#fatbrwncub

[chocolatechubby]

Bernie's Big & Tall

By Fatbrwncub

(posted with the permission of the Author)

The biggest problem--excuse me while I finish this last bite of cruller--is where to begin. It all seems to have happened so fast. One minute I'm standing in the unemployment line, trying to figure out where my next meal is coming from; the next thing you know, I'm getting the doors in my apartment widened so that I can get through. Oops! There goes another button.

Let me go back to the beginning--back to that unemployment line. My lover and I had been having problems making ends meet. There wasn't a great deal of a demand for my particular line of work in the winter---I was a lifeguard. At 6' 2" and 180 pounds, I cut a muscular frame, but everyone looks pretty much the same bundled up in parkas. My old job at the "Y" would probably have hired me back, but the pay stunk. And with a new lover, Sean, I had another mouth to consider. Sean suggested that I try modeling --his chosen profession, but as gorgeous as he was, he wasn't getting much work either. Why should we both be jobless cover boys? So, I headed to the unemployment office. Maybe something there would turn things around. Little did I know how right I was.

The place was depressing. Fluorescent light and peeling yellow walls covered everything like a moldy blanket. Cheap plastic chairs were set up for clients to wait for their turn to be humiliated by the next available counselor: "You'll have to take forms 2 thru 26 to windows 5 thru 14. Fill out lines A thru F on forms 30, 31, & 45; have them notarized and come back to me.... THEN I can tell you where the rest rooms are." As much as I needed the money, I wasn't up for that kind of run around. The YMCA was looking really good at that moment. As I got up to leave, I noticed the chair next to me quiver ever so slightly--as if a tremor were going through the building. The little table next to it was moving too. Now being hundreds of miles away from California, I knew it couldn't possibly be an earthquake. I was wrong. It was indeed an earthquake in human form. From around one of the peeling yellow corners, came the largest guys I had ever seen. His stomach seemed to go on forever, riding over his belt and spilling onto his massive underbelly like a tidal wave. Each of his labored steps made it quiver and roll. His arms, chest, and shoulders were so large that he had to twist his body slightly to maneuver the corner, yet each movement had an elephantine grace that was something to see. He was dressed impeccably in a suit that must have been tailor-made for him: it hung gracefully on his gargantuan figure. He was quite handsome, dusty blonde hair and neatly trimmed beard, and the bluest eyes. Growing up, the party queens I hung with always made fun of fat guys. Somehow, I always found something vaguely attractive about men with extra meat on their bones. I absent-mindedly rubbed my stomach as I watched him make his way to a Job Resource bulletin board on the other side of the room. He scanned the whole area carefully--deep in concentration, he seemed to be looking for someone. When his eyes met mine, his mood abruptly changed. His full round mouth had a slight smile on it as he zeroed in on me. I got the feeling he was studying me-not in that "cruisey" way, but as if he were trying to figure me out. He, raised a sausage-like finger, and motioned me over to him. For some reason, I wasn't taken aback at all. Something about him seemed so familiar. "Looking for a job?", he said. "Kinda", I replied. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a candy bar and a folded piece of green paper. "Wanna bite?", He asked. "No thanks…", I replied "…but I could use work." He unfolded the piece of paper and tacked it on the bulletin board, smudging it slightly with the chocolate from his fingers. "Well then, you might wanna check this out." With that, he took a large bite of candy bar, turned around, and began lumbering back down the hallway. I was about to say something when he stopped and turned around again (no easy feat for a man his size). "How old are you?", he asked. Slightly startled by his abrupt departure, I blurted out "29." Before I could ask him why it mattered, he patted his mountain of a stomach and smiled a knowing smile: "Same age as I was when I started at BB&T. See ya' around Danny!" And with that, he and his tremors were gone.

BB&T? I looked at the piece of paper for a moment. I took it down from the board and began studying it--trying to make it tell me more about the big, mysterious stranger. But all it did was sit in my hand and smell of Hershey's. The only writing was a quickly scribbled address and telephone number: "Bernie's Big and Tall-525-BIGG. The chocolate had formed a ring around the writing so that it looked like a halo. I laughed at the idea of working in a big men's shop, but hell, I needed work badly. Besides, something inside me started recalling the times when I'd been oddly aroused by the large men who were the butt of my friends' jokes. Maybe by working there, I could discover what the attraction was all about. I walked over towards the pay phone in the corner chuckling to myself. That's when it struck me that he'd called me by my name-Danny. Did I know him? He really did look familiar....

The phone rang ten times before someone answered at Bernie's. When someone did pick up, they were so out of breath I had to wait a couple seconds for a "hello". Then I remembered what type of establishment this was---all the employees probably looked like the guy I'd just met. Well, if for no other reason, they could hire me to answer the telephone. I smiled. It turned out to be Bernie himself on the line. Before I had a chance to say "Hello", or introduce myself, Bernie cheerfully announced: "Danny! Joe said you'd be calling! When can you start?" I was stunned. I stammered out, "B-but you don't even know me!" "I don't have to!" was his amiable reply. "Anybody that Joe picks will work out fine!" I didn't have the guts to tell him that I had no idea who the hell "Joe" was, but then maybe he was an old friend of my family's. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially from such a large horse!

Bernie's Big and Tall was in a little strip mall just outside of the city. It took me two maps and three detours to find it. I almost gave up, but something told me to keep looking. A small card shop on one side and a bakery on the other flanked the store, and were the only other establishments in the complex. I was sure the employees at the Big and Tall kept the bakery in business because it was too far away from anything else to have a regular clientele. The store itself was rather unimpressive: a sign painted on the window proclaimed "Bernie's" with a silhouette of a rotund man underneath. A couple of half dummies sat dejectedly in the window--the clothing which covered them obviously too large for their frames. The one rather curious and slightly impressive item was the door to the front of the shop. It was huge. Much larger than the doors in most retail establishments, it must have been custom made for Bernie's king-size clientele. What did it feel like to need extra room for everything? When I put my hand on the handle to push the door open, I got the strangest feeling that if I stepped across the threshold of this place, my life would change forever. "This is ridiculous!" I remember thinking to myself "It's just a job for goodness sakes!" I pushed the door open and went in.

