Baseball Bellies: Epilogue

Three months later

“Fucking christ,” Miguel mumbled to himself standing in front of the mirror. “Another one,” he said while fingering a soft white stretch mark on his inner thigh.

He stood completely nude, ashamed of his chubby body. He had committed to losing twenty pounds over the summer. He had promised Coach this much. Sure, it wasn’t enough to bring him back to his former glory, but it was enough to kick him back into shape. Instead, he had somehow gained twenty three pounds. He couldn’t believe it.

Since the team’s fattening fiasco last semester they were given an ultimatum: lose weight or lose funding. Surprisingly, the majority of the team decided to simply step away from college sports. The house had disbanded and everyone led their own separate lives over the summer. Miguel, however, was resolute in his desire to return and was now filled with fear that he would be turned away for his weight.

He slapped and jiggled his gut in the mirror. It was so dense with fat and protuberant that it had barely begun folding into an overhang. Miguel kept up a gym routine and knew that his stamina had improved, but his appetite outpaced these achievements. The proof was in his pudding-like sCorriganach that was now twenty pounds heavier. Lower down, his thighs and ass had simply ballooned. They rubbed together when he walked and his cheeks were constantly bumping into things.

Miguel fished his old uniform from the closet. He first pulled on his cup and jockstrap. The elastic waist stretched to maximum capacity, deeply cutting into his underbelly. The cup itself was excruciatingly uncomfortable as the fat pad he had developed was both too big to fit inside the cup, and too small to comfortably rest above it. The hard plastic edge of the protective gear simply pressed into his plump pubic region making him feel like he had to urinate.

His pants were elastic enough that they barely wrapped around his obscene glutes. His legs and ass felt vacuum packed but at the very least he could close the button. Unfortunately, up top his UnderArmour shirt wouldn’t even stretch over the crest of his gut. The uniform shirt was wearable but, like his pants, was stretched as far as it would go. Even his feet had grown too pudgy for his cleats. Miguel laughed at his visage in the mirror: an overfed jock busting out of his old uniform.

In a nearby apartment, Abram sat at his computer reviewing his OnlyFans stats while polishing off a family sized pack of Oreos. Illuminated by the light of the screen, his face had considerably rounded out into a soft oval. He wore only a grey tank top stretched thin over the rounded belly resting in his lap. His breathing was heavy in between Oreos, as it often was these days, causing his belly to slowly rise and expand. His thighs rose tall with fat to reach the outer curves of his belly. He didn’t even realize that the two parts of his body were now often in contact.

Since quitting baseball and growing popular online he’d completely given in to gluttony. At first he was eating to gain followers, and now he was eating because he craved food. Something deep within him had been unleashed and it needed to be fed. Of course, this impressed his gainer and encourager acolytes who relished every buttery pound of chub that rounded out his physique.

Sitting down, Abram didn’t even need underwear to conceal his manhood. It remained nestled beneath his heft. As he stood up to get ready for class his meaty rump found itself wedged between the arm rests of his chair. This was becoming more of a problem with each passing week. He shoved the chair off his ass and waddled to his closet. Abram hadn’t bothered with actual pants in months and slid into his favorite pair of sweats. His thunder thighs had rubbed a hole in the crotch but he didn’t care.

Lately, walking across campus was a chore that he did not look forward to. He walked on the shady part of the sidewalk and took as many shortcuts through buildings as he could manage. Even still, he arrived to the limited capacity class fully out of breath and sweating. As he wedged himself into one of the auditorium seats he saw a familiar sight in the distance. Sitting at one of the handicap desks near the front of the room was Corrigan.

Abram was shocked at Corrigan’s size. The chair he sat atop looked miniature beneath him, his body drooping off both sides. Corrigan’s belly extended so far that the former team captain could barely reach the desk in front of him. His tits hung like an orangutan’s on either side of torso, forming elastic fat rolls in his back. His neck and face had been subsumed with pudge to the point that the former team captain was practically unrecognizable. He resembled a gargantuan marshmallow more than a human. What had happened to him? Abram wagered that Corrigan had probably surpassed 500 pounds.

After class, Abram shoved himself free from the restricking seat and approached Corrigan who was also struggling to get to his feet. A few moments passed before Corrigan had fully gathered himself and realized that someone was standing before him.

“Abram?!” he looked confused.

“It’s me.”

“Sorry, I almost didn’t recognize you. You could probably say the same about me…”

“Hah, it looks like some of us weren’t meant to be athletes.”

“Tell me about it. It’s so good to see you, I don’t hear from any of the guys since, you know…”

“I don’t either and you know what? Fuck ‘em! They don’t know what they’re missing.”

Corrigan laughed and gripped his belly.

“Hey,” Abram continued, “what do you say we pick up some pizzas? For old times sake?”

“I’d love to-- I’m starving.”