Sweetsally
Active Member
~BHM, ~FFA, Weight gain, Romance--A personal trainer falls for a special chubby client.
Author's Note My first story on Dims! I'm afraid it's not finished (against the good counsel of a friend), but I was hoping some words of encouragement would motivate me to continue to work on it. Let me know what you think!
I drummed my fingers on the desk, checking the clock on the far wall for possibly the fourteenth time in the last three minutes.
"Would you knock it off, Casey?" said Stephanie, giving me the stink-eye from the other side of our large shared desk. "What is with you lately? He's going to be here any minute! You know people are always late for their first appointment."
She was right, of course. Most people were late for their first personal training session. I wasn't usually nervous for new clients, but the problem was, I had been forewarned about this particular client. "Forewarned" wasn't the right word, exactly. Teased, maybe. Or badgered, pestered, provoked...
Jake met the guy and set up his consultation with me. Ah, my buddy Jake. I made the huge mistake a few weeks ago of observing that a particular gym patron was "cute" in Jake's presence.
"Cute? You think Tubby over there is cute?" Jake looked absolutely baffled. The guy in question was probably in his late 30s—tall, good-looking, great head of hair. He also happened to be much chunkier than most people would find conventionally attractive. But I wasn't exactly most people. Tubby's thick love handles and soft gut were the first things that drew my eye. His shiny gold wedding band was the other thing. Damn—married.
"Yeah, he's a nice-looking guy." I tried to be nonchalant about it, but I could feel my face flushing bright red. "You know, if he lost some weight, he'd be hot. I bet he played sports in college." I tried to repeat what I'd heard other girls say about handsome fat guys, while not meaning a word of it. I thought he'd actually be hotter if he put on another fifty pounds....
Jake's eyes narrowed. "So, you're telling me the reason you won't go out with me is because I'm not a fat whale?"
I stared at him for a second. Was I truly that transparent? "Are you kidding me?" I sputtered. "Of course not! Why would I be a personal trainer if I were into fat guys? I want to help people lose weight!"
"So can I take you out?"
He'd been hounding me ever since I started working there a year ago. No woman alive had been able to resist Jake's charms. I should've just gone out with him the first time he asked and gotten it over with. He would have been on to the next girl in no time.
I smiled at him sweetly. "Jake, you know I don't mix business with pleasure," I said for the hundredth time.
"I want to see pictures of your exes," he said suddenly. "I need proof."
"Proof of what?" But I knew exactly what he wanted to know.
"I want to see if I'm right. See if you've dated a string of fatboys."
"You're crazy," was all I could muster. I could feel myself blushing again. If he did even the tiniest bit of digging, he would find that I had indeed dated a string of fatboys, stretching all the way back to college. And I was still friends with most of them. There was a reason I ignored Jake's social media requests...
His lips curled into a wicked grin. "It seems to me this is the perfect place to meet fat guys, Casey. Don't you?" We looked around the gym together. At the various weight and cardio machines, there were a variety of men and women. Some had tightly toned, gym-honed bodies, others were a little on the soft side, and still others were downright fat. He was right, of course. There was plenty of eye candy at the gym. "Maybe I need to start introducing you to some of them."
Everyone at Best Gym got five free personal training sessions with their new membership. As the head personal trainer, most of the new members went through Jake first. And after my accidental revelation, Jake made sure to line up as many chubby clients with me as possible. I still had not admitted anything to him. I think he'd hoped to get the confirmation he was looking for, to finally put his mind at ease that the reason I wouldn't go out with him was not because he was undesirable, but because I desired something else.
Maybe I should've just told him the truth, but to be honest, I was enjoying the new clientele. I enjoyed the teasing from Jake. He'd started scoping out fat guys for me, and would come by the personal trainers' desk and whisper in my ear, "Hey, did you see the fatty on the elliptical, Casey?" Of course I had, Jake. Of course I had. I was surprised that he didn't share this with the other personal trainers—Stephanie, Carl, Max, Sarah. Something to tease me with, to hold over my head. But amazingly, it stayed our little secret.
