Pj & Cooper: Hunger & Heart

Chapter 1: Exposure

PJ had always been the big kid growing up.

Not huge—just soft in the way that made gym teachers sigh and well-meaning relatives offer unsolicited advice. At ten, he was chunky enough to get teased for second helpings. By twelve, he started pulling his shirt off only after jumping in the pool. And by high school, he’d decided: if people were going to judge his body, he’d give them something to admire.
So he got fit. Aggressively so.

Soccer. Swimming. Wrestling. He leaned into a lifestyle of calculated meals, long workouts, and compliments that always felt like little prizes—“You’ve really leaned out,” “You look like a different person,” “Didn’t expect you to move that fast at your size.” The last one stuck with him. He wasn't small. Just... tightly managed.

Now nineteen and a sophomore in college, PJ was lean, broad-shouldered, and quietly obsessed with staying that way. His body was a project. A success story. His gym was his church.

So it was strange—disorienting, even—when, one morning after a run, he found himself staring at something that didn’t fit that story at all.

He was halfway through a bowl of protein cereal, scrolling mindlessly at his desk. His laptop perched on a shoebox to keep things “ergonomic”—a habit he picked up from one of his pre-med roommates. Between intramural sports, student government, and studying, PJ kept himself busy, polished, presentable. Just a good, normal guy.

And yet… there it was. A click that led to another click that led him to a photo: a guy, not unlike himself—handsome, maybe even ex-athletic—lounging shirtless on a bed, smirking, a pizza box perched on the slight curve of his belly.

PJ didn’t know why he didn’t scroll past.

He clicked the image. Then another. Then again.

He had no name for what he was looking at. Before-and-after photos. Men who looked like him—or how he used to look—slowly getting softer. Thickening. Growing. And smiling about it.

He blinked. His bowl of cereal sat forgotten.

Some of the posts were casual: "20 pounds in 6 months," or, "Guess who's up two jeans sizes?" Others were more explicit. A few crossed into fantasy—gaining for attention, for pleasure, for someone else. But most were just… strange, ordinary, disarmingly happy.
PJ closed the browser tab like it had bitten him.

His heart beat faster than it should’ve. It wasn’t arousal, not quite. But it also wasn’t not that. It felt like watching a mirror version of himself doing something he never would. Or never thought he would.

Over the next week, he thought about it more than he wanted to admit.

He didn’t seek it out at first. But then one night, after a night out with friends, tipsy and half-undressed in his room, he pulled up his laptop and typed into the search bar:

“Guys gaining weight on purpose.”

The results were a mix of old and new—blogs, archived posts, videos. But one of the links that caught his eye didn’t go to a glossy site. It led to a Yahoo Groups page.

The name was weird—“College Bellies” or something like it. The interface was ancient. Half the links were broken. But the posts? Dozens, maybe hundreds, from people describing their weight journeys. Not all of them intentional. Some filled with hesitation, guilt, or thrill. Others were confident declarations: "I used to be 175. I'm 240 now and not slowing down."

There were stories, grainy uploads of side-by-side selfies, messages offering encouragement or admiration. And they weren’t all gay—at least not explicitly. Some wrote like they were figuring things out just like him. The tone was oddly intimate, even if no one used their real names. People like guys who are chubby, even fat?, he thought.

He read for over an hour.

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. But it felt big.

PJ didn’t tell anyone. Who could he tell?

His friends were all health freaks and typical college dudes. His one roommate meal-prepped every Sunday and ran 5 times a week. He didn't exactly hang with people who would understand why someone fit and young would want to get soft, let alone post about it.
He didn’t even know what he was curious about.

Was he gay? He didn’t feel like he was. He’d dated girls in high school. Had crushes on girls in college, too. He even had a girl over the week before to watch a movie. Nothing happened, but still. But he wasn’t not into what he’d been looking at.

He kept thinking about softness.

About what it would be like to stop counting calories and grams of protein. To let his stomach go full and round and stay that way.

To feel heavy, to outgrow a shirt and not
replace it.

It wasn’t about laziness. Not really. It was about control.

Or maybe about surrender.

He wasn’t sure. But he couldn't stop thinking about it.