Fatter - Part 2

Nothing worked. The diet I started did nothing to slow my steady gain. Eventually I started exercising, buying a whole new wardrobe to fit my larger frame, but it was all for naught. Every day a pound or two. Every day the number would creep higher and higher.

At about 40 pounds more I sank into despair. I literally ate nothing for an entire day, thinking that nothing could overcome physics. You simply can’t get larger if all you do is breathe and excrete. But I was wrong. The next day I read the number on my digital scale: 286, a gain of 1.5 pounds.

Unable to comprehend what was happening to me, I instead tried to comprehend the person I was looking at in the bathroom mirror. The reflection still had my face, sort of. The eyes were the same color and in the same spot, and I recognized the shape of the mouth and nose, but the overall features were different. Wider. My neck, cheeks, and everything below my eyes just seemed thick and puffy, almost like I was having an allergic reaction to something. Even opening and closing my mouth just felt different, like there was something hanging off my face, even though it was my own flesh.

That same feeling continued throughout my body, in fact. My chest had always used to be… well, not defined by any stretch of the imagination, but a solid and flat shelf. Now there were two mounds that hung from their own weight, the peaks stretching my nipple wider than I’d ever seen it before. They seemed to have a life of their own and jiggled with even the slightest movement.

What was once a noticeable gut had grown into a sizeable tank. For the first time there was a crease where its own mass caused it to hang in much the same way my new tits did. And just like them, the flabbiest parts jiggled and moved with every tiny shuffle and every tiny inhalation.

There was more. I noted how the area beneath my gut looked just as puffy as my face, and even seemed to swallow the base of my dick making it appear shorter. I was never anything particularly special down there, but it was still yet another blow I was hardly prepared for at the moment.

Thighs, arms, and even my fingers were all just… fatter. Just like the man had said.

I broke down and cried great heaving sobs. Each one would make my new flesh wobble and I’d cry even harder creating a vicious cycle. I don’t know how long I went on for, maybe an hour, maybe all day. But eventually, I decided the best thing for me to do was sleep and then, in the morning I’d go back to the accident and see if I could track down the elderly man I’d almost struck.

I already knew I’d wake up the next morning even fatter than before, and the thought made me cry myself to sleep.

There were several problems with my plan. First, none of my clothes fit. My enlarged love handles and distended belly were both spilling out from under my shirt and over my jeans, which looked tight enough to split if I even thought about bending over. Second, I drove a pretty nondescript compact car, and getting inside was just short of impossible. Pretty soon I won’t be able to stuff myself inside at all.

And third, even with the chair pushed all the way back, my belly still stuck out far enough to jam underneath the steering wheel. This made steering especially difficult as I had to push against the friction produced by my own stomach.

But I had to push past all of it. I knew that the weird old guy was the reason I was in this mess, and he was the one I had to beg to get out of it.

Only he wasn’t there. I drove around for an hour and didn’t see anyone that even remotely resembled the old man. If he was a drifter he could be miles away by now.

I pulled over, feeling like I was moments away from crying again. Then I heard a rap on my window. Startled, I rolled it down and stared up at a slightly effeminate man chewing bubble gum and wearing far too many loopy pieces of jewelry.

“Looking for a good time, big boy?”

I was too stunned to even reply. My mouth hung open so low I could feel my double chin touching against my upper chest.

Eventually I stammered, “No, no, I’m looking for someone. Older gentleman, big beard, sort of… I dunno, homeless lookin’?”

“You mean Old Wick?”

My heart leaped into my throat. “You know him? Where is he?! I need to ask him… something.”

“Well, he’s sort of around. Don’t know where he sleeps though, if you know what I mean,” he finished with a giggle. “Why don’t you come along with me and pass the time while we wait for him? You look like you could do with some relief in more than one way.”

He motioned towards my shirt and I could see the beginnings of a tear in the center where my tits were pulling the fabric apart.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t afford to pay you and-”

This seemed to throw the guy outside my car into a rage. He pulled back and then thrust his head almost inside the car and spat in my face. “The fuck you talkin’ about money? I just wanted to sit on your dick, but I guess your fat ass doesn’t have a workin’ one. Fuck you,” he finished, and then stormed off.

I sat there for a few moments just completely stunned. The man’s spittle was sliding down a chubby cheek when I heard a rap from the other side of my car. It was him! The old man… Old Wick!

I tried to reach over to the other side of the car to roll down the window, but with my new girth I couldn’t. I held up a hand to try and tell him I wanted to talk to him, and he just smiled a strange smile. Then he scowled, pressed his face into the side window and fogged the glass with his breath. He drew something, it looked like a stick between two circles, and then it seemed like he was trying to say something.  I couldn’t hear it, but his mouth seemed to make an “O” shape. Then he started to shuffle away.

Panicked, I tried to get out of the car as far as I could. First I got stuck on my seatbelt which had cut into my waist dangerously tight. Then I couldn’t get out from my seat, the steering wheel keeping my pelvis firmly implanted even when adjusted to be at its highest. I tried to wiggle myself out of my open door in a sort of butt-shimmy sideways. It worked, but I fell onto the sidewalk practically on my face.

By the time I had gotten to my feet, he was gone.

I cursed, loudly, kicking my car several times until there was a dent. And then I heard the rip I’d been dreading all day. I sighed, held back my tears, and got back into the car to search for Old Wick.

I never found him.

After spending all day, I finally drove myself home completely dejected. I didn’t bother eating--I apparently didn’t need to anyway. I just sat on the couch mindlessly flipping through channels for I don’t even know how long, too sad and numb to really care about what I was watching.

Then I felt something… a stirring between my thighs. I reached over my belly and felt that I’d somehow gotten an erection. And not just a half-chub either--a full, raging boner. It had been weeks since I’d last taken care of business, and perhaps I’d been sad for so long that my own body decided it needed to go on autopilot to satisfy its own needs.

Mentally, I just said, “fuck it.” I switched off, turned to porn, and started the usual business of pleasuring myself. I tried to not think about how much less shaft I there was, or how I had to dig into my own fat crotch to feel like I was stroking my entire length. Or how my belly was blocking my view and causing me to hold my arm out at a strange angle and work muscles I never had to before.

I found a porno on TV and very quickly came. I produced a fair amount during my fat-induced depression and I left a veritable puddle on the ground. A surprising amount, in fact.

It was the first bit of relief I’d felt in a while. I laid back and sighed, and noticed that my boner wasn’t going away. So I kept watching, kept stroking, and came again. And again. And then a fourth time.

At some point I lost track. I fell asleep on the couch covered in my own spunk. And when I woke up the following morning, my morning wood was hard so hard it hurt.