Lone Star's "I'm Already There" was playing on a far off country music station as the bell over the door gave a little tinkle. The place had that slightly musky perfume of your grandfather's closet-that subtle scent of fine pipe tobacco and Old Spice. The shop was much bigger than it seemed from the outside, and had a second level with a balcony and offices that overlooked the showroom floor. For a moment, I felt as if I was on a sound stage for "Land Of The Giants"-everything seemed oversized. From the racks that were set up for the tallest of the tall, to the suits that looked like they were made for Guinness Book Fattest Man nominees. All were neatly hung on rotating racks or show room displays. I'd never worked retail, but somehow I felt right at home. From above boomed a lusty voice: "Danny!". I looked up to find a large man leaning on the steel railings of the balcony. It didn't seem possible, but he was even bigger than Joe from the unemployment office. Every part of him was fat-from his puffy hairstyle, to his big feet. He looked like a balloon character from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I half expected to see wires attached to him with people below maneuvering him. "Bernie?" I queried and his hearty laugh confirmed it. "None other my boy! Come on up!"

Bernie's office was at the top of the stairs. As I bounded up, two at a time, Bernie let out a chuckle "That's something you don't see many of our salesmen do!" He ushered me ahead of him and I walked through another enormous door to find myself in a small room, made smaller by its furnishings. It consisted of a small oak desk, and a computer-standard office fare. However, the large refrigerator, stand-alone pantry, coffee maker and microwave were not. "Before we begin, may I offer you something to eat?" Bernie asked, already carefully maneuvering his way around the desk to the refrigerator. It was somewhat surreal watching this super-sized man practically squeeze his way through the cramped quarters. He opened the refrigerator to reveal a small deli: meats of all kinds, exotic breads and cheeses, beverages ranging from soft-drinks to fine wines, all carefully stocked within its quarters. Bernie rummaged through, and pulled out an overstuffed submarine sandwich and began munching. His grunts of pleasure permeated the office, and instead of revulsion, I actually enjoyed watching this man eat with such gusto. For so many years, I had deprived myself of some of my favorite foods in exchange for the washboard stomach that I possessed. Maybe, if I worked here, I could live vicariously through these guys. My internal reverie ended with Bernie's voice. "Well at least share a cup of coffee with me. I hate nourishing myself alone." I smiled my assent and Bernie squeezed his way to the coffeepot. I was not a big coffee drinker, but I figure a little kiss up wouldn't hurt my job prospects any. Besides, for some reason the coffee smelled particularly delicious.

Bernie produced two mugs-each with the Big and Tall logo I had seen on the front door of the shop. "How do you take yours?" he cooed. "Black" I answered. "Well you must indulge me one small addition to your mug…I make my own blend of spices that seem to really liven up the coffee-nothing much, just some cinnamon and vanilla. Stuff like that. You're not allergic to anything are you? I told him no, and he took a small packet from the standing pantry, tapped it lightly on the desk, tore the corner and emptied the contents into my cup. The granules looked like Folgers Crystals-little flecks of something shiny danced and fell gracefully into the mug. Bernie took a small silver spoon and began stirring the coffee. The aroma was like nothing I had smelled before. Memories of big Sunday breakfasts and hearty Thanksgiving dinners suddenly became as vivid as if they'd happened yesterday. Nights spent eating cotton candy and funnel cake at the local carnival-laughing with my friends and gorging on hotdogs-all seemed palpable. Bernie brought the mug close to my nostrils and placed my hands around it. "Drink, my boy. And then we can talk about your joining us at BB&T."

Almost mesmerized, I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. The beans of the coffee blended with the spices and my taste buds seemed to spring to new life. The thoughts of all of the goodies I had denied myself over the years began to turn into a craving, then a hunger. I could feel my stomach began to growl for food. I had grabbed a McMuffin when I'd left the unemployment office, but that had been several hours ago. It was natural for me to feel starved. But in the middle of a job interview? I had to eat something. As if on cue, Bernie produced an enormous plate of chocolate chip cookies. "Have one?" Bernie again cajoled. "I--I--…" I stuttered, but no other words would come out. The cookies looked like manna from heaven. I could feel the drool forming on my tongue. I grabbed one and placed it in my mouth. It melted like butter, blending with the coffee and exploding my senses like an orgasm. My crotch leapt, writhing with the rise and fall of my breath. I came up for air, took another cookie and a sip of the coffee. Again, the exact same sensation-yet more intense. I thought I was going to erupt right then and there. I gulped more of the drink and began inhaling the pastries with lightening speed. In less then ten minutes the entire plate was empty. The wildest thing of all…I was still hungry!

I looked up at Bernie, who was standing over me with a knowing smile. "It's always better to talk on a full stomach." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out another overstuffed submarine sandwich-twice the size of the one he'd just eaten. "Are you sure I can't tempt you with one of these?" My mouth opened automatically, and Bernie floated over and placed the monstrous hoagie in my hands. I tore into it as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. In between bites, Bernie suggested that we carry our meeting to The Blue Whale, a restaurant frequented by he and his staff. As I rose to go, onions and lettuce falling everywhere, Bernie touched the intercom on his desk. "All right boys…" the echo of his voice could be heard in the showroom below "…time for our foray to The Blue Whale! Close up shop!" In between munching, I could hear, and feel great activity from the floor below. The floor vibrated much like it had done in the unemployment office. We moved out of the office and onto the balcony to a sight that would have sent my old faggy friends into a tizzy. Below were five of Bernie's staff-each one plumper than the next. They stood at attention as we came down the stairs. Bernie introduced me to each, ending with their newest salesman, Dominic. He had to weigh at least 350 pounds. "This is our baby!" Bernie gushed, pinching Dominic's flushed cheek. "Been with us about a year" he poked Dominic's round middle. "He's starting to fit in quite nicely." Bernie lumbered towards the door, pulling me along with him. "Daniel here will be joining us for lunch-and hopefully more. Make him feel at home." And still in a spin from all that had happened since walking through the doors of Bernie's Big & Tall, I was off to The Blue Whale.

