chapter 2

About two months later, Neil had reached 300 pounds. Maybe more. We didn't know until he stepped on our scale and it read: "Err."

Our scale maxed at 300, so we'd have to pick up a new one for a more accurate reading. But that was neither in the budget nor the cards. We had to keep Neil fed.

I had to keep him fed.

And therein lies the problem. At some point before we found out Neil was too fat for our scale, I had become...invested.

His size was a direct result of my influence. His mass was cultivated by me. I was an artist, a sculptor, and Neil was my masterpiece.

Or rather, a work-in-progress.

I wasn't done with him. I couldn't be. It felt wrong to leave now. We had to go further. The question entered my mind before I had manufactured an answer: "Just how far can we take this?"

Trent, however, needed a bit more convincing. Over the past few months, he and I had developed something of a rapport. I guess it goes back even further than that, but he had almost as much invested in Neil's growth as I had. The understanding was, after leaving Neil, I would be able to be with Trent.

"The guy's a pig! I don't think anyone would fault you for taking your leave," Trent said during a Saturday afternoon phone call as I sat on the edge of the bed.

At that point, I faintly heard a groaning fart coming from the bathroom, amplified by its acoustics. Neil was in there, making room for his next course. Since he's never in there for less than half-an-hour, I took the time to call Trent and update him on the situation.

"It's not about that, anymore. I feel a responsibility to him," I explained as best I could. I'm not sure if that was entirely true, but it was how I externally justified my investment, hoping Trent wouldn't probe any deeper.

"So you're telling me you aren't leaving him? That you and I will never be together?" he asked. I could tell he was upset. It was obvious in his uneven voice.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," I interjected before he could continue that line of thought. "What about you and Mallory?" I deflected. But he was in the exact same boat I was.

"I'm waiting for the right time," he said after a pause.

"Oh come on," I groaned. "Look, there's a way out of this for both of us."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"How fat do you think you can make Mallory in six months?" I asked.

I heard the toilet flush and the air freshener being sprayed. "I got to go," I whispered, not waiting for a response as I touched the big red X on my screen to end the call. I heard Trent get out a syllable of confusion.

Neil emerged from the restroom and I was greeted with his fragrance. Hiis essence dominated our apartment, with regular bursts to bolster it. I was concerned that I had become noseblind to it, but that wasn't quite true as I had actually become quite fond of it. It was a reminder of everything I had given him, everything I had pushed past his lips with my own fingers. It was the end result of a relentless diet; a body working overtime to digest, distribute, and disperse every calorie that it had consumed.

But it's also why I don't invite friends over anymore. "Are you ready for your lunch?" I asked, sweetly.

Hand on his belly, soothing it and petting it and enjoying a rare moment of calm within it, he nodded with a smile.

I returned a grin, more mischievous than I intended, and rose to my feet.

He followed me to the kitchen and I pulled out his chair as I passed it on my way to the fridge. I heard the chair creak as it accepted Neil's bulk. I moved deli meats, pizza boxes, Chinese food containers, and beer and soda cans to find a tinfoil-wrapped sandwich the size of a football.

I turned around to see Neil lick his lips, his eyes lower than my gaze. I realized he had been watching my ass while I was bent over in front of the fridge but suddenly began to wonder if it was my body he lusted after, or all the food crowding the inside. I was in my gym shorts and a belly shirt so I was looking very "comfy chic" which, I think, is Neil's favorite aesthetic.

Neil's gray undershirt was pulled flat around his pillowy form with half his beanbag belly stuffed into his stretchy pajama bottoms. He was becoming quite cuddly at this stage in his gain. Before, his bulk could maybe be mistaken for muscle but not anymore. Neil was officially taking on a circular, doughy shape, only achievable through excessive eating and minimal activity.

With both hands on the sides of his sandwich, his chubby digits sinking into the bread as they would his own fat, he took his first big bite, immediately followed by his second and third before he allowed himself to chew all he had gathered in his mouth. He moaned as if he was a couple of strokes into a handjob, breathing deeply through his nose as he chewed; his eyes closed to maximize his sense of taste.

I opened a cupboard and grabbed a family-sized bag of BBQ kettle chips. I watched him shove more sandwich into his mouth, his jaw struggling to keep up with his hands, and pull back again to allow himself a moment to chew. Another moan, another deep breath, and a muffled fart.

His eyes shot open and we locked our gazes. With a smile, I placed the bag in front of him for easy access and winked as I slowly and seductively fanned my nose.

"Whew," I breathed.

"Sorry," he said through a mouthful of sandwich, a crimson tone spreading through his cheeks.

"Aww, honey, I've told you: it's no problem. It's a known side effect of the diet I have you on," I lied. Kinda. "It's one way the body rids itself of the excess calories it doesn't need."

"Speaking of which," he said before swallowing the massive bites muffling his speech. "How much longer do I need to stay on this diet before it starts yielding results? I only feel like I'm getting fatter. I broke the scale!" he reminded me, though he didn't need to.

"Relax or your body will have an adverse reaction to the way it adjusts to the program and you actually WILL get fatter." I placed my hand on his shoulder and he looked into my eyes for a moment before hanging his head, emotionally exhausted.

"I tried weighing myself the other day and it didn't work for me either," I lied again. "And I'm obviously well beneath its capacity," I tried to comfort him without sounding boastful of my own flawless physique. I couldn't tell if he was buying it but he took another bite of the sandwich so I assumed that was a good sign.

"I promise," I continued. "By the end of this month, you're going to see some big changes!"

I patted his belly and felt my nethers twitch at its malleability. He grabbed a handful of chips and took a bite out of them as if he were eating from an apple in his palm.