Chapter 3 - iii

Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, he was ready to eat again. But he had also regained his strength (massive feasts leave him absolutely powerless) and began to rise from the bed. Or rather, the bed itself began to rise. It slowly shifted into a more vertical position, allowing Dean to expel minimum effort in getting up.

He waddled toward me, a loose grip on the blanket he had pulled up to his belly button. I realized that even if he wasn't putting forth an effort to remain "covered," I wouldn't have been able to see his manhood anyway. In fact, I was pretty sure it had been a while since he had seen his own dick.

He hugs me and he's so...pillowy. He felt like falling into layers and layers of blankets on top of a waterbed. I found myself squeezing a bit harder than I would have thought and for a bit longer than he had probably anticipated.

Knowing Dean, he's going to hug me until I pull away, so I take my fill and let go. With my hands still holding his forearms, I ask, "How have you been?"

"Good! Good," he replies, smiling. "You?"

I shrug and smile and nod before saying, "Good! You know, making rent and hanging out."

"That's good to hear!" Dean says. We stare at each other for a moment, my eyes mentally noting the parts of Dean I remember but also taking note of Dean's...additions. His face was largely the same, just a bit fuller with a more subtle double chin than you'd think. For a guy his size, it seems like his face would be fatter and while the changes are noticeable, it appears to be the least affected part of his physique.

I glance down at his massive boobs. I mean...there's no other way to describe them. They're definitely boobs. Not breasts, not even really man boobs or moobs...they're boobs. And they...fit him somehow.

His boobs rest on his massive belly which is largely covered by the sheet. "I'm going to get dressed and we'll head downstairs to the cafeteria. Cool?"

My head shakes and I realize it's not readily obvious if it's in the negative or the affirmative so I just say, "Cool, yeah, sure."

He turns, skillfully swinging the sheet from covering his front to covering his ass. But not before I get a brief glimpse of just how...huge it is. Well done, Dean. Well done.

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One of the first rules I learn about this place is that the "residents" (like Dean) are limited to a certain number of steps per day. He is forbidden to expel more energy than necessary in order to reach certain weights within certain deadlines.

I know, it's...weird. But that's why he was currently riding in a large, motorized wheelchair by my side, as we ventured down the hall to the nearest elevator. He had dressed himself in a pair of gray sweat pants, with a black, cotton t-shirt underneath a gray hoodie. The hall was largely empty, save for the nursemaids pushing food carts that were either loaded, or recently emptied. Some were emerging from living quarters with clear plates.

There was one other fatty that seemed to be close to Dean in size, and in similar attire, riding in his own motorized wheelchair, but in the opposite direction. He nodded to us with a shy smile, and we returned the acknowledgement.

"Sorry, everyone's embarrassed to be here," Dean explains. "No matter your reason, there's just something about intentionally getting fatter that just...displays your inner desires to the outside world. We can't hide it. We wear our secrets in the weight we carry. And, no offense, but you kind of represent the outside world."

I immediately lower my gaze, as if that will help the situation. "Oh, I..." I trail off. I suddenly feel like a true outsider in a hidden, pocket universe.

"No, it's fine. There's nothing wrong about getting visitors," Dean assures me.

"So, how did you end up here?" I ask, knowing it to be a bit of a loaded question.

He explains...