The Blue Whale was quite nice--muted tones of aqua and gray gave it warmth and style. A Bach concerto whispered softly as Bernie and the other salesmen took their seats. We had been ushered to a table in a private area of the restaurant--one large enough for the substantial girth of our party. It was obvious that Bernie and the gang were regulars, because all of the wait-staff knew everyone by name. It was also pretty obvious that time that the entire staff of Bernie's was gay. Underneath a curtained archway, a cadre of handsome waiters looked ready to break into a chorus of "Hello Dolly". They giggled and whispered as if they were dance hall girls anxious to see which gentleman would pick them out of the crowd. The headwaiter, who looked to be about Bernie's size, clapped the others to attention. "Don't just stand there like a bunch of schoolgirls! Take these gentlemen's orders!" he barked. "Oh Jacques," Bernie cooed "...just bring us our usual!"

I was returning to normal, my appetite assuaged and my pants screaming to be unzipped-my distended belly playing hide and seek with the buttons on my shirt. It was time to ask about hours and pay, and all the standard stuff. As I opened my mouth to get down to business, the first of the waiters arrived with the appetizers. There was enough food to feed a small city. Plate upon plate of mouth watering delicacies passed before the table: shrimp wrapped in bacon, small puff pastries stuffed with creams and cheeses and meats-anything that I had ever seen at fancy buffets was now being placed under my nose. I thought of the spectacle I must have made in Bernie's office, and my stomach began to turn. The thought of more food was making me nauseous. And then the coffee arrived. Jacques himself brought out the ornate samovar and ushered it towards Bernie. "Monsieur Bernie" he chimed. "Ze coffee wis your special mix eez ready". As Jacques opened the spigot and poured the first cup, the table went silent. Unbelievably I could feel my stomach loosen. I could feel the insatiable hunger I had felt in Bernie's office return. It was as if I had never eaten the mound of cookies. Just the aroma of the incredible liquid wafting into my nostrils was enough to make me want to stuff something in my mouth. All around me, the other men were having a similar reaction. I remember seeing episodes of "Wild Kingdom" with sharks or packs of wolves in a feeding frenzy. There was a primitive ritual about to happen, and everyone knew it. As the coffee was passed around, Dominic, began to sweat. When a cup made it to him, he grabbed it, and chugged down the hot liquid as if it were the first drink of a dehydrated man. He then grabbed the nearest tray of hors d'oeuvres and began shoveling them into his mouth. Sweat glistened on his brow as he tipped the tray up and up until he was literally swallowing and chewing almost simultaneously. A waiter quickly scurried over and began wiping his brow and massaging his hardening belly. I sat in awe as I watched each of the sales guys fall into the same kind of trance-that is until my cup reached me.

I recall one of the adventures of Homer's "Odyssey", in which Odysseus and his men encounter the witch Circe. Once on her island, she turns most of the men into animals. Bernie had led his men into the modern day version of that adventure. I don't remember much about the rest of that meal. As my haze parted from time to time, I was aware of grunts and moans of pleasure coming from around the table. Slurping and guzzling and licking were followed by burps and the occasional button pop or zipper pull being loosened. Halfway through the fourth course, everyone abandoned silverware and began eating off of plates and trays with their hands and mouths. I found myself caressing and licking the gravy off of plates as if it were a lover. No mouthful seemed enough-I couldn't get the food in fast enough, and the sounds and sights around me seemed to urge me on. By dessert, each man was no longer able to feed himself. The waiters took over and began shoveling whipped cream, cakes and pies into our dazed faces. I can't tell you how much I ate, but I literally couldn't move. My belly was as hard as a ripe cantaloupe and I closed my eyes and slept.

When I awoke, the entire table had been cleared off. Any trace of the feeding frenzy had been wiped away, and all of the men had been cleaned up and were groggily coming to themselves. If it weren't for the screaming pain coming from my stomach, I would have thought it all a dream. Standing above me was a beaming Bernie. "I hope you got enough to eat." The boys and I do this at least three or four times a week. Don't worry about the bill…I take care of that." I sat up and blinked. I couldn't believe this was happening. Bernie handed me a packet of papers-the standard Human Resources forms to fill out along with information about my salary and benefits. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw how much I'd be making. It was at least five times what I would have made at the "Y". How could he afford to pay for all of this? Bernie saw my reaction. He said "Don't worry, this salary is only temporary. With raises and incentives you'll quadruple it in no time. So do we have a deal?" Was he crazy? I propped myself up on my swollen stomach and shook his hand. "On one condition" I said. He cocked his fat head and his chins wobbled. "What's that, my dear boy?" "That you give me some of that coffee to take home"

In the beginning, everything went along pretty normally. The store practically ran itself. And I was more than content--I was happy. The first time I noticed something different was after my initial lunch with the guys. The next few days, I was ravenous. I ate from morning till night. And I craved the coffee with the secret ingredient introduced to my by Bernie. One morning, about a week after I had started working, I rolled out of bed and began getting ready for work. Sleepily I showered, shaved, and stumbled into my clothing. I stepped into my dress slacks and pulled them to my waist. They wouldn't close. With my swimmer's lifestyle, I had been a perfect size 32 for years. I never had to worry about putting on weight. I went to the scale in the bathroom and stepped on. Since I had begun working at the store, I had put on ten pounds! "Not acceptable." I thought to myself. I sucked in my stomach, fastened my pants and made a mental note to go to the gym more often and most importantly--to cut out lunching with the guys. But somehow neither thing seemed to happen--I was constantly working until after the gym closed. And not going to lunch with the Bernie and the gang became as unthinkable as not having cup after cup of the delicious mysterious coffee. I began to have strange dreams: I would dream I was in the middle of Africa in the bush country, taking pictures of wildlife, when the earth would begin to shake. Suddenly an enormous Bull Elephant the size of a building would come crashing through the tall grasses and block the sun. I was terrified until it would dawn on me that I was the Elephant! Then, understanding my power, I began breaking down trees, even mountains--growing more enormous with each new conquest. After one of these dreams, I would always wake in a sweat, run to the kitchen, and raid the refrigerator--absent-mindedly eating until I was sleepy.

