Chapter 4 - iv

After we broke up, I was...destroyed. I know, it was for the best but still. You can't just walk away from something like that without any scars.

But I eventually came to the realization that I was free, you know? I can make my own decisions without any consequences being exposed to those close to me. So I got to it. I began drinking meal replacements with my meals. Gainer shakes. Snacks between breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Adding ranch wherever I could. Basically, I did everything I could to get fatter.

When we split, I was 186. After two years, I managed to reach 240 pounds just on my own. And to be honest, it was a lot of fun. A lot of comments, a lot of rips and tears and button pops...it's been quite a journey.

Remember those forums I used to frequent? Those sites I'd visit when you weren't around? Well someone had put the message out that they were looking for participants. Volunteers.

I didn't believe it at first and even got ready to expose them as liars! I procured a camera and microphone I could hide and paid a visit to the address I finally received after a few messages.

And...well...I found what you found when you got here. A beautiful institution that wants to examine the effects of massive weight gain on the human body. The purpose for these studies vary, as many companies and governments are chipping in for this little endeavor, but for the people that sign up...we get fatter.

They set me up in a room on the Second Floor since I was already in my mind 200's.. It was largely similar to the room you saw. Except it wasn't designed to minimize movement or exertion. The bed was a normal bed, if a little wide. None of the seats were motorized.

That didn't come until the Third Floor.

To be honest, no one spends a lot of time on the Third Floor, reserved for the residents that have reached the 300 pound mark. By that point, the methods here have gradually increased your appetite to where you feel ravenous if you aren't so full you feel ready to explode.

And in a way, you do explode. Either in the form of an orgasm or...well...you were there when I "exploded" upstairs. Sometimes, the best feeling is the relief.

I couldn't honestly tell you which I love more. The fullness or the reprieve from that fullness, which quickly becomes hunger again.

So yeah, I didn't spend long on the Third Floor.

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< br>"I've been on the Fourth Floor for about three months now," Dean explains, sinking his teeth into the biggest burger I had ever seen.

I was chewing my caesar-dressing-drenched romaine lettuce and grilled chicken and could only raise my eyebrows in response. I chewed and chewed, covering my mouth, anticipating my next words, chewing, chewing, swallow...speak.

"So what is, like, your 'goal' weight?" I ask.

He's still chewing, rolling his eyes as if waiting for him to chew is more annoying to himself than it is to me. Dean was always empathetic. And really, I'd wait all day to hear his response. I wasn't in any hurry to go home. Physically, he wasn't the Dean I remembered, but he was still Dean. I could see him, I could "feel" him, and I was enjoying being with him.

"Well," he paused. I suddenly realize he was using the chewing as a way to stall. He was embarrassed to say. "I, uh, had to set a goal weight when signing up here. It's almost like picking the duration of a lease when renting an apartment."

I gathered more bites of juicy chicken, crispy romaine, and even managed to slide some flakes of parmesan and bits of croutons onto my fork. "And when you signed up, you put down..." I cajoled before wrapping my lips around the most beautifully constructed bite of the most decadent caesar salad I have ever experienced.

Dean gulped, swallowing what was left of his bite, clearing his tongue and cheeks for conversation. "Top Floor," he said. He wouldn't meet my gaze, instead analyzing the burger he held, trying to determine his next bite.

"Top Floor?" I ask, my hand hiding my mouth as I had not yet swallowed but couldn't wait to confirm. I had deduced by this point that your floor of residence was dependent on your weight yet I had no idea how many stories this building had.

For example, the Third Floor housed anyone living here that was between the 300-399 weight range.

The Fourth Floor was reserved for those that had reached supersized levels of obesity, which meant anyone weighing between 400 and 499 pounds. And so forth, and so on, until, I guess, the coveted "Top Floor."

"The Top Floor..." Dean began, setting his burger down. He locks his gaze with me, leaning forward onto his elbows. Hunched forward, he's a large half circle, with a face of someone I once loved with every ounce of my heart. "...is for the ones that reach half-a-ton."

"One thousand pounds?!" I shout, accidentally spitting particles of food in surprise. I lowered my voice and leaned forward, incredulous. "You're trying to weigh one thousand pounds?" I ask.

Dean nodded, blushing deeply, looking down at his meal to avoid meeting my gaze.

"Wow. I mean...huh," I say. What else can I say? What should I say? "Good for you," I add.

It may have slipped out before I had a chance to really think about it. But once I said it aloud, I realized that I was proud of Dean. "Yeah. Good for you, Dean!"

"Seriously?" he chuckles, getting over his shame and finally connecting his eyes with mine.

"Yeah! Hell yeah!" I add. I am on board. I realize I am super happy for him. He found the perfect way to manifest his deepest desires, and he deserved every pound. He wasn't only good to me, Dean was great to everyone. Always full of love and empathy...he just wanted everyone to be happy.

And this is the realization I have as I look into his excited eyes, my own stinging with the threat of tears. But tears of happiness, tears of pride, tears of relief.

Dean was going to be okay. He was going to be fat as hell, but he was going to be happy.

He went on to tell me about a girl that was already on the Third Floor when he moved in. Serena. They were neighbors for a brief moment, sharing meals and discussions over cafeteria visits, before she eventually got moved upwards. He told me about the pact they made, to reconnect soon. Then, he was only scheduled to reach the Fifth Floor before his weight would be monitored and maintained. But he renegotiated his deal, in hopes that he would see her again.

You see, the interaction between tenets of different weights is all very calculated. No one can venture to any floor above their weight range. And no one above 600 pounds is allowed below the Sixth Floor.

The last Dean heard, Serena had reached 601 and was being moved to the Sixth Floor. So he knew the only way to catch her was to gain as much as he could as fast as possible, and you don't get the most intense gaining regimens without agreeing to reach the Top Floor.

"I don't even want to tell you about the methods they do to hit the weights I must in order to stay on schedule," Dean explains through a mouthful of sauce-drenched fries. "In fact, umm..." he hesitated before shoving another handful of greasy, crunchy fries into his chubby cheeks.

"Yes?" I ask, coaxing out his more adventurous side. Knowing Dean doesn't get many opportunities to talk about this part of his life, I want him to have every chance to discuss anything about this experience he would like to discuss without any judgement.

"Well, I mean, how long do you think it takes to get fat through eating, alone?" Dean asks, hoping I'll piece it together for myself and he won't have to say it out loud. "I mean, like, really fat. The kind of fat we're dealing with on this scale."

"I don't know. You could probably get in a pound a week?" I speculate.

"Too slow," Dean replies. "But if you have more than one source of input..."

I raise an eyebrow and give him a smirk.

"...even if it interrupts your output..."

My eyes went wide.

"Are you saying..."

He nods.

"Up your butt?" I ask. A quick giggle escapes me involuntarily.

He nods. "It's a controversial, yet proven, method," he says, as if feeling the need to defend what he's going through.

"Well, one thing's for sure..." I say shrugging as I return to my enormous, yet depleting bowl of "salad."

"What's that?" Dean asks nervously.

I hold my large, dripping bite of the decadent salad just by my lips as I look over to him and answer: "you'll be on the Top Floor in no time." I finally take my bite and smile as I chew, giving Dean a wink.

He blushed again and diverted his gaze.