My Boyfriend's Moobs

Chapter 1

After three months on his new antidepressant pills, Charles had grown moobs.

We knew that weight gain was one of the possible side effects (and we’d prepared for that), but we didn’t realize that his gain would focus almost exclusively on his chest. Sure, his stomach softened up (which I was okay with) and his ass got fatter (which I really liked), but neither of us were ready for the moobs.

They were unmistakable. He went from firm pecs to sloping, protruding tits in record time. No shirt could hide them. And they were so soft that every movement he made sent them jiggling.

It’s one thing to turn into a fat guy. I’d dated fat guys before. I found that body type quite sexy. But that’s totally different from a (mostly) skinny guy with massive, milkable tits. I mean, neither of us wanted that.

Charles seemed really self-conscious about them, and I didn’t disagree. I’d always loved how manly Charles was, and there was absolutely nothing manly about that chest.

He walked into the bedroom in his pajama top, his chest wobbling with each step. He used to go to bed shirtless, but he definitely didn’t anymore. “Babe,” he said. “I think I should go off the meds.”

He climbed into bed next to me, his chest drooping obscenely.

“Because of…” (I couldn’t even say the word.)

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“And what does your doctor say?”

Charles had negative reactions to every other medication that he tried. Most of them made his depression worse, and a few had even led to violent episodes. We knew that these pills were his last chance, and so far, they’d worked perfectly. He felt happier than he ever had. I’d seen him at his worse, and right now, outside of his tits, he was at his best.

“He’s against it,” Charles explained. “But… I don’t know. If I go cold-turkey for a bit, see what happens, then maybe…”

“No! You can’t do that.”

“But I… I look freakish.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But I do! And they’re so freaking sensitive now. I tried to wear that binder yesterday, and it was awful. I don’t want to live with these.” He jiggled his moobs with such anger, like he wanted to rip them off his body.

“Okay,” I said, “let’s weigh your options. You can’t go off the meds. We both agree about that. Right? Right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Good. Now, you’ve been on these pills for three months. And how much weight have you gained?”

“Twelve pounds.”

“That’s not a lot.”

“But it’s all my chest!”

“How about this? We both talked about you getting chubby. And we’re fine with that. So why don’t you… try to gain faster?”

He looked at me like I was crazy.

“Hear me out. Bears are cute. Big bellies are really cute. Why don’t we grow a big belly on you, and then your chest won’t look so out-of-place, you know?”

It was twisted logic, I had to admit. But it made sense.

Charles considered the idea. “I could get fat all over.”

“Exactly. For some reason, your chest was the first place to get fat. Genetics, I guess. I doubt that it’ll get much bigger. So the more you eat, the more the rest of your body can catch up.”

“Okay,” he said, weirdly confident.

I jumped up and hugged him.