Chapter 3 - trevor 2

Chapter III
Trevor
Trevor’s house, December 22nd, 5.45 am

I silently open the front door. My parents are sleeping on the couch, watching a film with Julia Roberts and a random guy who falls in love with her, so I decide to sneak into the kitchen and get a donut before going to bed.
I’m super drunk. Like, completely messed up. I threw up on Kyle and lost my denim jacket, which is a pity as it was a birthday gift from my mom. My ripped pants were one of the main sources of fun of the party, but I couldn’t care less. I already feel like I am losing weight. Honestly. Last year I was surely fatter, these pants probably did not even fit at all.
I start munching on the second donut, while caressing my pot belly.
“Nobody wants you here, you know?” I say, before giggling by myself like a maniac. It’s so soft, but I admit it looks massive when covered by this shirt. I would go to the mall and buy some new ones but I know they would fit too loose by half January. Guess I just have to wait… or steal some clothes from my dad.
They would surely hide my little belly and stop Paolo to fucking embarrass me in front of everyone ever again. There was no reason of doing what he did. People were already making fun of me at my back, his snappy and unrequired comment just made it official. If he wants a war, he will get one. The water polo team stands no chance over the drama club kids. I mean, it’s like the main high school rule since the ‘80s.
When I get my third donut, I hear some noises from the living room.
Fuck.
I try to hide the last two donuts in the pockets of my trousers, but they are too freaking tight. I’m fucked, I can hear my mom groaning in the living room while my dad’s heavy steps get closer to me.
I would trash the food but these donuts are delicious. They are covered in banana cream, my favorite. I turn around and put both of them in my mouth, while feeling a warm sensation in my heart. The boner follows while I do my best to swallow as soon as my dad gets in the kitchen, attracted by the lights like a mosquito.
I open the fridge to get some water, just to construct my alibi. I briefly get rid of the donuts’ crumbs on my neck and mouth and I grab a glass from the shelf on my right.
My dad asks me how Gabby’s party was and I shrug: “I left my denim jacket there.”
The moment I say that, I get saucer eyes thinking about my ripped jeans. Thank God my dad is on my left and not behind me, which would have been too embarrassing to handle for a drunk Trevor trying to act sober.
My dad scratches his neck before yawning and wishing me good night. I smile before downing a glass of water with an aspirin. The fridge is watching me and I’m watching the fridge. That boner I got while stuffing my face is such a fucked up thing, I’m not even hungry anymore. I just feel like eating.
“Yeah, it makes weird noises lately. Don’t mind it” says my mom from behind. I turn immediately, hitting my leg on the kitchen table: “Fuck, mom.”
“Sorry I scared you.” Polite as always. She doesn’t wear glasses, she probably didn’t notice the huge rip on the back of my jeans showing the tight blue underwear I wore last night. Fuck me, they got so tight in these weeks. I can feel a hinted beginning of love handles because of the super small elastic of my boxers. The fact is, I love slips, but boxers help my thighs to stop rubbing together when I walk. They’re less comfortable but at least people don’t notice my weird-ass weight distribution. All these tricks are like six, seven years of experience. I start like this, then I cut on cakes and sweets and bam, I lose everything I gained during Christmas and Thanksgiving in just a few weeks.
People are envious, I guess, but today at the party the air felt different. Even my drama club’s friends were looking a bit concerned, like if something was new. And then Paolo runs my thoughts again. That sarcastic sentence, meaning: “You are fat, nobody wants you if you look like this”. And nobody said anything, not even Kyle. I’m fucking done with him, he just likes to hang out with me because I’m a clown at parties.
I mean, I was around 150 pounds at the end of October. I’m definitely just shy of 170 now, I don’t know what the fuss around my weight is. It arouses me how popular I got if everyone at an informal party has to express their opinion about my accidental gaining, but at the same time, I mean, mind your own fucking business maybe?
I go upstairs, saying goodbye to my mom before she could even notice my gin-smelling breath, and I walk slowly towards my room. There is something so tempting about the idea of weighing myself.
I stop.
I walk super slowly to my parents’ room. My dad is already snoring like a Snorlax, so I get to the wardrobe and steal their scale. My dick is pulsing, I’m about to burst in a nervous laugh and my mom is coming upstairs. The moment I close the wardrobe, cross the corridor and leave the door of my room behind me, my mom wishes me goodnight. She doesn’t suspect anything.
I take fifteen minutes to get rid of my jeans and release my juicy thighs, and, of course, the button of the zip fell on the floor as soon as I got rid of the belt. I danced and jumped and sat and bent down, the button was already weak… it was obvious it was going to happen after a night of drinking.
While I say these things, my brain starts realizing they might all be simple excuses to deny that my pants ripped because I gained a bit more than usual. I take off my shirt and I start touching my little tits. I look at the wall in front of me, where the mirror is reflecting my drunk self. I delicately put a foot on the scale, but I turn around before putting the other one since, quite naturally, my hands slipped from my new breast to my little and soft love handles.
These boxers may hurt and make my ass a bit squarey, but I still feel and look peachy as hell.
I put a hand between my thighs, and it fits with no problems. It is my trick to realize if I went out of control or if I can still relax and avoid losing my extra 10-15 lbs.
The scale makes this sci-fi noise, while four neon blue dashes appear in front of me.
176.7 pounds. 80 kilos.
I have never been this heavier.
… and, uhm, wow. My dick has never been this hard.