chapter 7

Peter stood in his bathroom, confronting his reflection in the mirror. He was clad only in his too-tight briefs, which he couldn’t even see, they were so completely hidden behind the hang of his enormous gut and the rolls at his sides. The image shocked even him.

“I don’t even recognize myself,” he whispered.

His face had changed so much, and while his weight gain was rapid, it happened over such a long period of time… but how could he not have noticed? Big, bulging cheeks that hinted at jowls had completely changing the shape of his face. His chin was nestled in the soft bulge of a thicker chin, a thick bulge of flesh which now seemed to be engulfing his entire neck.

Once muscular, lean shoulders had become thick and soft. It dawned on Peter that his chest resembled a woman’s breasts. Grasping them in his hands, squeezing the flesh and seeing it bulge out between his pudgy fingers, he was stunned to realize that his breasts were larger than his ex-wife’s! They looked relatively small compared to the huge gut which stretched out in front of him. Soft and jiggly, it hung down to mid-thigh, forming huge love handles which circled his whole body, creating a roll of fat on top of his shelf-butt. He reached out to pick up the huge sack of blubber, which was a challenge. Not only was his stomach heavy, it was so large and wide, his arms were not long enough to reach around it.

Peter flexed his arms in the mirror. No muscle tone was visible. Flabby flesh hung off his upper arms like pillows filled with blubber.

“I have to do something about this,” Peter said, jiggling his massive belly, sending ripples through his entire body. It had been barely more than a year since he’d seen MJ. He never dreamed that he could have changed this much in that amount of time.

Two hours later Peter stepped into the gym. It had taken him some time to find a T-shirt and jogging pants that would cover his belly. These ones barely did that job, and were stretched skin-tight, highlighting every bulge and roll of his obese form. It caused him to think about how quickly he was growing out of his clothes, further adding to his resolve to change his lifestyle, to try and get healthy again.

The fact that he was sweating already, just from the walk to the gym, wasn’t a great sign. Peter paid his fee to enter, then went to the area of the gym that had treadmills, stationary bicycles, and other similar machines. He stepped onto the treadmill.

“Ok, maybe I’ll start with thirty minutes of cardio,” Peter said, and began punching buttons on the machine’s control panel.

The treadmill sprung to life and Peter started to walk along with it. He increased the speed gradually, until he got to a jog. The effort of jogging, and the feeling of his excess flesh bouncing and moving with every step really struck Peter as unusual and odd. His thighs rubbed with every footfall, and his breasts bounced up toward his face. Even his cheeks jiggled with each step.

“No one said this would be easy,” Peter muttered to himself, already breathing heavily.

Within minutes he was sweating like crazy. At five minutes he was gasping for breath. By seven minutes he had to stop.

Peter stepped off the machine, soaked in sweat and unable to catch his breath. He leaned over, hands on his knees, trying desperately to catch his breath. He had to sit down, the weight of his big belly was too much for him to hold up for long.

“Whew,” Peter gasped, finally ready to get back to his workout, “I didn’t realize how out-of-shape I have become. Maybe an easier machine?”

There was a standing machine with foot pedals and handle bars. Peter thought that might be easier. He walked over to the machine and tried to climb on, awkwardly stepping over the pedal mechanisms and moving between the arm levers.

“Ooof!” Peter exclaimed, trying to get onto the blasted device. With one foot extended, one of the arm levers pressed into one of his love handles. The other arm lever pressed into his belly. Could he really be so big that he was too fat to fit?! After a few minutes of struggling, and some disapproving glances from a very fit and attractive woman using a nearby machine, Peter gave up and decided to go explore another area of the gym.

There was a scale in a corner near the free weights. As soon as Peter saw it, his chest filled with a feeling of dread. It had been a few months since Peter had been able to weigh himself. His curiosity was stronger than his fear, so he walked toward the scale.

“Five hundred pound limit,” Peter read, before stepping onto the scale. It was the old fashioned model, with the weights you had to slide across the beam. When he stepped onto the platform, his tummy bumped into the post. “Oh my,” Peter muttered, gaining new insight into how much further his gut stuck out than he’d thought.

Standing at an angle, Peter could get on the scale. He slid the largest weight past the notch marked 350 lbs, to the one marked 400 lbs, thinking that surely he would be less than that.

Peter’s eyes grew wide. He couldn’t possibly weight more than, 400 could he?

He moved the ten-pound increment to 20, and the scale tipped down. He brought it back to 10, then fiddled with the smallest weight to fine tune the reading.

Peter weighed 415 pounds. He blinked at the number. He glanced down to his bulging belly. Stepping off the machine, he shook his head lightly. He felt in a daze. Somehow crossing the four hundred pound mark seemed like an impossible, horrifying milestone.

“Hey watch it!”

Not paying attention, Peter had bumped into a woman walking by with his wide, soft hip. “Sorry, was an accident,” he mumbled.

She looked at his huge, sweat-stained body with disdain. She was thin, and fit, and beautiful.

Peter sighed.

He trudged over to the free weights. It was as though the desire and drive had been drained out of him. He knew he needed to boost his spirits, and maybe the weights would do it. After all, he still had his spider-strength, right?

Peter shimmied past a tall, buff bodybuilder, being extra careful not to bump into him. Peter obviously wasn’t yet accustomed to the space his bigger body occupied. The bodybuilder had a shaved head and was clad in a black skin-tight tank top and matching shorts. He looked like a superhero is supposed to look, Peter thought.

Scanning the rack of weights that ran the length of the wall, Peter settled on the 50-pound dumb bells as a good start, a way to warm up. Leaning forward and feeling his stomach press into the lower rack, he gripped a weight in each hand. He tugged on them to lift them off the rack.

“Ooof!” he exclaimed, involuntarily.

The weights barely shifted! He tried again, just with his right hand this time, but he could barely lift the thing. Peter, stunned, released his grip from the weight, and it dropped back onto the rack.

“Hey big guy, maybe you should try these,” the bodybuilder said, and handed Peter two 20-lb weights. “Try doing curls with these if you’re just starting out.”

Peter looked at the fellow, dumbfounded. He wanted to tell him he used to be strong enough that he could lift up a piano with his bare hands! But instead, he looked up to meet the bodybuilder’s gaze and said, “Yeah. Thanks.”

The bodybuilder when back to his workout, while Peter turned to face the mirror. He started to do bicep curls, but found that the added padding on his arms and at his sides made the movements very clumsy. After 15 repetitions he started to tire, and he needed to sit down. For his next set he made it to 11. During his third set, he could hardly lift his arms after 6 repetitions.

Winded and surprised, Peter replaced the weights on the rack and made his way to the exit. The bodybuilder called out to him as he passed, “Way to go, big guy! Great work!” Peter smiled weakly, trying to hide his disappointment as he left the gym.

After trudging back to his apartment, dried off and dress in some clothes that barely fit, Peter plopped down on the couch to rest. Hardly a minute passed before his stomach growled.

Peter sighed, rolled his eyes, and heaved himself off the couch with significant effort, and made his way to Nancy’s Diner.