Just something I wrote for myself. Keep me busy while I sift through some nonsense.

Story contains:
Fat furs
Weight gain
Obesity
M/M (Clean)

And as usual if the file doesn't work for whatever reason, it's right here.

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- Month 1, Day 1; The day of the mirror-

You’re never quite caught up with reality as you are when you take a look in the mirror, you realize. You can go days, weeks, and months without noticing some things. Small changes, really. Like how you dress changes over the seasons, how you walk, certain sayings, and habits. It’s just the small stuff. Things you don’t, or can’t even really notice. There’s nothing wrong with that, is what you tell yourself. Now, why would you need to tell yourself that?

Because when you take a look in the mirror? There’s only one thing to notice.

“You’ve put on a few, buddy...”

You can’t help it. Standing there in the mirror, nothing but boxers on, there is pudge. Nothing but pudge. Where once there was the visage of a fox --lithe and fully lean-- there was the visage more fitting of the common man. A soft swell of a gut that wasn’t wholly rotund, but certainly couldn’t be hidden with its small love-handles, and short doughy arms that were made more for playing video games rather than hunting. There wasn’t much difference for the rest of you either. Legs touched with downy flesh that hadn’t been there before, and a nice bubble butt to strain the fabric of your boxers. The only thing missing was a double chin, and even that looked like it was on its way. On the whole, you had let yourself go over the past few months. Frankly, you weren’t really sure how, until your stomach let out a soft growl--which suddenly called to memory all the snacking, all the fatty fast foods you’d been eating. Every double-cheeseburger, every run to the local fried-chicken joint, and all-you-can-eat buffet celebrations. Oh, you weren’t a big time fatty, yet. But at this rate, one had to wonder how much weight you could put on.

You were going to let go, you said.
No more diets, you said.
Just relax and eat, you said.

Well, it seems you’d had your fill of both, you told yourself glumly. No, no. None of that. You were not going to beat yourself up over this. There had never been enough to eat as a kid. And now this? The world hunger crisis having been solved by genetics, the over-abundance of food--not just here in America, but in every country across the globe. There was actually almost too much food for the people of the world. However, rather than simply stop production, the people decided to meet the supply. And they did. These days you could hardly go outside without bumping into a waddling couple taking up most of the space of the sidewalk, or what was becoming more common--people too fat to move being carted off by freight truck to government prepared institutions. This was becoming the norm’, you told yourself. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.
And hey. Maybe if you repeated it enough you’d actually believe it.



-Month 2, Day 12; The mind and the journal-

Well, nearly a month and a half had passed since you’d had that look in the mirror. Since you’d realized you’d gotten fat. At first you had decided that you wouldn’t accept that. You wouldn’t turn into one of those mega-gut fatties! Y-You would hit the gym! Yeah! And you’d lose weight! And you would do this, and that, and oh so many things that you never got around to. Oh, sure you had tried to go to the gym a couple of times. And immediately afterwards, when you were a panting, huffing, hungry mess after a whole five minutes of agonizing work on the treadmill, you decided to head off to the local bakery. A reward for all your “hard” work, you told yourself. To your own credit, you at least lasted two weeks in this self-destructive regiment. Right up until it hit you. Five simple words:

“I just want to eat.”

So here you were a month after the fact, and the pounds had not piled on any slower. If anything, they’d been coming faster than was normal. It seems the miracle solution “Wonda’Grow”, a small liquid that was applied to most foods these days in a much successful attempt at making foods larger, also made them more calorie heavy and fattening. It certainly explained the excessive poundage you’d piled on. A month ago you were resting at an easy, comfortable 150lbs. This week? You’d put on another sixty, topping you at around 210. You had a true-blue gut now, plump and heavy with juicy little love handles that sagged over any of your ill-fitting clothes. It didn’t really much matter that your stomach was fat. The rest of you was too. Your legs were starting to rub against one another now, touching each other whenever you weren’t paying attention--or even when you were. It was hard not to notice the way your arms jiggled ever-so slightly when you were stuffing slices of pizza into your newly fattened muzzle. You thought about trying to get your weight under your control, but every time you did, all you had to do was look outside, or seeing as you were at an all-you-can-eat buffet, around you--where everyone was getting fatter and fatter all the time; shoving obscene amounts of food into their smiling, grease-laden, crumb-filled double chins.. There were days where you were surprised there wasn’t some kind of national convention on the whole things. Just the times changing, you supposed.

Back to your purpose here today though, you were eating, like usual. With worldwide problems being solved day after day, it seemed you didn’t have much else to do but to go and eat. No work, and no real friends to speak of...at any rate; right now, your flabby butt was parked in a chair, loftily spread out in the seat of your pants--the likes of which strained as both you and your gut continued to assault the seams of your jeans with more and more food. As it stood, you were crammed in an ill-fitting Riot T-Shirt; the emblazoned red-fist comically stretched over your man-breasts, with the dome of your gut peeking out from underneath it. As far as things went, with you constantly stuffing gravy-slathered fried chicken into your maw, and your barely fitting clothes, you were still one of the more normal members of society. Looking around, there were all kinds of round-bellied furs. Exposed bellies, and jiggling backsides all a-bouncing in the naked air. Hey, you reasoned. If your gut didn’t reach the floor, and you had clothes that fit--sort of--it wasn’t all that bad. Enheartened by that, you were able to continue your ridiculous gorging. Honestly, a whole plate of chicken. Gone. And you decide that not only are you still hungry, but that you’re going to go for a second plate.

And after that a third.