After about three months of this, I could no longer hide the results. I tried to wear my size 32 pants until they had all systematically exploded off of my frame. My suit jackets had begun cutting off the circulation in my arms, and my old shirts were laughable on my new frame. Between the daily lunches, midnight binges, and very little gym time, I had gone from 180lbs, to 230. My pants size had gone from the perpetual 32 to a 42.

One night, about a week before my 30th birthday, I tiptoed into the bathroom when I thought Sean was sleeping. I took off my clothes and stepped in front of the full-length mirror. My face was so round! I was beginning to develop a pronounced double chin. My thighs and ass were full and big, and my stomach was beginning to grow into this ball of soft flesh. And my tits! I remembered my high school gym teacher teasing Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor: two fat kids in my class. He used to call their soft round mammaries "man-tits", kidding them about having bigger ones than most of the girls, (which was true). I used to find those two guys fascinating: the way they lumbered onto the field for class, the way they looked in the showers. I knew I was gay back then, but it was something more than that. And here I was with my own set of "man-tits". I touched the right nipple, and then the left--crossing my arms and inadvertently giving myself cleavage. Electricity shot through my entire body. My nipples had become so sensitive! Caught in my exploration, it took me a moment to realize that my lover Sean was standing behind me. He had come in to use the toilet and noticed me in the mirror. "You're fat," he said as he sleepily relieved himself, kissed me on my chubby cheek and padded back to bed. He was right. I WAS fat. But looking in the mirror, I wasn't sure that was a bad thing. I touched my nipples again and headed for the kitchen.

The next day at work, Bernie and the guys threw me a birthday party and presented me with two gifts. The first was a container of the special ingredient for my coffee, and the next was a new suit from the store. It was the first size that we carried for big men. I was still a size or two away from needing to shop at Bernie's and had decided to keep it that way. "No offense guys...", I said, "...but I plan on never wearing clothes from our store!" "Well we can always get it taken in." Bernie quickly replied. "We just wanted to show you how glad we are that you're here. Now cut the cake and have some coffee!" I declined the cake, but I had 3 cups of coffee. That evening determined to change my eating habits for my 30th year on this planet, I took off early and headed for the gym. On the way, I passed restaurant after restaurant, fast food joint after fast food joint. I kept thinking to myself, "You've got to lose weight." Yet every time I would ask myself "Why?" I couldn't come up with a good enough answer. Until I thought of Sean's comment in the bathroom: "You're fat!" "You could lose him", I thought. I steadied myself and pointed the car in the direction of the gym. When suddenly, a little voice spoke to me: "But if you go to the gym right now, you could lose YOU." Suddenly I was starving. I turned into a Kentucky Fried Chicken, ordered a 20-piece bucket, and ate the whole thing in the car.

When I got home, Sean had prepared a huge meal of pasta, fresh bread and salad. Even after my trek to the Colonel's, I wolfed down plate after plate. Sean announced that he had news--good and bad. The good news was that he had landed a choice modeling assignment with a top agency. The bad news was that the agency was out of the country and he would be gone for at least 5 months! I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to scream, "It's me isn't it? I'll lose the weight! Don't go!" But instead, I stuffed some more food in my mouth and hugged him tightly. I loved him too much to stand in his way. And if he found someone else with a swimmer's build who made him happy...so be it. Sean had to leave the day before my birthday. As he hugged me before he boarded the plane, he whispered, "See you later fat boy", in my ear and walked away. And I knew I'd never see him again. When I got home, I pulled out the suit Bernie and the guys had given me and put it on. I looked like a kid playing dress up. Even though I was working on a size 44 waist, the pants had to be at least a 46. I thought of Sean and suddenly felt free. I sat down with a mixing bowl of Captain Crunch and heavy cream and imagined myself filling out the pants.

What happened next is all a blur. Knowing that I had lost Sean, I poured myself into my work and my food. Both satisfied me intensely. The store was doing great business. It seemed that the more I ate, the more productive I became. I was growing daily. Every time I turned around, a button would pop or a zipper would break. I began to carry around safety pins to keep my clothes up--it became a running joke around the store. The guys who used to seem enormous to me suddenly began to look average. I became the star at the Blue Whale. The waiters would line up to be my encourager and with Sean gone, I used their attention to help me forget about Sean. Bernie, who was no slouch at the dinner table, would watch me in amazement as I polished off plate after plate of entrée after entrée with all the trimmings, the servers massaging my distended belly and cooing at my appetite. Then go to work on the dessert cart. I stood in the mirror more often now. I was officially fat by anyone's standards. My face was so round that sometimes I wouldn't recognize myself. Because I was constantly lifting heavy boxes, my arms were huge and firm, as was my chest. But my stomach became my favorite area. I would hang out at the bar around the corner from my apartment and drink beer after beer to the amazement of all the guys. I started wearing suspenders because no pants it seemed would hold my ever growing gut.

