BrokenCassette
Well-Known Member
~BHM ~BBW ~FFA ~Romance
[Author's note: I've been wanting to write a story like this for so long, I finally got it down on paper (digital paper, at least). It's probably gonna be on the shorter side, but I've got a lot planned for it, so I hope you all enjoy.
CHAPTER ONE
I’ll admit, I never thought I would be the kind of guy to give into an idea as dated and ineffective as ‘fat camp’, but then again, it wasn’t entirely my idea. It wasn’t a direct command from anyone else, either. Not really. Every time I came back home for a weekend my mom would mention how much her church group’s sons and daughters had enjoyed it, and how much weight they’d all lost. She didn’t spare any details, either - she was already passing photographs to me before the words had even fully left her mouth.
One particularly shocking photo was of a boy who weighed close to 500 pounds before going to the camp - his “before” picture looked like a pile of pink play dough someone had molded into a crude effigy of some shy looking guy with big blue eyes and more rolls than a bakery. On the right was what I assumed was the same boy, only about three times smaller, striking a confident pose at the camera as he grinned happily and gave two thumbs up, a pair of blue shorts hugging his now slim and toned legs.
Another she loved to show me was of a girl that, no offense to her, really did look like a small whale stuffed into a garish yellow sundress. For her “ after” photo she was shown holding up her old jeans, looking into the camera with such relish it made me a little uncomfortable. Although I tried to seem interested, it didn’t stop my mother from hanging them both on the fridge door. The subtlety of her hinting was getting ridiculous.
I had just come back from my third year at UCLA, and as much as I enjoyed my program and everyone around me, it was impossible to ignore the effect it was having on my already considerable waistline. It never would have crossed my mind to buy a scale for the apartment we’d recently moved into - I footed the bill for an extra fridge in the laundry room and even one in my room, but a scale never even occurred to me.
I always took some comfort in the fact that my roommate, Jerry, was a few sizes bigger than me, but he’d been hitting the gym so often that his extra blubber was quickly melting away. I secretly nicked a pair of his biggest sweatpants before he threw them out, as if in a futile attempt to hold on to the idea of my friend’s formerly big fat butt.
It didn’t help that my ex-girlfriend Lisa had given me the boot a few months before. She never even brought up my weight, but it was pretty clear that was what had driven us apart. I could see her smile slowly become a rigid frown as the distance between her two hands while hugging me grew further and further apart. We were “too different”, she told me. I wish she had just come out and said it.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed how much I’ve porked up in the last few months alone, though. The stress of my classes along with the occasional pang of romantic loss was more than enough to justify a carton of ice cream or a nice sheet cake, in my mind. Whenever I could, I would spend time in my boxers, since the days of comfortably-snug jeans was long behind me.
My belly didn’t use to press against my shirts with such determination, but one day I came to the realization that I didn’t own a single one that was immune to it. Jerry never mentioned the weight either, though I couldn’t help but notice the looks of pity as his eyes drifted from his salad to whatever fatty food I happened to be gobbling down at the time.
I was a big kid, and an even bigger teenager. I had the luxury of going to a school where I wasn’t the fattest one around, so I was spared the usual horror stories of being mocked and called awful names, at the very least.
Being an only child whose parents were often away on business, I had the house to myself more often than not. The only babysitter they ever got was one of our batty old neighbors who did little beyond asking what sort of pizza I wanted before passing out on the couch.
My parents didn’t even have the time to shop, so once I was old enough to stay home alone they’d just leave me a fifty and let me go crazy. Usually that meant fast food, and lots of it. I became an expert on every burger joint within five miles of the place, able to tell which pizza place a pie was from within two sniffs. It wasn’t a substitute for love, but it certainly didn’t make it harder.
The town I lived in was small - the sort of place where everybody knew everybody. That included the restaurants - more than half of them had people I knew from school or were someone’s parents. On hot summer nights I would keep my friend Lisa’s mother company down at the ice cream parlor, eating anything that was just going to be thrown away.
She didn’t have to do it, but she did. She used to tell me how much she appreciated having such a cute, chubby little boy like me to talk to after everyone else had gone home. Some people might have thought it a bit rude, but Lisa’s mother never said or did anything rude. She’s still one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Every time I have a dish or three of Rocky Road I can’t help but think of her.
Before long I was outgrowing my clothes faster than they could buy them for me, but my parents never seemed to say much. I think they felt guilty about never being around, and so they figured I should at least get to eat whatever I want. I can’t possibly deny it - I love to eat.
I have plenty of friends - despite my size I’m a pretty friendly fella - it’s not one of those ‘food is my only friend’ cases. I just love food. I love eating it and thinking about it and smelling it. If I had any kind of talent for it I’m sure I would love cooking it too. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something I didn’t enjoy, which might not sound like much to some, but to me it’s like a miracle.
