Prescription Padding

Chapter 1 - Prescription Padding

Casper had clearly gotten the wrong medication. The name on the bottle wasn't his, not even his dead name, and the medication certainly wasn't the testosterone he was prescribed. Instead, the bottle read PingueGen, its intended recipient very clearly a man that wasn't him. He only wished he'd realized this before injecting the first dose; he'd just been so eager to start his transition...
 
He attempted to call his pharmacist, both to complain about the mix-up and ensure he'd be safe, but all he got was the answering machine. Closed for the night. Groaning, he meandered over to the couch, settling in and wondering what on earth he'd just taken.
 
As the minutes rolled by, the intended effects of the medication made themselves clear. His belly, previously flat and slim, began to bulge out, gently pressing against the bounds of his button-up shirt. He took no notice, instead turning on some sloppily animated sitcom to relax further and shut off his brain.
 
While letting out a laugh at an onscreen joke that honestly didn't deserve it, Casper felt his chin jiggle, reaching up to scratch his beard.
 
Wait, beard?
 
Of course, he'd always had a beard! And his cute, droopy second chin. He'd always been a bit of a bigger man, and he was quite proud of it. He thought his weight made him look more masculine and made him pass a bit better. More cushion for the pushin', he'd always say.
 
Another 20 minutes pass, and the oven dings. Oh man, Casper thought, My pizza's ready!
 
Hoisting himself up to get his pizza out of the oven was harder than he remembered. Or was it? The second he began to question why his thighs quaked and rubbed together or why he wasn't wearing a shirt, his reality seemed to rewrite itself. Of course it was hard getting up; he was a solid 300 lbs! He loved being a big boy and getting to look at himself unencumbered by clothes. Plus, shirts weren't a necessity in his home.
 
The bear of a man finally rocked himself out of his seat on the couch, scratching at his hairy belly as he began to walk—no, waddle—over to the oven. His ass swept back and forth with every step, his cargo shorts struggling to contain the meaty orbs. He was slightly out of breath when he made it into the kitchen, leaning on the counter to compose himself.
 
He let out a little laugh as he felt his breasts press against the counter. What had once been perky boobs now were bona fide sagging man tits, and he gave them a quick squeeze before pulling his pizza out of the oven. Despite his newfound masculinity, he was still quite short, making him all the more rotund.
 
Taking heavy, teetering steps, he made his way back to the couch, ignoring the trash that had accumulated around his house. Dishes in the sink, wrappers all on the ground—it was all normal to the new and improved Casper. He lowered himself back onto the cushions, a squeaky fart escaping his rear from the pressure.
 
By the time Casper's boyfriend arrived home, the pizza was gone, but the evidence sure wasn't. Sauce and crumbs covered the short, stout man as he slept, likely in a food coma. He giggled as he took stock of his partner's condition, cargo shorts being traded for a pair of lightly stained briefs. Casper's hand was down his pants, almost as normal a sight as seeing his boyfriend stuff himself silly. The once skinny and proper man was now a certifiable hog, grunting in his sleep. The PingueGen had changed both their pasts and present, and the effects weren't going anywhere anytime soon.