In the first month after Sean left, I put on 35 lbs. I tipped the scales at around 265. From then on, not a waking (or sleeping) moment went by that I didn't eat something. I even took food breaks in the store. Bernie was right about the suit I was given for my birthday--I DID have to have it altered...eventually it had to be let out--twice! Sean would call and we would have stilted conversations. He would ask me if I was still gaining weight, and I would avoid talking about it. He would tell me he loved me, but I knew it was just talk. The company had extended his contract--he didn't know when he'd be back. Every now and then, I would get a postcard from some exotic place saying, "Having a Wonderful Time, Wish You Were Here". But I was too busy to notice. I was becoming the Elephant of my dream. I could feel my power.

In the next few months, I surpassed all store sales records, and there was big talk of a promotion to store manager. Except for the prospect of leaving this location, I couldn't have been happier. At least, when I wasn't thinking about Sean. The 5 months had quickly become 8 and then 10. In that time, my physical gain had become as impressive as my professional one. In the year since I had begun working at Bernie's, I had gone from 180 to 380 lbs. My waist had gone from a 32 to a 62. I was beginning to make earthquakes of my own.

One night I awakened from a dream (in which my stomach broke through the walls of the Empire State Building) by a voice in the darkness. "My God! You're huge!" it was Sean's voice. He was standing over the bed. He sounded different somehow. My first instinct was to grab him with my big arms and engulf him in my newfound mountain of flesh and warmth. But anger quickly welled up inside of me and I sat up in bed--the third empty large pizza box falling off of my stomach. "Yes I am." I said proudly, "You got something to say about it?" "Yes..." he said-I could hear the smile in his voice as he moved closer. "We are going to need a bigger bed." And with that, he turned on the light. My mouth dropped. When Sean left, he had been a 6 foot 1 inch, 170 lb. cover boy: now standing before me was a 6 foot 1 inch, 285 lb. (he told me later) gorgeous Buddha. His round face now covered with a lush beard. It was obvious that he was gaining weight faster than he could buy clothes to fit him: the T-shirt he was wearing wouldn't fit over the big round belly protruding over his tight size 48 jeans. "How?!...Why?" I stammered. "By eating dummy!" he laughed. "And I have a feeling that the delicious stuff I borrowed from you to put in my coffee helped". "But I thought you didn't like me fat!" I was almost crying now. Sean sat on the edge of the bed--which groaned under the over 600 pounds of us. I could see how horny he was as his great stomach heaved. "You never asked. You just assumed I wouldn't want a fat lover. I loved watching you pig out. I'd come in the bedroom after you'd gorge and jack off. Didn't you notice how intense our love-making got after you started putting on weight?" "I thought you were over-compensating because you loved me." I said. "Of course I love you Danny, but not in spite of how much you weigh-your size turns me on! I want you as big as a house!", was his breathless reply as he kissed me full on the lips. "And I hope you're ready for me to join you." He took off his shirt to reveal burgeoning man-tits and the most beautiful belly I had ever seen. He straddled me, opened my robe and began exploring my under-belly, kissing it and licking lower and lower. I felt hungry and horny at the same time as I pulled him to my crotch. We broke the bed that night.

T hat was three years ago. When I waddled into work the next day, I was beaming. Sean and I made love all night, and then spent the entire morning eating the breakfast to end all breakfasts. During which, he told me of his adventures in Europe. He spent the first few months pining over me-not eating, not sleeping. Once he began drinking the coffee, his appetite returned and he immediately found solace in food and proceeded to eat himself out of his misery. Of course this began to show on his waistline, and after a month, he was let go from his modeling contract. As luck would have it, a photographer on the shoot also worked with a new European catalogue designed for big men. He introduced Sean to the head of the company and the rest was history. Sean spent the remainder of the tour eating and posing in the finest cities of the Old World. He really had a wonderful time and wished desperately that I had been there. We decided to get married and spend our honeymoon eating our way through all of the spots he had discovered in his travels.

When Bernie saw me, he sensed the change immediately. "My boy, either you had sex last evening, or discovered that Little Debbie delivers-which was it?" We were in his office, munching on crullers. We had positioned ourselves so as to be able to reach the refrigerator and standing pantry without moving: we had become so large that it was impossible for the two of us to move around. "Both" I laughed. I told him of Sean's return, and of his amazing transformation. I told him that my life was complete: I had a job I loved, and a partner whom I adored. Bernie smiled, and in it, I thought I caught a hint of bittersweet sadness. "Well then," he said. "…my job is done." And he immediately began opening drawers, removing papers and stuffing them in a nearby briefcase. Stunned, I spattered out "What are you doing?"- crumbs spewing across my white shirt. Bernie smiled, and calmly explained. "I am a business man my dear. I have many other BB&T locations to check on. Joe, the man you met at the unemployment office, is my lover. He's already gone off to our store in Portland, and now I can join him. We needed to find a manager for this store that we could depend on and trust to carry on my traditions. We found him." He reached over and patted my stomach, which was wedged against his desk. "But…but…" I searched for words. How could I tell this man that he had become my mentor, my father-my friend! I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. "But where will I get more of Bernie's Secret Mix for my coffee?" Bernie laughed "make it yourself darling-I told you, it's just cinnamon and vanilla." I stared at him blankly. "But what about the secret ingredient? The stuff that makes us so ravenous?" Bernie chortled "The secret ingredient my boy, is you."

I looked down at myself. At 400 lbs., my 4X dress shirt was already gapping in the front around my stomach. People moved out of my way when they saw me coming because of my size. My whole world had become food-I expressed myself in how much I indulged. Was Bernie saying that this had been my destiny all along. I thought back to High School-to Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor-to the big men who would intrigue me when I was with my friends. I realized, not only did I want to HAVE them, I wanted to BE them. And now I was. I guess he was right: it was in me all the time.