So here I was, in the predicament of waiting around for my newest client, a guy named Ben. His intake form said that he was 32, only a year older than me. It also said that he was 5'9" and 290 lbs. Sounded promising. There wasn't much more that I could glean from the form, but Jake told me he was pretty sure I would like this one. What did that mean? Needless to say, I was even more nervous for Ben than I'd been for the previous dozen or so pudgy guys that Jake had sent my way. It didn't help that he was now running ten minutes late.
At last, I saw someone making their way up the long flight of stairs. Was that him? At first glance, he appeared to be a normal guy, maybe a bit chubby. He had short, dark, wavy hair, blue eyes behind geeky-cute horn-rimmed glasses, and a round, handsome face. His chest was softly padded, and his arms looked strong but nicely cushioned. As the lower half of his body crested the top of the stairs, however, I could see that he was nothing short of my dream guy: his wide, soft belly merged with thick love handles balanced atop gorgeously chunky thighs. The perfect pear. Oh my god. My heart started thudding and my mouth went dry. The whole time I was thinking, "How in the hell did Jake know?"
The man I could only hope was Ben made his way over to the personal trainers' desk, and I observed with shivering delight that he had a subtle but distinct waddle. He was out of breath as he reached Stephanie. "Sorry I'm so late. (Pant pant.) I had an appointment at 11:30 with Casey? (Pant pant.) Had a little trouble with traffic. (Pant pant.) Your stairs are killer!" He smiled sheepishly. He was adorable. I could feel myself blushing without warning, as if everyone in the gym could read my thoughts.
In my experience, there are two kinds of personal trainers: the ones that can't figure out how someone can let themselves get so fat, and the more open-minded ones that allow for the possibility of different lifestyles and body types. I was the latter; Stephanie, the former. She smiled coolly at Ben but wrinkled her nose just slightly. I could almost read her mind: "Eww, fat guy!" She turned in her chair and pointed to me. "This is Casey."
I was already on my feet. "Are you Ben?" I said, extending my hand and smiling my most winning smile. Internally, I was shaking, but I tried to be calm.
"Yes, I am! Again, sorry I'm so late," he said, shaking my hand with a firm grip.
"No problem. Glad you made it! We were starting to get worried about you." I smiled again.
"Haha, yeah, well, I have to admit, I almost called and cancelled. Almost chickened out, I guess?" He grinned at me. He had a gorgeous smile, with perfectly straight white teeth. Wow, this was going to be rough.
"Well, you wouldn't have been the first! It's our first day, so I promise to go easy on you." I winked at him. What was coming over me? "Why don't you follow me over here?" I led him to the office that we reserved for initial consultations. It was more private than the open space of the personal trainers' desk. I gestured to a chair and he sat down. I noted that his fat bottom filled the chair beautifully, and his love handles grazed the arms of the chair as he settled in. I bit my lower lip to keep a whimper from escaping and tore my eyes away from his heavenly form as I sat down.
So, why the pear shape? I've wondered about this many times myself, actually. While I have no complaints about a fat man of any shape or size, the pear shape just drives me a little wild. Maybe it's because it's so elusive. There's plenty of big-bellied men around, but the pear shape is rare. I had a boyfriend about six years ago, Scott. He had the same broad belly, thick thighs, and chunky ass as Ben. I was crazy about him. He'd always hated his body, though, and couldn't quite believe that I found him attractive. He lost forty pounds while we were together, then dumped me because he didn't feel like I was being supportive of his weight-loss goals. (I was! I really was! I even worked out with him and cooked him healthy dinners and everything! Okay, so maybe I occasionally baked cookies for him. You know, like every couple of days. And maybe I stocked the freezer with ice cream, and kept all of his favorite snacks in the cupboard. But that was it, I swear!) At any rate, he broke my heart. I've never really gotten over him.
