Carlos and Me

Chapter 1 - Carlos Makes a Big Decision

“I’m getting fat,” Carlos said as he stared at his stomach.

We were on the couch, watching Drag Race, and the declaration came out of nowhere.

“No, you’re not,” I told my roommate. Just to prove it to him, I lifted up my shirt and showed the stomach rolls that I’d grown over the last year. “I’m getting fat. Not you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he corrected me. “I mean, I’ve decided that I’m going to get fat.”

I muted the TV. “What?”

“I think I’d look good with a belly,” he said. “I mean, it looks good on you.”

“Thank you?” I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me. Despite all the comments and tummy-pokes I’d gotten from our other friends, Carlos had always kept really silent when the topic of my weight gain came up. I’d just crossed into 200 territory, so maybe now he was starting on me, too.

“You’re welcome,” he said, implying that his compliment was real.

“You don’t want to get fat.”

“Why? You don’t want to share the spotlight?”

I didn’t understand.

“Don’t play dumb. Everyone’s always talking about how fat you are now. To your face. Behind your back. I want that kind of attention, too.”

“But… it’s not good attention.” I hated when our friends made fun of my new belly. It really pissed me off. All our friends were twinks and gym-obsessed muscle heads, and I felt like such a loser next to them. No one noticed me at the clubs. I was too insecure to go dancing because I knew I’d jiggle all over the place. I hadn’t had a real date in months. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

And Carlos wasn’t my worst enemy. He was my roommate, and pretty much my best friend. Plus, he was super-hot. Dark hair. Nice chin. Sort of like Jacob Elordi, except short and Latino. He couldn’t seriously be thinking of throwing that all away just so he could get people to poke him in the belly.

“I like the attention you get,” he said. “I think it’s hot.”

“So you’re like a gainer now?”

“I guess.” He puffed out his stomach to see what it would look like. “So? Will you help me?”

“Help you get fat?”

“I mean, you’re the expert.” He acted like I was 300 pounds or something. I wasn’t even really fat. Just chubby. Just gay-fat.

“Sure,” I said. “If that’s really what you want.”

He leaned over and hugged me. “You’re the best, man. Just write down everything I need to eat each day and I’ll do it.”

This was very weird. But whatever. Odds are, he’d gain ten pounds and then move on to something else.