Two Fat Spaniards

Chapter 1

Carlos and Diego had never been to Londres before, they were really looking forward to it. Not only was it a chance to practice their English with native speakers, beyond the few tourists they bumped into in Valencia, but it was also a chance to taste the famous English cuisine.

Not content with paella and tapas they couldn’t wait to try traditional English fish n chips, roast beef with Yorkshire puddings and gravy, jellied eels, and pie and mash. Diego was also interested in British desserts. He’d always had a sweet tooth and couldn’t wait to tuck in to some jam and Bakewell tarts, rhubarb crumble, Eton mess, apple dumpling, and spotted dick.

Carlos said that he would, of course, partake in dessert, but he was more looking forward to the beers. Bored of Spanish lagers he was keen to test out all of the stouts and real ales. He’d heard that the Guinness in the British Isles was far superior in quality to anything exported to Spain, and that it even contained enough calories and nutrients to be considered a meal in its own right. He couldn’t wait to see how many pints of ‘the black stuff’ he’d be able to put down him.

They landed at Heathrow Terminal 2 on a hot day in early July. Used to the heat they both wore full tracksuits that hugged their fuller forms, and laughed at the pale sweaty messes that the scantily clad English appeared to be. They got through passport control quickly despite the crowds, thanks to the automated scanning machines, and were soon on the express train heading for Paddington Station. They were in high spirits and Carlos joked about meeting a Peruvian bear on the platform. They disembarked the train after barely fifteen minutes and headed straight for the pub.

They settled on The Royal Exchange, a traditional London pub on the corner of St Michael’s Street and Sale Place. They took a seat on one of the wooden benches outside and waited a few minutes to be served before realising that you need to go in and order at the bar. Carlos ordered the rotisserie chicken and the crispy pork belly along with his highly anticipated pint of Guinness. Diego went for the fish n chips and a pale ale. He took only one main as he wanted to save room for dessert.

Carlos had never tasted a beer before that was so thick and filling. It was smooth and heavy and gasless, and slithered down his throat with such ease that he drank half of the pint in one mouthful. Thankfully pints provided him with a larger quantity of beer in a single glass than he was used to. He looked around at all the sunburned British men, straining their sweat stained t-shirts with their beer bellies, and immediately realised why so many of them shared the same figure. As the smooth ale filtered down into his own stomach he thought about how he had never drunk anything so heavy before. It felt like he’d eaten half a burger, yet it had gone down so quickly and easily. It became clear to him that he wasn’t going to struggle to drink quite a lot more.

Diego loved his fish n chips but wasn’t so sure about the pale ale. It had a weird soapy taste to it, like someone hadn’t rinsed out the glass after washing it. He switched to pints of Estrella Damm after only his first drink. Carlos ribbed him for this but he didn’t care about breaking their self-imposed rule of authentic food stuffs only, he was more interested in studying the dessert menu. This was limited, but he was very pleased to see apple pie and custard. He ordered three portions.

…

I should say at this point that Carlos and Diego were gainers; just in case you’re wondering why these two fat Spaniards had such large appetites and strong associations with food. I knew that they were gainers because my brother is one. What I wasn’t sure about is whether they were gay or not. They didn’t look gay, but then again neither did my brother. Well, not until I saw him kissing a Swedish guy.

Carlos had spiky black hair shaved around the sides with two high tram lines. His face and neck were layered with fat giving him the appearance of having a large head. His pug-like sticky out ears looked small by comparison to the rest of his bloated face. He wore a small silver earring in one of them and had thick black Spanish eyebrows. He wore a black matching tracksuit that looked to be quite expensive and high in quality, in spite of only the two white stripes that ran down each arm and leg. The tracksuit top was done up all the way up causing it to sit tighter around his large fleshy chest. His stomach was large and bloated; soft on the eyes, yet heavy looking, as it drooped over the waist of his tracksuit bottoms in every direction. His ass was thick and wide, and round and plush. He clearly wore elasticated sportswear for comfort though he told me that it was for fashion.

Diego had shoulder length curly brown hair that hung slightly over his forehead. He had brown eyes and a slightly reddened nose and cheeks with just a few barely noticeable freckles dotted on them. His cheeks and face in general, were so fat that he appeared to have no neck. He wore an all blue Nike tracksuit, the hood of which sat round the rolls of fat where his neck should have been. It hung loosely off his broad shoulders as he kept it just a little unzipped, revealing an off-white t-shirt that clung to his fatty layers. His breasts were wide and droopy and his stomach the same. He had the fattest thighs that I’d ever seen and was relatively short, giving him the appearance of being quite squat. Somehow he was even fatter than Carlos.

I need to stop talking about them now and return to the action as this is the part where I come in.

…

Carlos was just finishing adding the pork belly to his own when he looked up and saw me. I noticed him eyeing me as I waddled into the pub. It was a baking hot day and I could feel the sweat running down my forehead. The interior of the pub was rammed and there was no air conditioning so I ordered my beer and headed straight back outside. I glanced around looking for any empty space on the benches, but all of them were taken. That’s when I noticed that the same fat Spanish guy was still looking at me. He said something to his friend in Spanish and his friend inched his massive ass slightly to the side in order to make space for me. Carlos motioned me to sit down. I was uncertain as to his intentions but it was so hot and they were just in the shade from one of the pub’s awnings, plus my lower back was aching to hell. I went over to talk to them.
They welcomed me and asked my name. “Jakey”, I told them. It sounded funny when they repeated it in a Spanish accent. They explained that they had just arrived in London for a long weekend and were hoping to try out the best local food and practice their English. Carlos admitted that he thought that I seemed like the right person to talk to in order to do both. I took this as both a compliment and an insult. It’s nice to know that I look approachable but I’m fed up to the hind teeth with people calling me fat and making false assumptions about my weight. I’m not my brother.