Not surprisingly, my whole family thinks I'm a nut, especially my little sister, Ashley. She prefers the broad-shouldered guys with tiny waists. (Maybe I should introduce her to Jake!) She still can't figure out why I like 'em chubby.
That's maybe a better question: Why do I like fat guys? I wish I could tell you. Why do some people like a skinny body, and some prefer a muscled body, and some just don't seem to care? I figured out pretty early on that I had a soft spot (no pun intended) for smart, studious boys that loved video games and hated sports. An early crush, Luke, was a straight A student. He went from a little chubby in 8th grade to massive by our senior year. Seriously, he must have piled on 200 pounds by graduation. Be still, my heart. Of course, by the time I was 14, I'd fully ingested all of society's screwed up body issues, so I was terrified to be seen with a fat boy. My crush on Luke (and many, many others) went unrequited, till I got over myself and had my first fling with a fatty named Jonathan during spring break my junior year in college. (I still have vivid dreams about his amazingly soft body.) At any rate, I've never looked back.
The last, probably least interesting question is how I decided to become a personal trainer if I'm interested in keeping a fat guy fat. I just discovered in high school that I like working out. I'm good at it. Nothing more to it. If a guy I'm training happens to lose weight, more power to him. If not, hey, I won't be disappointed! Obviously, this would not be the most popular attitude at a top-notch gym, so at the various places I've worked, I try to keep this bit of information under wraps. Keeping old boyfriends and coworkers from meeting each other has always been a bit of a challenge, but I've managed to succeed so far.
"So, first things first: What are your reasons for wanting to join a gym?" I asked Ben.
"Oh, your run of the mill answers—to be healthier. To lose weight. To be able to walk up a flight of stairs and not feel like I'm going to pass out!"
I chuckled. "Hey, I agree with you. Those stairs are killer!" I smiled at him. "So, do you have some more specific goals in mind? How much weight would you like to lose?" I was curious to hear his response.
Ben started to look uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, his squishy belly wobbling a bit. God, I wanted to dive into that belly. "Well, honestly, I don't know. I'm not exactly sure how much I weigh now. I just—know it's too much." He looked down, embarrassed.
"Alright, fair enough. Is there something that made you join Best Gym?" I asked this question because sometimes the answers surprised me, and could give me clues to how to proceed.
"Oh, you know. It's near my house. Seems like a nice gym. I like the logo: 'You at your best!'" We both looked at the framed poster of the gym's owner, Michael Best, on the wall. He had blindingly white teeth set against overtanned skin, his hair slicked back. He was giving the thumbs-up sign, the gym's logo running along the bottom. I'd met him once or twice. He was alright, for a muscle-head.
"Sounds good," I said, taking notes. "Anything else?"
He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decide to tell me something. Finally he let out a breath and said, "Okay, honestly? Can I tell you why I joined the gym?"
"Yes, please." I smiled and waited.
"My ex-girlfriend dumped me a few weeks ago. I guess I just got too comfortable with her. I'd put on a little weight, aaaand then put on a little more. For the record, it's not like I was super-skinny to begin with!" He smiled that sheepish smile again. "She was nice about it at first—she joked with me that my butt was getting bigger than hers, chided me to go to the gym—but when she could see I wasn't trying too hard to lose the weight, she got fed up and broke up with me. I moped around for a while, and I'm sure I've put on even more weight, but I finally decided to do something about it. So here I am."
Gah! He'd mentioned his big butt. I wondered if he'd read my mind. Focus, focus. Ahem. So, this was a situation that I'd heard too many times before: Wife/girlfriend/husband/boyfriend gained a little (or a lot) of weight, and spouse/significant other was sick of it. It was impossible for me to empathize with the frustrated partner, but I certainly tried to help out the chubby one. In Ben's case, however, I could not fathom how his ex could dump him. He was that cute.
