Chapter 1

The coach called me into his office. “Listen, Mark,” he began. “I may have to cut you from the team.”

“Why Coach? I’ve really been improving and you seemed to have been happy with me,” I replied. “What’s changed?”

“I’d like you to play fullback, but you don’t have enough meat on your bones,” he answered.

Maybe last season that would have been true. I was 180 pounds at 6’2. I looked scrawny compared to the other players on the college team. But, I put on the normal freshman weight, ate very well, and worked out like crazy. Now, I was 253 pounds of pure muscle…well, maybe not pure muscle. Too much social drinking at fraternity parties helped me put on a belly in the past month or so.

“Listen, Coach,” I begged. “I’m really serious about staying on the team. I’d be willing to go the extra mile.”

The coach nodded thoughtfully. He walked around me looking me over. Then I was a little taken back when he reached out grabbing my belly. With two hands he kneaded it roughly.

“Ugh…ooff,” I exclaimed in surprise.

“I see you have the start of a ball belly. But, would you be willing to put on some serious weight?” he asked.

“You mean get fat on purpose?” I replied. “Yeah, if I got to stay on the team.”

“Good man,” the coach said. “I was hoping you’d agree. Our major competition this season are some really huge guys – monsters to be exact. They’d knock you right over. Here you go,” the coach said, handing me a slip of paper with an address on it.

“You go here with this letter from me and they’ll fix you right up. You have a month until the beginning of the new season, so eat well,” he instructed. “Get fat – nice and round.”

“Sure, Coach, I’ll eat and get really fat for you,” I said, walking out the door.

Later that day, I arrived at the address the coach gave me. It was a small office building on the south side of town.

"I guess this is the place. I can’t believe that I’m actually going to be encouraged to gain weight. I’ll be able to eat anything I want and as much as I want!"

I rang the bell and the receptionist buzzed me in. A few people were sitting flipping through magazines in the well-lit waiting room. The pretty blonde receptionist greeted me as I handed her the note the coach gave me.

“Oh, yes, you’re one of Coach Greenfield’s boys,” she remarked. “Why don’t you have a seat a minute while I get your paperwork ready.”

“Well, ok,” I shrugged. I guess I’m not the only one the coach has sent here.

The door opened a short portly man in a white lab jacket asked me to come into the office. I was shown into what looked like a doctor’s examination room. There was an oversized examination table, a doctor’s scale, and some instruments.

“Well, Mark, the coach writes to say that you need to gain some weight to play football,” the little man said. “I think we can help you with that. Why don’t you step on the scale and I’ll take some baseline measurements. By the way, I’m Pete. ”

The technician put me on the scale and then I was poked and prodded as he took measurements. He nodded and mumbled to himself in between, jotting notes onto the chart. “I can see you’ve been working out. You have a nice muscular build. Lifting weights?”

“Yeah, I’m at the gym a few times a week working out,” I answered.

“Good, good,” he mumbled, scribbling something else. “Your weight is right now at 251, you have a 40 inch waist, and your gut measures out to a rounding 49 inches. You like to eat, I see,” Pete smiled, poking playful at my belly.

“Yeah, that and the beer. Burgers, beer, the fixings without the turkey, all kinds of heroes, Spanish rice and bean, burritos, ice cream, and cherry pie,” I said. “I love it all.”

“Any allergies?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“Ok, Mark, take a seat. I have to plug a couple of numbers into the computer, put your menu together, and then I’ll bring you inside the facility and introduce you to your feeders,” Pete said, enthusiastically.

“Feeders?” I asked, confused. “I thought…I don’t actually know what I thought.”

“Let me explain. In this facility, we take our clients’ needs, their likes and dislikes, and we help them to meet their potential with a specialized diet and personal encouragers or feeders. You’ll be assigned two feeders. They’re really excellent at their job,” Pete explained. “I’ll be right back to answer any of your questions. I just want you to fill out this food questionnaire while you’re waiting so I can get an idea of your likes and dislikes – if you like any kind of specialty foods we’ll need to get in stock.”

I quickly filled out the paperwork, picked up a magazine, flipped through it, tapped my feet on the floor, and then got up to pace. It was more than a few minutes. I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror in back of the door. I stared hard at my reflection. I was wearing my 501 blue jeans, black belt, cowboy boots, and a tight, hunter green t-shirt rolled up to display my enormous, muscular arms. It also shows off my protruding gut, I thought, laughing to myself.

There was a knock at the door and Pete returned shadowed by two dissimilar men. The man who looked like a professional bodybuilder was introduced as Cole. He wore an iron black lace-up flex short and a Y-back camouflage stringer tank top. His outfit looked as if it were designed to show off his perfect washboard stomach, the huge throbbing pecs, and the biceps and triceps he had braided into intricate patterns from hours of carefully sculpting his tanned body. Gerulf, the other feeder, looked Norwegian. His skin was so pale that it appeared translucent. He had watery blue eyes and white - blonde hair. He was a head taller than me and looked strong, but where Cole looked bulky, Gerulf had more of a long and lean muscle tone. His height was impressive enough.

We sat down and chatted awhile. They asked me about my goals and eating habits and described the program. I was really excited to begin. Apparently, the college would be paying for everything – my food and board for the next few weeks. My job was to sit around and put on as much weight as possible – a dream come true!

Finally it was time to go inside the facility. Pete walked with me as Cole and Gerulf followed down a hospital antiseptic-looking narrow corridor. I overheard Gerulf and Cole speaking softly behind us.

“Hey,” Gerulf whispered to Cole, “I think maybe he should have chosen sweats instead of the jeans.”

Cole chuckled. “He’ll start really feeling the pressure when his belly starts swelling up like an engorged tick. It will be fun to watch his button burst open.”

“He has no idea what’s in store for him,” Gerulf remarked, dryly.

I gulped. I wondered what I was really getting myself into besides a larger size.