The Interview

“Thanks, Tom. I’m here with Joe Sampson, an ex-fitness coach and personal trainer who fell off the bandwagon in a big way.”

Joe blushed at the reporter’s emphasis on the word “big” even though it was probably an understatement. “Huge” might’ve been more appropriate. “Colossal”, or maybe “enormous” would’ve suited too.

“Joe is about to embark on a journey that most of us have tried at one point or another: losing weight. Only Joe plans to lose more than most: at least 250 pounds,” the reporter said with a pause for dramatic effect. Then he turned to Joe with a look of earnest interest.

“Joe, why don’t you tell us your story? How did you get to be this way?”

This was it. There was no going back now. He’d already committed himself to losing the weight, but vowing in front of a camera somehow made it more significant. Like confessing to a priest, only his pastor was the entire world.

The gargantuan man took a deep breath as he looked down at the reporter from his higher vantage point. Once composed, he began to tell his story.

“Well, I used to be a personal trainer here at Rocky’s Gym and a couple of years ago I took part in that ‘fit-to-fat-to-fit’ challenge that was going around the internet. The whole idea was to convince people it’s not so hard to get in shape by actually getting fat and then losing the weight.”

“Something must have gone drastically wrong,” the reporter said with a slight chuckle in his voice.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Joe sighed. “About a week before I was set to begin my cutting routine I got into a car accident. Fractured my tibia, couldn’t walk for months. I was housebound, so I just kept gaining weight.”

“And how much do you weigh now?”

Joe felt another rush of blood to his face, but steeled himself as he said his weight aloud. “I weighed in at 504 lbs this morning.”

“Wow, that’s a lot!” The reporter exclaimed.

“Yeah, it was kind of a wakeup call.”

“I mean, you’re certainly a large man, but I would never have guessed you’re over 500 lbs,” the reporter said before doing something entirely unexpected. He lifted the taut fabric of Joe’s shirt so the great sphere of his hairy belly was exposed to the world, then he poked him in the softest part of him.

Unlike many of the morbidly obese patrons that regularly came to Rocky’s Gym seeking a healthier weight, Joe was surprisingly solid despite his size. There were a few 500 pounders who were gym members and most of them were all flabby rolls and billowing excess. Joe, on the other hand, was surprisingly dense. Sure, his legs were as big around as the reporter’s waist, and his chest was so wide his arms were held out at an angle, and his gut stuck out so far that he couldn’t see the edge of the scale, let alone the ends of his feet, but he counted himself lucky that he didn’t have a torso that was a constantly jiggling xylophone.

Still, he wasn’t exactly cool with his massive stomach on display for the world to see. He shuffled back slightly and pulled the shirt back down so it covered his skin.

The reporter’s grin just made Joe even angrier, but he kept his temper in check.

“Guess it’s just good genetics,” Joe offered, but then saw the reporter wave to one of the camera crew. On the live video screen to the side, he saw the interview had been replaced by images of Joe in high school wearing his school’s football uniform.

“Genetics and a lifetime of fitness. You were scouted in high school to join the Wolverines, getting a full scholarship too,” he said as the images switched to Joe in college, all chiseled looks and immense musculature.

Then the screen switched to Joe posing in a thong with even more immense muscles on full display and not an ounce of fat to be found.

“Then you quit football to get into fitness full-time, even winning a few amateur bodybuilding contests. So you’ve never been a stranger to lifting heavy weights,” the reporter said pointedly.

Joe let out a nervous chuckle at the pun, although his cheeks remained flushed. “No, I guess not.”

“And how long did it take you to go from that-” the reporter pointed to the side, but Joe could see in the monitor he was pointing at a superimposed picture of his former bodybuilding days.

“-to this,” he finished by gesturing to Joe’s elephantine form.

Joe coughed before answering. “Um, about two years, give or take,” he mumbled.

“You really blew up, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

“And now you plan to lose it! Why don’t you share with the viewers your workout and diet plans?”

Finally back to a topic Joe was more comfortable with, he inhaled deeply before launching into his prepared statement. “Well, first is diet, as I’m sure you could have guessed. Cutting way back on carbs, and anything with sugar is out, way out. Then, I’ll have Rocky here,” Joe nodded to Rocky over his shoulder behind him, “to put me on the right track with a routine. There’s going to be some light cardio to start, and we’ll add weight training after I ditch a few pounds.”

“A few pounds, or a few hundred?” The reporter offered with another poke to Joe’s middle.

“Something like that,” Joe harrumphed.

“Well, we have some inspirational footage of Joe’s first workout from earlier today. Tom, I hand it back to you with this training montage,” the reporter finished, and Joe was mortified to see his lumbering form on screen as he clomped up to an elliptical machine, then the scene cut to him 10 minutes later, sweat pouring from his brow and his midsection once again exposed to the elements.

As Joe stomped up to the recording crew like an enraged bull he caught a glimpse of his mammoth thighs as they pumped from a reclining bike. “What the fuck was that? You told me this would be a wholesome spot on the evening news!”

“Hey, Stan,” one of the crew members called, and like magic the mousey reporter popped up in front of Joe.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I need to talk to you. You can’t air this,” Joe grumbled in a way he hoped seemed threatening.

“Look, big guy, this is a great piece. What’s wrong?”

“You showed way more of me than I’m comfortable with! And how did you get that footage of me working out?”

Stan waved Joe’s words away. “Oh, Rocky and I go way back. I asked him to send me some of the Gym’s security footage and he obliged.”

“The hell he did!” Then Joe turned to vent his fury on Rocky, but a small hand grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Relax big guy, this is all gonna be fine. The viewers love to see a little skin. Makes you seem relatable,” Stan cooed, but Joe was having none of it.

“And what the hell was with you? You poked me. On television.”

“Oh, that was just me having a little fun for the camera,” Stan admitted, before suddenly looking down sheepishly. “And frankly, I couldn’t help myself.”

Joe couldn’t say why, but the sudden change in demeanor from sleazy journalist to… something approaching bashful brought him up short. “What?”

“Well, I think a man with a belly is kinda cute,” Stan said, then winked.

Joe blinked. Then said, “You wanna go grab a coffee?”

Half an hour later, Stan was laying in bed, naked, his legs wrapped around Joe’s waist while Joe pulled him in, thrusting in and out of the smaller man’s hole in perfect rhythm. Joe had a particularly tall bed, and although he hadn’t used it for such a purpose in quite some time, it was just the right height for him to plow a man standing up.

He could barely see Stan over the horizon of his belly, but he could feel Stan’s hard cock rubbing into the underside of his belly and hear Stan moan out Joe’s name every few thrusts.

Fuck, this is a great workout, Joe thought, wiping the sweat from his brow. A delighted squeal from beneath him signaled Stan’s orgasm, as did the wetness that coated Joe’s underbelly. The sudden shuddering of Stan’s hole felt fantastic, and in moments Joe felt his own orgasm overtake him as he filled Stan to capacity.

Joe unwrapped Stan’s legs from around him and lumbered into bed. The mattress sunk precipitously, causing Stan to fall into Joe’s middle.

“I’m so glad I got those tapes off Rocky,” he said.