All those years of food have blown me up to nearly 425 pounds, though I’ve had people guess upwards of 550. Nothing in my closet is smaller than a 4XL at this point, and even a few of those leave a little strip of belly showing out the bottom. I had a strong double chin by the time I was 15, and now it’s more like three and a half; I usually have to cut the neck of my shirts just so it doesn’t feel like I’m being strangled. Last time I checked my pants were nearly 55” around, which is part of why I prefer my sweats most days. I’ve got some decent muscle on my arms and legs, but it’s all completely buried beneath years and years of fatness.
Despite my massiveness, I guess overall I’m a decent looking guy. I don’t think about it too much. My hair is so blonde my eyelashes are practically white, and I’ve always liked my brown eyes. I’m the kind of guy with cheeks that are constantly bleached pink, so when I’m genuinely blushing my face looks a bit like an oversized hothouse tomato.
“You’ll have fun, honey.” my mom told me when I finally caved and agreed to go along with this whole scheme. The entire time I was throwing clothing into my one suitcase and begrudgingly trying to not think about the next few months without my usual creature comforts, I couldn’t push the idea out of my mind that it would be like the movie “Heavyweights”. Even when I brought it up, my mother skirted around the comparison. Sure, I might be 21 now, but I figured it must be the same concept - Rabbit food for all meals, large amounts of exercise, sickeningly perky counselors with impossibly beautiful bodies and faces. Every fat kid’s worst nightmare.
I’m still not sure why I went through with it. Maybe a tiny part of me was hoping I would actually lose weight and become some sort of stick-like fitness guru. The thought should have elated me, but really it only caused me to shudder. Maybe I wanted my parents off my case, or maybe a tiny part of me thought that a slimmer me would make Lisa come crawling back. Whatever it was, it was powerful, because that Monday I packed up my car and set out down the highway, my Mom and Dad waving goodbye, looking excruciatingly proud. You would have thought I was leaving for the Marine Corps.
I would be taking my own car there, and so I decided that before committing myself to what was sure to be the summer from Hell, I would hit some of my favorite haunts along the way. McJoe’s burgers was one of my favorites, and although it was a while out of my way I knew I had to go and give it a proper farewell. I hit up two or three other joints along the way, knowing full well that despite what I try to convince myself, a belly like mine can handle several meals at once without even breaking stride.
They knew me by name at McJoe’s by now, even through their prehistoric speaker. I knew both Jane and Sarah - the morning clerk and the evening one. A few times I’ve even encountered Keith, the strangely perky nighttime clerk. He was a bit too friendly for my liking, though he did always seem to give me twice as many fries. I never understood why, but I wasn’t complaining.
“Sammy! We haven’t seen you in ages!” Jane exclaimed as I pulled up to the window for what was likely to be the last time in a long while. The last time I had paid them a visit was when I came down for Christmas.. I couldn’t take another second of the off-key caroling by my extended family, so I drove over to enjoy a peppermint milkshake and a few jumbo burgers. To be perfectly honest, I would miss Jane just as much as the delicious grub. She never looked at me with anything other than compassion and kindness. I’d think it was just her exceptional customer service skills, but I’d seen her treat plenty of customers without nearly as much care.
I had always thought she was rather beautiful, too. Working at such a restaurant had given her a very plump, but shapely figure. Her sleek, jet-black hair looked straight out of a 1950s soda shop, and the ruby red lipstick she always had on only completed the package. As she handed me the overflowing sack of food, I thought I caught a sort of sadness in her expression, though it was quickly replaced by her usual toothy smile.
“Thanks a lot, Jane, hopefully I’ll see you soon.” I said, already forgetting that I was going to a place where greasy burgers like these would be about as common as a three dollar bill.
“See you, Sammy. You take care, now.” she told me, waving a hand with nails just as bright as her lips. I waved back, hoping I could remember this delightful smell when confronted with a diet of carrot sticks and mineral water.
The camp wasn’t too far away, and though I finished off the bag of food in a pretty short amount of time it gave me a nice, pleasant stretch of highway on which to enjoy what was sure to be the last time of the summer my belly would feel content and full. It came dangerously close to touching the steering wheel, only an inch or so separating the two.
As I got closer and closer to “Camp Murtallach” even the trees started to look like they stood a bit taller, going from thick, sturdy trunks to svelte, fragile stalks. I sighed, wondering if getting my parents off my back was worth all of this, or if I would even lose any weight at this crazy camp. It frightened me how little I seemed to care about either at this point. I sat in the car for a few minutes after pulling up to the gravel lot, gently rubbing my belly as though we were about to be separated. In a way, we were, and how I felt about that was so muddled and confusing I quickly pushed it out of my mind.