So now I run Bernie's Big & Tall Store #836. We consistently bring in the highest revenues of any in the chain. We also have the fattest staff. I've had my offices expanded to include a full kitchen, and have hired my favorite chef and waiters from the Blue Whale to prepare in house meals for my staff. I surpassed Bernie's weight about a year ago, and am so fat that I had to install a freight elevator to get to the second floor, because the steps are impossible for me to maneuver. I am fast approaching Guinness Book proportions. As for Sean-he now models for Bernie's catalogue. He quickly outgrew the standard sizes, and a new super-size line was developed. Sean also recruits new employees for the store. He now tips the scale at over 500lbs., and is the most beautiful roly-poly thing I've ever seen. So you see, dreams come true in the strangest places. Who would have ever thought that I would find my life's calling in an unemployment line? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to interview a potential salesman that Sean found, and I have to brew some coffee.

By the way…are YOU looking for work?

The End.

copyright 1998 by Fatbrwncub

[chocolatechubby]

Morph

Reprinted by permission of the author

(with deference to Wilson Barber and his wonderful Fast Majicke stories)

The CD case was quite ordinary. The only distinction, a small iridescent strip on the spine that caught Ben’s eye as he pawed lazily through the bargain software bin. It said simply “Morph”, and had a picture of a man in various stages of metamorphosis. There was something about the realistic quality of each rendering that made Ben hold onto the software. 

It had been a tense morning at work, and he’d slipped out for a longer than usual lunch. Since his break up with Devin, he wasn’t able to concentrate as fully. Ben, the chief designer in his company’s marketing department, had allowed his ennui to cause two very costly mistakes that did not sit well with his boss. Called into his supervisor’s office, the phrases “pink slip” and “severance package” punctuated the conversation. Ben thought it best to allow time for his boss to cool down. He loved to come into Chucky’s Computer Cove when he was restless. 

Chucky’s was a little Mom and Pop operation a few blocks from his office. The most beautiful brother he had ever seen—well besides Devin—owned it. Actually, Charles Brown, or “Chucky”, reminded Ben a lot of Devin: tall, cocoa brown skin, grey eyes and shiny bald head. They could easily have been brothers…with one major difference: Chucky weighed around a hundred and thirty pounds more than Devin did. Chucky had played for the Rams in the 90’s and busted his kneecaps sufficiently enough to make him walk with a pronounced limp. He had drowned his sorrows in food. Still solid and handsome, Chucky was definitely fat—a fact that Devin would rudely point out whenever he and Ben used to visit the shop together. “That’s the problem with brothers today...” Devin used to mutter under his breath—audible enough for Chucky to hear—“...we don’t take care of ourselves. THEN we wanna blame the white man for the fact that we can’t get ahead!” 

Ben had never told Devin that he actually found Chucky’s size a turn on. He often fantasized about Devin putting on a few sexy pounds. A heftier Devin might also mean a kinder, gentler lover with less of an attitude. Devin’s attitude had been a major factor in the break up of the relationship. Both men had come from similar middle-class backgrounds. In fact, their mutual love of mainstream Americana had brought them together. Ben had heard Devin whistling the Brady Kids “Sunshine Day” in a record store, and the rest was history. Two black guys who, between them, knew every sitcom theme song since “Gilligan’s Island”. 

But during the course of the relationship, Devin had begun to doubt his cultural identity. He would disappear for hours and, when questioned by Ben on returning, simply say he had been “hanging with the ‘brothas’”. Ben accepted his lover’s need to find himself; but it was how he chose to do so that had become an issue. Devin had taken up African drumming with a musician who played for an ethnic dance troupe—a tall muscular Kenyan who was the epitome of Black Maleness to Devin. 

Then one day Ben had come home to find the two men pounding on a different type of skin in the bedroom. Even then, Devin chose to hide behind his search for identity. “Only a weak brother would have a problem with this”, Devin calmly stated rolled up in the sheets, as he watched the Kenyan drummer stumble around looking for his clothes and the tears rolling down his lover’s cheeks. “I can experiment with other forms of black love, and still want to be with you! And if you can’t understand that, then you have been brainwashed by the White Man.” 

If the line had been any less clichéd and stupid, Ben probably would have kicked the shit out of Devin and the asshole drummer and landed in jail for assault. As it was, he just turned around, walked out of the apartment leaving his keys on the table by the front door, and cried himself to sleep in a hotel room at the Marriott around the corner. 

That had been six months ago. And despite the callous and thoughtless things his former lover had done while in the relationship, he still missed him terribly. Sometimes he would come to the shop just to see the large physical reflection of Devin, which he found in Chucky. 

“Ben!” Chucky shouted from across the store. No matter how busy Chucky was, he always found time to greet Ben personally. He finished helping the customers at the counter and lumbered over. It seemed to Ben that Chucky got larger every week. His big round belly seemed to hang lower over his straining khakis, and his arms almost burst out of his too tight shirts. “How ya’ doin’?” He asked, chewing on an enormous cruller. “Haven’t seen you and your friend here in a while.” Ben wondered, “Does Chucky know I’m gay?” He never felt awkward around Chucky…but ex-football player? Too many chances for homophobia so Ben always played it cool. 

“We don’t hang out together anymore.” was Ben’s short reply. “Well probably for the better”, Chucky winked. There was something in the wink that gave Ben pause, but he decided not to pursue it. He changed the subject. “Chucky…do you know anything about the manufacturer of this software?” Ben showed him the CD-ROM he had picked up in the bargain bin. Chucky turned it over a couple of times. “Fast Magic”, Chucky mused. “Never heard of them. This must be one of the CD’s I bought from this homeless dude a couple of days ago. He looked like he could use a few bucks, and the stuff was in good condition. I was a little worried that he might have swiped it from somewhere, but he said he had invented it. Whatever. If you have any problems with it, just bring it back and get something else you like.”

 “Thanks,” Ben said. Ben looked around a while longer, paid for the software and gave Chucky a final smile and wave. He couldn’t get Chuck’s comment: “Well probably for the better”, out of his mind.

