipate. You smile as you realize you have finally gotten everything you could have wanted and more. The end...

See, here's the thing to know if you somehow find yourself in a real-life gainer story such as myself that you don't know going in. While your favorite stories find a way to wrap up on a high note like that, you'll find that reality is a much crueler bitch.

Coming down from your bliss you ponder on what to do next. You really want to take your whole body in, so a trip to your spare room with the full length mirrors is in line. You instinctively go to move your body as you normally would 10 minutes and 800lbs ago, but in what really shouldn't be a surprise, you don't move at all.

The new weight really finally lands on your shoulders to crush you in more ways than one. Oh fuck, of course I'm immobile. You don't get to this size without it. Concern sets in as you try to think of what to do next. You scan your room to find your phone so you can call for help.

You heart sinks as you see it sitting on your desk. Mere feet away it's no problem in any other situation. "Fuck" you say to yourself out loud this time, but getting your phone is your only option.

With reignited fervor you resolve to find a way to propel your body there. You start rocking back and forth as best you can, hoping you can scooch yourself to the edge of the bed. From there, well, we'll think of what to do next if and when we get there.

The rocking of course turns you on despite your duress. Deep inside your new fat pad, you become aware of your dick rock hard and leaking. At least it's still in the fantasy, but in reality it's yet another problem you are powerless to resolve, albeit much less of a priority.

Several minutes and buckets of sweat later your plan has worked and you find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed with your pudgy feet assumedly touching the floor. Your mass covered in a sweaty sheen is really a sight to see. "Goddammit, huff... I would love... to be able... to enjoy this... right now," you curse to yourself.

So what to do next. Can you walk? It seems risky. Your desk is really only a step away (for a normal man), you think you can reach your phone if you extend your arm out as far as you can. You start to reach, exhausted by the work it took to get you here and by the effort required to keep your ham hock in the air, let-alone stretching out to reach. You're miles away from grasping your phone. You lean your whole body forward since your belly is not giving you a lot of leeway in the bending department.

You stretch and wiggle your pudgy digits in a feigned effort to reach just a little further. The thought of your sausage roll fingers not being able to grasp or operate it if you reach it flashes across your mind, causing your dick to tingle.

You're mere inches away from your phone now, your lifeline to call for help. Which who knows, may come in the form of a food delivery man instead of emergency services, you think as your spirits are lifted again due to your progress.

This, however, is short lived as you reach a literal tipping point where your belly avalanches downward, pulling you helplessly with it. You slam to the floor with a loud thud, with additional sounds of the wooden beams of your floor splintering due to your ponderous mass.

Fuck, you really should have thought this through.