(Continued in post 5 of this thread)
[Author's note: I've been wanting to write a story like this for so long, I finally got it down on paper (digital paper, at least). It's probably gonna be on the shorter side, but I've got a lot planned for it, so I hope you all enjoy.
Fat Camp
by Broken Cassette
by Broken Cassette
CHAPTER ONE
I’ll admit, I never thought I would be the kind of guy to give into an idea as dated and ineffective as ‘fat camp’, but then again, it wasn’t entirely my idea. It wasn’t a direct command from anyone else, either. Not really. Every time I came back home for a weekend my mom would mention how much her church group’s sons and daughters had enjoyed it, and how much weight they’d all lost. She didn’t spare any details, either - she was already passing photographs to me before the words had even fully left her mouth.
One particularly shocking photo was of a boy who weighed close to 500 pounds before going to the camp - his “before” picture looked like a pile of pink play dough someone had molded into a crude effigy of some shy looking guy with big blue eyes and more rolls than a bakery. On the right was what I assumed was the same boy, only about three times smaller, striking a confident pose at the camera as he grinned happily and gave two thumbs up, a pair of blue shorts hugging his now slim and toned legs.
Another she loved to show me was of a girl that, no offense to her, really did look like a small whale stuffed into a garish yellow sundress. For her “ after” photo she was shown holding up her old jeans, looking into the camera with such relish it made me a little uncomfortable. Although I tried to seem interested, it didn’t stop my mother from hanging them both on the fridge door. The subtlety of her hinting was getting ridiculous.
I had just come back from my third year at UCLA, and as much as I enjoyed my program and everyone around me, it was impossible to ignore the effect it was having on my already considerable waistline. It never would have crossed my mind to buy a scale for the apartment we’d recently moved into - I footed the bill for an extra fridge in the laundry room and even one in my room, but a scale never even occurred to me.
I always took some comfort in the fact that my roommate, Jerry, was a few sizes bigger than me, but he’d been hitting the gym so often that his extra blubber was quickly melting away. I secretly nicked a pair of his biggest sweatpants before he threw them out, as if in a futile attempt to hold on to the idea of my friend’s formerly big fat butt.
It didn’t help that my ex-girlfriend Lisa had given me the boot a few months before. She never even brought up my weight, but it was pretty clear that was what had driven us apart. I could see her smile slowly become a rigid frown as the distance between her two hands while hugging me grew further and further apart. We were “too different”, she told me. I wish she had just come out and said it.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed how much I’ve porked up in the last few months alone, though. The stress of my classes along with the occasional pang of romantic loss was more than enough to justify a carton of ice cream or a nice sheet cake, in my mind. Whenever I could, I would spend time in my boxers, since the days of comfortably-snug jeans was long behind me.
My belly didn’t use to press against my shirts with such determination, but one day I came to the realization that I didn’t own a single one that was immune to it. Jerry never mentioned the weight either, though I couldn’t help but notice the looks of pity as his eyes drifted from his salad to whatever fatty food I happened to be gobbling down at the time.
I was a big kid, and an even bigger teenager. I had the luxury of going to a school where I wasn’t the fattest one around, so I was spared the usual horror stories of being mocked and called awful names, at the very least.
Being an only child whose parents were often away on business, I had the house to myself more often than not. The only babysitter they ever got was one of our batty old neighbors who did little beyond asking what sort of pizza I wanted before passing out on the couch.
My parents didn’t even have the time to shop, so once I was old enough to stay home alone they’d just leave me a fifty and let me go crazy. Usually that meant fast food, and lots of it. I became an expert on every burger joint within five miles of the place, able to tell which pizza place a pie was from within two sniffs. It wasn’t a substitute for love, but it certainly didn’t make it harder.
The town I lived in was small - the sort of place where everybody knew everybody. That included the restaurants - more than half of them had people I knew from school or were someone’s parents. On hot summer nights I would keep my friend Lisa’s mother company down at the ice cream parlor, eating anything that was just going to be thrown away.
She didn’t have to do it, but she did. She used to tell me how much she appreciated having such a cute, chubby little boy like me to talk to after everyone else had gone home. Some people might have thought it a bit rude, but Lisa’s mother never said or did anything rude. She’s still one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Every time I have a dish or three of Rocky Road I can’t help but think of her.
Before long I was outgrowing my clothes faster than they could buy them for me, but my parents never seemed to say much. I think they felt guilty about never being around, and so they figured I should at least get to eat whatever I want. I can’t possibly deny it - I love to eat.
I have plenty of friends - despite my size I’m a pretty friendly fella - it’s not one of those ‘food is my only friend’ cases. I just love food. I love eating it and thinking about it and smelling it. If I had any kind of talent for it I’m sure I would love cooking it too. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something I didn’t enjoy, which might not sound like much to some, but to me it’s like a miracle.