The rest of the day was uneventful. The boss had calmed down enough to assign Ben to one of the agency’s bigger clients: Joe Dante’s BodyWonder line of bodybuilding supplements. Ben took the copy and the artwork home to play with it in his spare time. He seemed to have plenty of that these days. After dinner, he spread out the BodyWonder materials on the drafting table next to his computer and began looking over each item in earnest. It was all the same old crap: personal testimonials on how these pills and powders had changed lives.

 Among the literature, were the standard “before” and “after” pictures that would show flabby men and women transformed into Venus and Adonis in a matter of weeks. Most of them looked better in the “before” pics, Ben thought. There were also the stills of Joe Dante himself—five-time World Body Building Champion and all around humanitarian—shaking hands with his success stories and showing off his impossible pecs. One of Ben’s jobs was to make sure that all the muscles and curves were in place on the “after” pictures. He wouldn’t really “change” any of the pictures—just clean up any unwanted bulges and enhance the image as best he could. He was always searching for new programs to help him with this task. He decided to try out his new software.

He slid the disc into his CD-ROM and hit “run”. The familiar blips and bleeps gave way to a high-pitched whine and the lights in his apartment began to flicker. Suddenly, the entire place went black. “Great!” Ben thought, “I’ve probably introduced this mega-virus to my computer, and I’m going to spend the next month cleaning up my hard drive!” As he was about to begin feeling through the darkness for the breaker switch, the apartment was again illuminated and the computer had its familiar glow. The new program had apparently installed itself and a little gnome-like wizard was waiting patiently on the screen prompting Ben to complete the process. “Please input registration code” the gnome instructed. Ben turned the jewel case over and over. No numbers anywhere. He was about to give up when he noticed the holographic strip that had caught his eye in the computer store. “8,3,1,9,9,0” 

The numbers seemed to float in front of him. “That’s odd…” he thought, “…that’s my birthdate.” He keyed the numbers into the proper box and pressed enter. The little man walked to the center of the screen and slowly began to change. His body began to take on different forms—going from small and elf-like to muscular, to giant sized and overweight—each metamorphosis more believable than the last. The figure then winked and disappeared. Replacing it was the title of the software and a warning notice. “The creators of this program are not responsible for the misuse of this product. Please use with caution as results can be permanent.” “What an odd warning.” Ben thought. 

He scanned a couple of the “before” and “after” images into his computer, along with one or two pics of Joe Dante posing at some contest or another, then brought them into the new program. The interface looked pretty simple. He rarely looked at the “readme” files that came with graphics software—most of the writing was for novices. The tools were familiar and he quickly got the hang of using the program’s palate and toolbars to create the effects he wanted. There was a smoothness, and an intuitive feel, that caught Ben’s imagination immediately. 

He finished making his changes on the first image in record time. A mister Carl Hurley of Grand Rapids Michigan had gone from 330lbs of man fat, to 220lbs of muscle. He still, however showed a good deal of love handle, and his pecs were softer than the rest of his frame. Within a matter of minutes, Ben had managed to erase all indication of flab in his mid-section and tone his chest to perfection. The program had a tool that allowed the artist to effortlessly balance changes on one side of the body to reflect those on the other. 

When he finished, he leaned back to examine his work. He was astonished. The picture in front of him was flawless. Every line, shadow and curve was perfect—if he hadn’t known the image had been retouched, he would have sworn this hunk in front of him had been born that way. That gave Ben a thought. He had always loved big men. In college, he worked for the school paper, taking photographs and drawing images for the sports column. Sometimes he’d get hard just sketching a big boy’s arms, legs and buttocks. Lineman made him cream, and he loved to draw huge beefy men and jack off to his heart’s content. Could the program help him do that to this guy? 

He started with Hurley’s face, using the “before” image to recapture Carl’s strong double chin—he even added a goatee to give him a slight bearish quality. Then he worked on the upper body—smoothing out some of the pectoral and upper arm definitions so that Mr. Hurley looked more like a powerlifter than a bodybuilder. He lovingly sculpted the stomach, so that a strong gut emerged from the burgeoning six-pack abs, and placed it on powerfully built legs that would never fit into a standard pair of pants. He lengthened Hurley’s entire frame so that he took on the larger than life proportions of a comic book superhero. By the time Ben had finished, Mr. Carl Hurley had gone from a 220lb-muscle boy, to a 400lb behemoth that could play for any professional football team in the league. 

Again, he surveyed his work, astonished by the results. There before him was a perfect slab of male beef. His penis confirmed the aesthetic appeal. Suddenly, the little brain in his underwear took over. He wondered aloud, “If the software could turn Carl Hurley into a hunk…could it turn Joe Dante into a chunk?” His imagination and dick began to respond. He grabbed one of the shots of the owner of BodyWonder and went to work. The program was incredible. He had seen morphs online in many of the big men sites he frequented—many were poor in quality—impossibly stretched midsections on underwear models. Every now and then, he’d run into some real masterpieces, but for the most part, he’d lost interest quickly. And forget about men of color. No one seemed to have any interest in making Lee Haney fat. 

With this program, he would change all of that. It was as if the Morph software could read Ben’s mind. He watched as the tight, overly muscled body of BodyWonder’s founder melted into the smooth corpulent flesh of the men in Ben’s dreams. Under his mouse, Joe Dante’s pecs became voluminous man tits, puffed out and resting heavily on a stomach that fell past his mammoth thighs to his knees. His face, which most morphers failed to touch, became large and round with a huge double chin that enveloped any trace of a neck—his arms and shoulders joining it in a wide and fleshy mass. He gave him huge suckable nipples that sat in the exact center of perfectly round areolas the size of small saucers; and huge legs the size of Redwoods, with a rump to match. He finished him off with an organ long enough to peek past Dante’s stomach, and rest below the massive gut. 

