The Weight of Reality: Epilogue

Three years later

Bret stepped off the scale and sighed. He told himself he needed to get back under 300 pounds, even though he knew that was unlikely. The last fifteen pounds had really snuck up on him out of nowhere. He thought he had been eating healthy and walking more since moving to New York City, but apparently that wasn’t enough. He needed to seriously cut back his caloric intake if he wanted to lose weight, or at least stop gaining weight. But that sounded like no fun.

“Still on for later?” a text message from his friend read.

Bret sighed and responded in the affirmative. He grabbed his electric razor and cleaned up the beard he had grown to cover up his double chin. His belly filled the counter space in front of him as he leaned close to the mirror. He didn’t even notice how his gut pooled atop counters and pressed against tables anymore. He had fully adjusted to life as a fat guy, and although he was always telling himself he needed to slim down, some part of him knew it would never happen.

He dressed in a faded black Balenciaga tee from twenty five pounds ago. It had grease stains on it and strained around his love handles. He didn’t care, he barely even noticed. He squeezed his fat ass into a pair of Dickie’s. He liked the brand because they were cheap and easy to size up. They also didn’t wear out in the crotch and thighs as quickly as his denim pants. He headed out the door with a mild sense of anxiety.

Bret had stopped going to bars over a year ago. Inevitably there would be the random fan of the show who would ask for a photo. And despite the discourse of body positivity that surrounded him, he wasn’t getting laid much ever since he hit 250. Occasionally he’d take a girl home who recognized him from the show, or if he was really horny he’d download Grindr and find some faggot to suck his cock, but it was undeniable that his prospects lessened since the bigger he grew.

That evening he was meeting a friend from his plus-sized modeling days at a gay bar. He assumed he would be invisible amongst a room full of muscle studs. However, once he entered the venue all eyes were on him. The gays had not forgotten about his scandalizing run on reality TV and he was mobbed with eager fans. He posed for photos as men stood too close, grabbing his bulbous love handles and making lewd comments. He felt uncomfortable but also enjoyed the attention.

“Bret?” a voice cut through the crowd. It sounded startlingly familiar.

“D-Dennis?” Bret stammered as a figure emerged toward him. He could hardly believe his eyes.

Dennis looked exactly the same, plus maybe an additional twenty pounds, most of which had landed in the fleshy curve of his underbelly. Bret shooed away the rest of the crowd, including his friend who he was there with, and found a corner table for himself and Dennis. Following Dennis close behind, it was clear it wasn’t only his belly which had grown. Dennis’s ass looked fatter than ever. This was accentuated by a well-placed tear in the denim just below his right cheek. Bret found himself salivating.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Bret marveled. “It’s been so long.”

“I guess so, a few years…”

“I-” Bret was flustered but he knew what he had to do. “I want to apologize. For getting you eliminated. It was a shitty move.”

“Water under the bridge,” Dennis said. “I couldn’t have dealt with the spotlight anyway. But you did fantastic. All those modeling gigs, you looked amazing. You still do…”

Bret blushed and looked down. He noticed Dennis’s plump legs and remembered holding them in the air as he drove his cock into the man during missionary. His cock twitched at the memory.

“You’ve gotten bigger,” Dennis continued. He placed his hand in Bret’s under the table. “I like it.”

“Thanks, I uh stayed big for the gigs and once those dried up I tried to lose, but… I don’t know I couldn’t and then I guess with the extra funds I started eating out a lot, and… I’m sorry I’m rambling.”

“That’s okay,” Dennis grinned and scooted closer to Bret. He leaned forward, their bellies softly pressing into one another, and they kissed.

An hour later they were at Dennis’s studio apartment. It was small and felt cramped for two men of their size, but it hardly mattered as the lovers pawed one another’s clothes off. Dennis’s ass was just as Bret remembered: two thick globs of wobbling heavy cream striated with pale stretch marks and overflowing in his palms. He wasted no time diving in face first. He lapped Dennis up for about twenty minutes, relishing the man’s sweet taste, before he fucked him.

Just as Bret felt an orgasm mounting, Dennis slipped out from under him and said: “Your turn.” Confused and ready to bust, Bret stared in wild bewilderment as Dennis got his counterpart onto his back and flung his legs into the air. Bret had never been fucked by another man, but something about Dennis made his hole eager and open. Dennis slid into Bret much easier than either man expected.

“You’re a natural,” Dennis teased.

Bret was instantly in ecstasy as Dennis thrust into him. From this position, Bret couldn’t see much. His chin was buried in his fat tits, his belly formed a mountain that eclipsed the sight of Dennis’s. None of it mattered once Dennis found the man’s prostate and Bret’s vision began to go white. Within seconds the swollen virgin bottom was howling in orgasm. Their bodies formed one long pile of sweaty blubber as Dennis came in unison. With their balls freshly drained, they panted and gasped for air.

“I don’t think… I have… your number,” Bret said through labored breathing.

“You don’t, but you better not eliminate me again.”

“Never,” Bret grinned. “What you just did… you’re the fucking champion.”