All those years of food have blown me up to nearly 425 pounds, though I’ve had people guess upwards of 550. Nothing in my closet is smaller than a 4XL at this point, and even a few of those leave a little strip of belly showing out the bottom. I had a strong double chin by the time I was 15, and now it’s more like three and a half; I usually have to cut the neck of my shirts just so it doesn’t feel like I’m being strangled. Last time I checked my pants were nearly 55” around, which is part of why I prefer my sweats most days. I’ve got some decent muscle on my arms and legs, but it’s all completely buried beneath years and years of fatness.
Despite my massiveness, I guess overall I’m a decent looking guy. I don’t think about it too much. My hair is so blonde my eyelashes are practically white, and I’ve always liked my brown eyes. I’m the kind of guy with cheeks that are constantly bleached pink, so when I’m genuinely blushing my face looks a bit like an oversized hothouse tomato.
“You’ll have fun, honey.” my mom told me when I finally caved and agreed to go along with this whole scheme. The entire time I was throwing clothing into my one suitcase and begrudgingly trying to not think about the next few months without my usual creature comforts, I couldn’t push the idea out of my mind that it would be like the movie “Heavyweights”. Even when I brought it up, my mother skirted around the comparison. Sure, I might be 21 now, but I figured it must be the same concept - Rabbit food for all meals, large amounts of exercise, sickeningly perky counselors with impossibly beautiful bodies and faces. Every fat kid’s worst nightmare.
I’m still not sure why I went through with it. Maybe a tiny part of me was hoping I would actually lose weight and become some sort of stick-like fitness guru. The thought should have elated me, but really it only caused me to shudder. Maybe I wanted my parents off my case, or maybe a tiny part of me thought that a slimmer me would make Lisa come crawling back. Whatever it was, it was powerful, because that Monday I packed up my car and set out down the highway, my Mom and Dad waving goodbye, looking excruciatingly proud. You would have thought I was leaving for the Marine Corps.
I would be taking my own car there, and so I decided that before committing myself to what was sure to be the summer from Hell, I would hit some of my favorite haunts along the way. McJoe’s burgers was one of my favorites, and although it was a while out of my way I knew I had to go and give it a proper farewell. I hit up two or three other joints along the way, knowing full well that despite what I try to convince myself, a belly like mine can handle several meals at once without even breaking stride.
They knew me by name at McJoe’s by now, even through their prehistoric speaker. I knew both Jane and Sarah - the morning clerk and the evening one. A few times I’ve even encountered Keith, the strangely perky nighttime clerk. He was a bit too friendly for my liking, though he did always seem to give me twice as many fries. I never understood why, but I wasn’t complaining.
“Sammy! We haven’t seen you in ages!” Jane exclaimed as I pulled up to the window for what was likely to be the last time in a long while. The last time I had paid them a visit was when I came down for Christmas.. I couldn’t take another second of the off-key caroling by my extended family, so I drove over to enjoy a peppermint milkshake and a few jumbo burgers. To be perfectly honest, I would miss Jane just as much as the delicious grub. She never looked at me with anything other than compassion and kindness. I’d think it was just her exceptional customer service skills, but I’d seen her treat plenty of customers without nearly as much care.
I had always thought she was rather beautiful, too. Working at such a restaurant had given her a very plump, but shapely figure. Her sleek, jet-black hair looked straight out of a 1950s soda shop, and the ruby red lipstick she always had on only completed the package. As she handed me the overflowing sack of food, I thought I caught a sort of sadness in her expression, though it was quickly replaced by her usual toothy smile.
“Thanks a lot, Jane, hopefully I’ll see you soon.” I said, already forgetting that I was going to a place where greasy burgers like these would be about as common as a three dollar bill.
“See you, Sammy. You take care, now.” she told me, waving a hand with nails just as bright as her lips. I waved back, hoping I could remember this delightful smell when confronted with a diet of carrot sticks and mineral water.
The camp wasn’t too far away, and though I finished off the bag of food in a pretty short amount of time it gave me a nice, pleasant stretch of highway on which to enjoy what was sure to be the last time of the summer my belly would feel content and full. It came dangerously close to touching the steering wheel, only an inch or so separating the two.
As I got closer and closer to “Camp Murtallach” even the trees started to look like they stood a bit taller, going from thick, sturdy trunks to svelte, fragile stalks. I sighed, wondering if getting my parents off my back was worth all of this, or if I would even lose any weight at this crazy camp. It frightened me how little I seemed to care about either at this point. I sat in the car for a few minutes after pulling up to the gravel lot, gently rubbing my belly as though we were about to be separated. In a way, we were, and how I felt about that was so muddled and confusing I quickly pushed it out of my mind.
(Continued in post 5 of this thread)
