One Hundred Pounds Later: Chapter 1

“Dude, what happened to you?” My roommate, Dexter, commented. “I thought people slim down in LA but you went the opposite direction!”

I dropped my luggage by my bed and gasped for air. The full length mirror across from me reflected a pudgy gay boy with sweat stains on his tight pink tee that was riding up on his love handles. I grinned and scooped up the pudge on my belly with both hands.

“You mean this?” I gave it a jiggle and laughed.

Something about that moment felt triumphant. It was finally happening. People were recognizing me as chubby, I was actively gaining weight, I was having amazing fat sex with beautiful men, and I even had well-off encouragers helping me along. If you had told me only a year ago that this would be my life as I turned 21 and finished college I wouldn’t have believed you. Hell, I still can’t believe it sometimes.

I discovered I was into guys getting fatter at an early age. I think the first time I busted a load at 15 it was to a YouTube video of a man massaging the fresh twenty pounds of furry chub he had intentionally packed onto his midsection. I was hooked ever since and despite many attempts at plumping up myself, it never stuck.

I thought college would be different, but the freshman fifteen eluded me as did the larger boys I was chasing. It was honestly depressing. Finally, ten pounds snuck up on me my junior year while vacationing in Mexico. All the cheap and delicious food went straight to my hips and I didn’t even notice until I got home and a friend commented on my ass looking thick. That single comment flipped a switch in me and by the time summer came I was sitting thirty pounds heavier.

At 5’10” and 180 pounds the fresh pudge was noticeable. All of my clothes still fit but they clung like a second skin to my newfound curves. Obviously, I didn’t mind. In fact I kind of enjoyed showing it off. I took every opportunity to bend over or stretch in class or reach for something far away. Anything I could do to show a little skin, to let people know I wasn’t the twink I used to be.

“I can’t tell by that shirt if you had a good summer or a bad one. Either way you were well fed!”

“Oh, I had a fabulous summer,” I tried to suppress the eager grin spreading across my face. “Palm Springs was… one for the books.”

The truth was that I could never reveal to Dexter what happened in Palm Springs. Hell, I barely understood it myself. It was almost as though I was initiated into some gainer cult of fatness. The whole thing was a bacchanalian blur of drinking and gluttony with the most salient memory being a promise that I would gain 100 pounds within one year. I doubted this proposition, but the men I’d met did seem eager to continue encouraging me now that I was back in Connecticut.

“Well glad you had fun,” Dexter replied.

He seemed perplexed by his fat faggot roommate and for the most part uninterested. I was happy to accept this and proceed with unpacking. I was now deeply curious to see how much I weighed considering Dexter’s comments. I was trying to eat big all summer, but it didn’t feel like I had put on significant weight. Once I was unpacked, I grabbed some fresh clothes and headed to the shower.

Dexter and I were lucky to have an in-unit bathroom which allowed me to disrobe and look at my body in the mirror. My belly was hanging, that was for certain. I couldn’t remember if I had an overhang at the beginning of summer or not? It was only a slight fold and I was confident that I was on a trajectory to thicken that lower crescent of belly over this next semester. It felt nice to squeeze that ring of chub around my waist.

My love handles did look a bit thicker, but I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things. My legs were definitely looking stocky these days and I had noticed that it wasn’t quite as easy to cross them when sitting down lately. This was a gainer badge of honor for sure, and I was eager for the day when they wouldn’t cross at all. Overall, I did look plump. There was no denying it, but had I really gained much more than those initial 30 pounds? I stepped on the scale.

It read 192 pounds. I was a bit shocked to tell the truth. I didn’t feel 12 pounds heavier than a few months ago, but I suppose it was a steady gain. I gave my belly a proud slap and then remembered Dexter was in the other room. A rush of embarrassment surged through me. This poor straight boy was probably so confused.

I stepped into the shower feeling proudly chubby. I couldn’t believe that I was already on the verge of 200 pounds. That seemed like such a mystical number. It was a real milestone that signified a casual overweightness that felt specifically masculine. A woman at 200 pounds is fat, but a man at 200 pounds is hefty, bulky, macho.

As I lathered up my curves with soap I imagined what ten extra pounds would feel like. Would I even feel it? The last twelve sure came out of nowhere. Then I imagined myself bigger: my belly projecting in front of me, tits beginning to sag, rotund legs forcing me to waddle, a fat pad hanging above my cock. Then it dawned on me: the boys in Palm Springs guaranteed an additional 100 pounds within twelve months. That would put me at nearly 300 pounds next fall. Now that is fat. Not even, that is obese.

I could barely fathom the prospect. There was no way I could put on that sort of weight in such a short amount of time. It did sound pretty fun though…