The bench creaked when I sat down. I have to admit that me and Diego barely fit. Every other bench held three people with ease. It turned out that both Carlos and Diego were super chill and friendly. Though I did wonder how Carlos could drink Guinness in that heat. They told me about their home town, Valencia, which I only knew through the football team. They told me that they didn’t like football. This caused the conversation to temporarily halt but it soon started up again when Diego asked me where the best places were in London to eat. I told them about the great selection in China Town, about my favourite Indian in Hampstead, and about Aroma’s all-you-can-eat in Shephard’s Bush. I was surprised when they weren’t interested in any of them. “But you are gainers, right?” I asked.

They both raised a thick eyebrow at me and I was worried that I had spoken out of turn. It would be just like me to open my mouth and put my foot in it. It’s just that when I see a guy eating two mains and another eating three of the same desserts that it reminds me of my brother. Carlos asked me how I could possibly know such a thing. I mentioned the amount of food that they had ordered and that my brother was purposefully gaining weight. That seemed to relax them. They asked if I was a gainer. I said no. They seemed surprised. They asked me if I could eat three portions of apple pie and custard. I said yes. They asked me if I wanted to; that they would pay. I said yes, as I don’t believe in turning down free food.

I stayed with them for about three hours. I bought them a round of drinks as thanks for the slices of pie, and they bought me three times as many drinks back. We were all a little drunk when we left. They headed off to find their hotel and I headed home.

They were staying at the Hyde Park Court Hotel. A two star hotel in an old Victorian town house that looked much better from the outside than the in. Once in their room they ordered in fish n chips as Carlos hadn’t had any yet and sat up till four am drinking cans of Hobgoblin Ruby Red Ale and Madri. I didn’t see them again; but my brother did.

…

Unbeknown to me Diego had done a search for my brother on a gainer website as soon as I had mentioned him. I don’t recall telling them his name but I guess I must’ve done. They both sent him friend requests, which he accepted because he accepts them from anyone with a gut and a cute smile, and immediately sent him DM’s. He agreed to meet them for lunch and dinner the next day.

Michael suggested that they meet at Blacklock’s in Soho, one of the highest rated carverys in the city. Michael told me that he was impressed with how much my new Spanish friends could eat. They all had all of the three starters on offer, which were: mushrooms on toast, crayfish cocktails, and pigs head on toast. That last one comes served with pickled chillies and gravy. Apparently it’s delicious. I’ll have to try it one day. Carlos and Diego loved the idea of eating slices of a pig’s face. They thought it ironic. For mains they had three ‘All In Roasts’, these are designed for at least two people but quite frankly anyone with any sense takes one for themselves. These contain beef, lamb, and pork, with all the trimmings, are smothered in marrow gravy, and have Yorkshire puddings the size of a baby’s head. Carlos and Diego were thrilled. The three of them drank six beefy mary’s (bloody mary’s with beef jus) apiece and left feeling stuffed but slightly tipsy.

For dinner, Michael took them to The Pig and Butcher, where they had hand picked Cornish crabs and muscles for starters, butter poached halibut and south coast seabass for mains. Here they also had dessert and at Diego’s insistence they all tried all five. Hence the mango and passionfruit pavlova, white chocolate and raspberry cheesecake, chocolate espuma, banana parfait, strawberry and jasmine tart, and English cheeseboard all made their way into my brother’s already expansive gut in order to purposefully add even more fat to it. I don’t know what or how much they had to drink as Michael can’t remember. I’m guessing it’s a lot.

By this time Carlos and Diego were so heavily distended that they had to be rolled into a black cab and sent off to their hotel by themselves. The last Michael saw of them was the crack of Diego’s ass as he heaved him up into the taxi. He would’ve enjoyed that.

No one is sure exactly where they went on the Monday but Michael showed me pictures of them that they had shared on gainer social media in which they were stuffing themselves with Gregg’s sausage rolls, steakbakes, and bacon breakfast rolls. Michael thought that they might just have been doing some sight seeing. I asked him if he thought that they’d gotten any fatter while they had been in London and he said, “Without a doubt.” He seemed very pleased about this. I asked him if he thought that was why the plane was overloaded. He told me not to be ridiculous. A few extra pounds on the bellies of a couple of Spanish fat asses couldn’t possibly bring down a 737, could it?

Ryanair claims not.

I’ve never met anyone who’s died before. They were nice normal guys. Just like me and Michael. That could have been us coming back from one of our all-inclusives on the Costa del Sol.

I’m not sure what the moral of this story is or even if it has one. It’s not really a fable either. The only animal in the story is a pig’s head and that gets eaten by three fat gainer boys.

I asked Michael if he’s scared of flying now and he said of course not. He said that the only thing we have to fear on a plane is the cost of two seats.

I wonder if Carlos and Diego paid for two seats each? They looked like they needed it. Now that I think about it, if they did have two seats each, then that’s two other people that couldn’t get on the plane? That’s two lives saved, right? Lives saved thanks to two fat Spaniards.

I think I’ve worked out the moral to my story now, Miss. It doesn’t matter how fat you are or how fat you get. You may as well eat yourself into bedridden oblivion as you’re only going to die anyway.

I like that moral. It makes me feel better about myself. Thanks for reading, Miss. I’m off to McDonald’s!



Teacher’s notes:

A well written story with good descriptions, despite the dubious ending and moral implications. Also, you change from third person to first person narration about a third of the way through your story. This is generally not advised as it can confuse and alienate your reader. Also; also, don’t admit to me that you’ve been out underage drinking in the city by yourself! I’m your teacher not your friend!