chapter 7: a homecooked meal

Coach slapped me on the back "That's my boy!"

I stared down at the scale in awe. 100.8kg. In only 3 and a half months, I've put on over 8kg. Although some of that was muscle, I could no longer deny that most of it wasn't going to my waist.. and the rest of my body.

I'd been a bit chubby before, but now my small belly had swelled larger, threatening to droop down soon. My chest, which at first had grown with muscle, was now definitely covered with a layer of blubber. My ass and thighs also had their fair share of growth. Even my face was visibly fatter, with a double chin coming along under my puffier cheeks.

A part of me wanted to put a stop to this. Get out before it was too late. Scared of what was to come. But that part died down whenever I looked at coach.

As always, coach stepped on the scales after me. I used the moment to take in the view. It was obvious that I wasn't the only one succumbing to heft. Mr. Kermans pants, like mine, had become more and more tight, showing off both his jumbo ass cheeks. Beefy love handles ripening on his sides. On the front, coach's man tits bulged out, almost stealing the show from his ample belly, which had started to outgrow his gym shirt.

He let a sigh. "124 exactly" A guilty smile spread across his bearish face. "Looks like I'm also putting on some more"

But not like it changed anything. We continued to eat a late lunch together. We continued to gorge on donuts together. We continued to stuff ourselves silly after workouts.

And I was ok with that. I didn't want anything to change. All this time with coach had awoken this hunger in me, this craving for more. I couldn't help but eat anything coach supplied me with. It made him happy, it made me happy.

That weekend, coach invited me over to his place to celebrate the milestone. I picked out something comfortable to wear, a task that was becoming increasingly difficult to do. None of my jeans were able to button easily anymore. Sweatpants would have to do.

Coach lived in a fairly well-kept apartment complex. I rang the doorbell on his second-story flat and was greeted by him, smiling as usual, beer in one hand. He wore an open button-down shirt over a sleeveless shirt, and I suspected that that shirt hadn't been closed in some time. His massive abdomen would simply be in the way, spilling out over his khakis.

He embraced me in a quick hug before leading me into his living room. The delicious smell of spaghetti was already emanating out of the kitchen. Coach turned towards me. "I hope you like pasta"
"You know I do"

We sat on the couch and talked a bit about a show we liked before coach got up to announce that the food was ready. He brought out two of those portable tables to eat off while watching tv and filled them up with plates of spaghetti and a glass of coke for me. Coach slumped down beside me and took a large swig of his beer, before realizing it was empty and standing up to get a fresh one.

As he walked away, it occured to me that all this time, he had never mentioned having a wife of sorts, and now I was here where he lived, and it didn't seem like anyone lived with him. Maybe he was divorced? He striked me as someone who wouldn't have trouble finding a girlfriend. But I probably shouldn't interfere with his life like that. He could just be enjoying single life.

Coach sat down next to me one more time, this time with everything ready for our feast.

The TV was turned on and we began digging in. Man, was he a good cook. The spaghetti were the best I've ever had. Soon, my first plate was empty and I got seconds from the coffee table. We entered the same pattern as always, shoveling food down our throats, driven by the other's gusto. Only this time, I was keeping up with him. Helping by helping, I watched him become more nervous that I wasn't slowing down. I think he found satisfaction in outeating me, some part of him got a kick out of the competition. But today, I was sure I could win.

15 minutes in, we were both having trouble breathing. We had both polished off 5 generous servings of pasta in addition to plenty of coke and beer. I had to give up. Neither of us could bear another bite.

Coach was lying back, pants unbuttoned, one hand massaging the giant lump of food in his gut. "Almost beat me there kid" He said with some difficulty.

I chuckled. "Yeah, would have been something, huh?"

He paused to think about my words for a moment. "Well... I suppose the student does have to overtake the master at one point"

What did he mean by that? I didn't have long to go over that thought before coach struggled up and took my plate, before leaning over and emptying the rest of the spaghetti onto it. I eyed the noodles as he passed the helping my way. "Here. You can finish these, right?"

Even though I was fully stuffed, I couldn't say no. Those sparkling eyes, that gut that was currently slighty pressing against my arm. Heck, I wanted that man to feed me himself. But instead I accepted the plate and slowly but steadily slurped down the remains of the meal.

I passed out on that couch, hearing quiet belches beside me, and feeling both our legs touch.