By now, you were bloated, and the only thing your fat, gravy covered paws were good for at the moment was rubbing your poor, defeated tummy. Don’t worry, you told it in-between mixed groans of pain and ecstasy. The pain would go away, and soon enough you’d be right back to putting even more obscene amounts of food into it. You may have continued on that way, just another fat-ass with too much food to eat, but then again. He showed up.

You heard him long before you actually saw him, as did most of the residents of this particular buffet. It was that ground-shaking crash; the thunderous thud-thud against the pavement, like so many bricks sounding against steel drums. And suddenly, he was waddling in. The largest dragon in the whole town, and at the rate he was always growing, probably the largest in the country. His name Jayce. And quite frankly? He was obese. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Morbidly obese? Humongous? Fat-assimus-maximus?

...Super-calorie-fatty-delicious-adiposi-docious.

Perfect.

In most circumstances, you would be in no position to call someone else fat. But even Jared from subway would not have been able to deny this lupine--he was the prime example of fat. He didn’t waddle into the restaurant, it was more like he careened into it. He was several -yards- wide. Ambling in, you couldn’t tell where he began or where he ended. For all you knew, he could have simply been a host of furs hiding in that stomach--with maybe a couple of buggy-cars tied together and lined up with jelly or something to simulate the legs. You could have sat there pondering how he worked, how he managed to swing those bloated limbs into action when they were all forced together and apart at the same time, by hundreds and hundreds of sweaty fat-laden pounds, but you didn’t. Mostly because he was walking up to you right now, his golden scales glinting--though whether that was the light or the sweat sheen playing tricks on your eyes, you could hardly tell. All that mattered was that he was walking up to you right now. The corpulent dragon had always been big. So much so that he was the talk of the town long before all the good food was coming in spade. Now that you’d thought about it, you never could recall his name. Just that strange feeling in your chest. Never could figure that out--

“Heya.” ...ohgoodlordhehadabarrybondsvoice.

You blink and just wave, a touch taken back at--well. Everything.

“Uh, nice to meet you...?Name’s James. Was comin’ to get a bite to eat, when I saw you. And I--well. ‘know, I’ve seen you around the place. Was wondering if you...erm.”


If you wanted to what? Live? Eat? Not be devoured by the giant golden blob-dragon? WHy, yes,you would indeed enjoy all of these. Last you heard, living and not being digested was indeed something recommended by nine out of ten doctors. And they were doctors! Who were you to argue?

“Wanted to...go out some time?”

...Oh.

Well dating was nice too.


-Month 4, Day 24; Lounging like a bawss (Fat-ass*)-

One of these days, you were going to die. Die and go straight to hell, because you had to already be in heaven. Time had passed, and with it, several things had occurred. You and James had gone on some dates, seen some movies, become friends, had food, sex, food with sex, and-- oh! The most important: sex with food, and the world’s most wonderful morning after. (Cough cough hell, heathen, etcetera. ) Moving on, however. You’d actually been enjoying these last few months. It was strange, just...enjoying yourself. There used to be a time where you would have to be bogged down in work, friends, family, and other things. But nowadays, it seemed you and everyone else was just looking to enjoy themselves. And it was working too, the way you were looking.

James had gone and introduced you to something called gaining. Putting on weight--fat. He said he wanted to introduce you to it. Frankly, you didn’t particularly care. It was an excuse for you to eat, though at first you weren’t really aware of how much you would actually eat. You just woke up one day, a full-course breakfast spread out in your humble abode’s kitchen. And every ounce of it was for you. James was an excellent cook it seemed, with a full dozen eggs of every kind, several package’s worth of bacon, pancakes, waffles, running rivers of syrup. By the time it was all over, you were stuffed to the brim and forced to rest up--right until lunch time, where another feast was still waiting. Were you full? Of course you were. Who couldn’t be. But looking at all that he had cooked and prepared: French fries, burgers by the pound, and bucketfulls of ice cream to go with it all as a desert you felt a certain amount of longing for it that you had never really felt before--not even sex could compare when you were stuffed and still eating. And all that had begun two weeks after you had met one another.

So here you were now, absolutely rotund from the sheer immensity of all the meals you ate, day in and day out. By all means, if someone had told you two months ago you were going to very nearly triple your size in a few measly months, you would have laughed them in the face. Now, you were forced to admit the ugly truth, and that was that you were fat. Not only were you fat, you were morbidly obese. Beyond that even. Almost five hundred and fifty pounds. 550lbs. Of fat. Blubbery. Fox. Was currently wedged into your couch right now. By this juncture it was a small miracle you’d yet to outgrow it. Your haunches were certainly surprised by it. As it stood, your frame was worth two “normal” fatties, with your stomach doing most of the stretching. A distended apron of flab, it was a massive slab of meat--drooping, and falling well over your lap as it spilled towards your knees in a collection of rolls ever propelled forward by gravity and your ever incessant gorging. Even now, after several meals for breakfast, and generous feast for lunch, you were snacking, your fattened limbs jiggling and jostling for every sweet, glazed donut you picked out of your baker’s dozen. You couldn’t actually help yourself, it seemed. Your gut was a constant symphony of groans and whines these days, always begging for more food, no matter how much gluttonous excess had been shoved in it before hand. Left in a near permanent stupor, you were always bordering on the edge of fixed euphoria with only the thought of more roaring in your head. Even now, you might have considered getting up. There was a new pizza joint opening up after all, and they took custom orders to new heights. No one did a quadra extra large pizza like they did...Now, if only your legs weren’t so heavy. Heavy fat-laden pillars, that were forced to support your gargantuan stomach at all points of the day, it wasn’t really worth the effort to get up.

Oh, well. Maybe later in the day he’d feel up for it.