When he had finished, Joe Dante looked like he weighed over a quarter of a ton—a perfect transformation. Ben had the raging hard-on of his life. This program was the stuff of all his fantasies. Of course, he would have to do normal sized renderings for campaigns, but he would have his own private gallery of manufactured big men all for himself. He clicked “file”, and then “save” and the familiar “are you sure you want to save this file?” prompt appeared. Ben clicked “okay” and oddly, the program asked again “are you really, really sure?” Ben did a double take—must be the programmer’s idea of a joke. He clicked “okay” again. “File saved”, was the software’s smug response. 

Ben yawned mightily and looked at his watch. Two A.M. He had been at this since eight in the evening. He knew he had to get up for work in a couple of hours, but there was one more rendering he had to do. He searched through the picture files on his computer and came up with the perfect image of Devin. It was one of their vacation photos. On the beach in Hawaii, Devin could have been an ancient island god. “Let’s see how the program does on a ‘brotha’”, Ben thought. He worked feverishly—barely containing his lust. When he had finished, he had the perfect Devin—a Devin that made Chucky from the Computer Cove look as if he was on Slim Fast. Ben shot the biggest load of his life, and fell fast asleep at the desk. 

He woke up late for work.

As he arrived breathless to the door of his office, he heard a great commotion coming from his supervisor’s suite. “Might as well start packing he thought.” Sure that firing was in store, he decided to get it over with, and headed towards the door to his boss’ office. He was not prepared for what he saw. Standing, well, stooping in the door of his superior’s suite was none other than Mr. Carl Hurley himself. Ben’s late evening jack off project was standing before him in the flesh. However, not the 220 pound muscle boy from neither the “after” picture, nor the fleshy 330-pound “before” fat man. In front of Ben was the spitting image of the morph that he had created: 400 pounds of Carl Hurley. He was so big; he could barely fit in the doorframe. Every part of him was exactly as Ben had sculpted: arms the size of an average man’s waist, chest so wide it struggled to stay inside the overly stretched super-sized sweatshirt he wore. His legs were so big; they had begun to rub the material between his thighs thin. He was phenomenal. 

His voice boomed in the small confines of the office. Ben caught the last part of his sentence: “…incredible! I took a glass full of supplement last night before bed, and I woke up like this! I must’ve grown half a foot and look at my body!” He flexed impossibly huge biceps and nearly hit his head on the frame of the door.

 “And look at mine!” came a muffled croak from inside the office. 

Hurley moved slightly, and Ben caught a glimpse of his second shock of the morning. Sitting in his boss’s office, taking up a couch that usually held three people, was one enormous Joe Dante. He too was exactly as Ben had morphed him—a human Jabba the Hut, scarfing down doughnut after doughnut: his jowls quivering as he struggled to keep up with his new hunger. There was so much fat on his body, he could barely raise his arms to stuff his sausage fingers in his mouth. His mountain of a belly stretched out three feet in front of him and cascaded down between his mammoth legs. And through his too tight sweatpants, Ben could make out the organ of organs hanging like an elephant’s trunk between them. Ben took a step backward, almost fainting in disbelief.

What the hell was going on? Had he done this? Dante was burping, eating and talking all at the same time. “Must be a glitch in the new formulas. I knew I should never sample this crap!” he said, spewing out chocolate sprinkles. “How am I going to sell this shit looking like Moby Dick?” “Speaking of which…” chuckled Hurley “…I’ve noticed a change in THAT area as well!” “Only damn good think about all this!” the mountain that was Dante replied—trying to reach for his mammoth penis that jumped every time he took another bite of doughnut. “Well we’ll just have to cancel any appearances until we figure out what went wrong. Until then,…” Dante eyed the remaining food with a lust usually intended for a night of raw sex “…I get to eat anything I want! Wheel me to the nearest all you can eat buffet!” 

Ben staggered to his desk—his eyes swimming from what he had just seen. Somehow, his lust-filled fantasy handiwork on the computer had become a reality. How was this possible? What kind of program was this that had the power to transform people with a few strokes of a mouse? He had to find answers. Chucky told him to come back to the Computer Cove if there were any problems with the software. Well, this was a big problem. 

He decided to go back to Chucky and find out if he knew anything else about the program or the homeless man who sold it to him. First, he needed to get to the restroom. His crotch was so hard from witnessing the two men’s transformation that he had trouble walking to the john. Once in a stall, he stripped down to his skivvies, propped one leg on the toilet seat, and let his mind play back the pictures of Joe Dante and Carl Hurley. Their sheer mass was unimaginable and hotter than he could have ever dreamed. 

He stroked himself and watched his cock grow hard and throbbing in a transformation of its own—veins bursting as the image of the burping Dante grew stronger. The force of his ejaculation threw him against the wall of the stall. Whatever was happening was certainly good for his libido. 

There was only one customer in the shop when Ben entered. A man at the counter was in a hushed conversation with Chucky. And what a man he was. It was a very obese man who, from the looks of his clothing had been growing quite rapidly. From behind, his fleshy rump crack was peeking boldly from pants that barely contained his big butt. His puny shirt could no longer hold his mass, and incredibly ample love handles played hide and seek on each side, exposing most of the mid-section. And what a mid-section it was. From where Ben stood, the man’s brown belly pressed on the counter and hung halfway down his thighs. He ungainly shifted, supporting his bulk by leaning his chubby arms on its surface. Chucky was so enrapt in conversation with this fat boy that he hadn’t looked up for his usual greeting. 

As Ben approached the two big men, he could hear bits of the conversation. The guy with his back turned must have been quizzing Ben about area eateries. “There’s a Pizza Hut around the corner that has a pretty good lunch buffet…” Chucky offered “…but with the way I bet you like to eat, try the Bloated Belly around the corner—they know how to treat guys like us!” It was then that Chucky noticed Ben. “Ben!” Chucky cried. “Look who stopped by to say ‘hello’!” The big boy turned around.

It was Devin.

TO BE CONTINUED

Copyright 2003 by FBC. All rights reserved.