The Making of a Cow: Chapter 1

Roger felt sluggish, as though his body was made of concrete. It was four in the afternoon on a Saturday and he’d spent all day in bed, eating pizza, and edging. When he finally hoisted himself onto his feet he groaned. His belly sagged over the elastic band of his underwear. Thank god it was the off season. He would probably be kicked off the soccer team if the coach were to see what physical shape he was in. 

Roger had only been to the gym once or twice this week, and that was up from zero times the prior two weeks. Between classes and partying, he just didn’t have it in him. That’s what he told himself at least. Besides, his buds had all put on the freshman fifteen too, although Roger was pushing forty pounds gained last time he checked. It was normal, expected even. He didn’t have a choice. That’s what he told himself, at least. 

The truth was that Roger secretly enjoyed the extra fat on his belly and hips. In fact, it turned him on so much he spent hours at a time edging and feeling up the fresh soft dough rising from his growing body. Still, he was afraid to admit to himself how much gaining weight did in fact turn him on. He’d watch porn with fat chicks, and sometimes fat guys, but refused to believe that he wanted to be that fat himself. It scared him because he knew that if he opened that door there was no telling how far his appetite would take him. 

Roger threw on gym shorts and headed down to the kitchen of the frat house. Shirtless, his belly subtly bounced with each step down the stairs. When he reached the fridge he grabbed the jug of milk and began to chug. He was dehydrated and killed a good third of the gallon in one go. He put the milk back and grabbed some old Chinese food that probably should have been thrown out. Standing in front of the fridge, he chowed down. 

“Jesus,” one of his frat brothers said entering the kitchen, “when don’t you have food in your mouth.” 

“Yeah bro you’re getting fat as fuck,” another one chimed in.  

“Shut the fuck up,” Roger barked back, his cock chubbing up slightly. “I’m fueling up for the party later. Last time I drank on an empty stomach I passed out in the hedges.” 

Roger took the Chinese food up to his room where he demolished it and threw the container on a pile of pizza boxes. He wanted more food but decided to avoid attracting any more attention, so he showered and got dressed for the evening. His jeans were uncomfortably snug and the fabric was wearing thin in the crotch. He knew that when he sat down his ass crack showed, but there was nothing he could do about it. His favorite party shirt, a navy patterned button up, would barely close around the belly button. Roger sighed and threw on his favorite Nike gym shirt instead. Even this was snug, but oh well. 

The party progressed as they all do, with buckets of liquor, beer, and the perpetual hunger for sex. His bros were disappearing with girls one by one, fucking in the bathrooms, bedrooms, or even outside against the wall. Roger wasn’t fond of most of the girls at these parties and increasingly they were turned off by his softening physique. So he drank. Copiously. 

By the end of the night Roger and a couple guys were wandering around the town square smashing bottles and howling at the moon. Roger was so wasted that he had double vision and fell over multiple times. Struggling off the ground, the crotch of his pants ripped open revealing his stained Calvin Kleins. The guys teased him mercilessly for becoming such a fat slob.  

“Duuuude,” let’s get a tattoo. “My bud Jimmy works at the shop around the corner.” 

The guy suggesting this was a notorious shit stirrer. He led the group to the shop and basically ordered Roger to saddle up to the tattoo chair. 

“Our friend here is turning into a real cow, can’t you tell from his pants?” 

“Yeah,” one of the guys squeezed his belly, “look at all this fresh lard. He had abs four months ago the fat fuck.”

Roger laughed. He was thankful he was too drunk to get hard. 

“So our fat friend here wants to celebrate his obesity with a tattoo of a cow.”

“Holding a fork and knife!” 

“Is that right?” Jimmy asked Roger. 

Roger nodded and patted his bicep. “Right here. Let’s do it.”

The tattoo was painless given how drunk he was. When it was completed Roger stood up victoriously, lifted his shirt and shook his belly fat ferociously. All the guys cheered. Roger paid the artist and then demanded they grab some fast food. Outside the shop one of the guys shoved a gatorade bottle full of liquor into Roger’s hand. Roger took a big swig and then blacked out. 

About seven hours later Roger woke up with a pounding headache. He didn’t know where he was at first. Then he realized he was in the living room of the frat house, on the floor, and completely nude except for his underwear. His stomach was uncomfortably distended and gurgling. Roger felt like he had swallowed a bowling ball. Looking around, he was surrounded by mountains of empty McDonald’s wrappers. 

He grabbed a soda nearby and chugged. Looking down he noticed that “FAT COW” was scrawled across his belly fat with Sharpie. Shuffling around, Roger found his phone. In the reflection of the screen he could see that “MOOOO” was written across his forehead. He unlocked his phone and saw a million notifications. Text messages indicated something embarrassing had happened.

Anxiously flipping through apps, Roger discovered the source of his newfound popularity. The guys had taken a video of Roger blacked out at the house, nearly naked and on all fours, stuffing himself with McDonald’s. The other boys shouted and prodded him, slapping his fat ass, hurling insults, jiggling his belly, and altogether making a mockery of Roger. 

The worst part: Roger clearly had an erection.