"So, are you hoping to prove her wrong, or win her back, or both?" I held my breath while I waited for the answer. I was probably getting too nosy. This was probably beyond the scope of professionalism. But I had to know.
"Definitely prove her wrong. And maybe win her back? I'm not sure, actually. I just didn't know it was that big of a deal to her. I thought she liked me for me, you know?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I do know." Poor guy. I just wanted to give him a hug. A long, slow hug, where maybe my hand wandered down and grabbed that chunky rear.... "So, how active are you throughout the day, Ben? What do you do for work?"
He made a face. "Uh, not that active, I'm afraid. I haven't worked out in years, and I'm a video game programmer, so I pretty much sit on my ass all day long. Bet you would never guess I sit on my fat ass all day long." He gave me a rueful smile.
Again, the reference to his butt! I stared at him for a few seconds too long. (I'm sure my mouth was hanging open.) Cute, chubby pear-shaped guy that was a video game programmer? Seriously, where did Jake find him? I cleared my throat. "Hey, that's modern life, isn't it? Most of us are stuck behind a computer all day. I'm on the computer way more than I want to be, too!" This was sort of a lie. I spent some time tracking clients' progress and whatnot, but most of my day was pretty active. Ben didn't have to know that, though.
He chuckled like he knew I was lying to him. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Alright, well this gives me plenty to go off of—would you like to get started? We usually begin with taking your weight and then doing a short fitness test, and then we go from there."
"Uh, sure, but aren't you going to ask me about what I eat?"
"Actually, that's Karen's job, our dietician. I won't touch your diet, if it's alright with you." Part of the reason I chose to work at Best was because I didn't want the responsibility of telling clients what to eat. For those special chubby clients, I didn't want to have any more of a hand in helping them lose weight than I absolutely had to!
His face broke into one of those sweet smiles again, and said, "Sounds good to me!" He seemed relieved, like it was one less thing he'd have to worry about today.
We walked back over to the scale near the personal trainers' desk and I told him to take off his shoes. He stepped on and averted his eyes. He laughed, almost to himself. "Ugh, I don't want to see the damage!"
"Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad!" I waited for the digital readout to settle at a weight, and when I looked, I realized the damage was probably a lot worse than he'd hoped. Three hundred eighteen pounds—that was over 25 lbs more than Jake had recorded on his intake form. That was a lot of post-breakup Ben & Jerry's! I was getting turned on at the thought of him stuffing his face, consoling himself late at night with big bowls of mac and cheese, donuts, peanut M & Ms's, cheesecake...
He'd sat down on a chair to retie his shoes, and in the process of bending over, had created the most delectable-looking roll of fat around his middle. (Casey! Stop staring!) "Okay!" I said brightly. "Treadmill?"
He looked me in the eye. "So, what was the damage?"
I was almost afraid to tell him. "Three hundred fifteen pounds?" I was trying to soften the blow. The difference of 3 lbs wouldn't hurt in the long run. "Does that sound about right?"
His eyes just about bugged out of his head. "Three hundred fifteen? Seriously?" He let out a low whistle. "Well, that explains why none of my pants fit," he said, almost under his breath. "Alright, treadmill." He seemed grimly determined. I, on the other hand, was elated, and itching to see this gorgeous chub in action.
Author's Note My first story on Dims! I'm afraid it's not finished (against the good counsel of a friend), but I was hoping some words of encouragement would motivate me to continue to work on it. Let me know what you think!
You At Your Best
by Sweetsally
I drummed my fingers on the desk, checking the clock on the far wall for possibly the fourteenth time in the last three minutes.
"Would you knock it off, Casey?" said Stephanie, giving me the stink-eye from the other side of our large shared desk. "What is with you lately? He's going to be here any minute! You know people are always late for their first appointment."
She was right, of course. Most people were late for their first personal training session. I wasn't usually nervous for new clients, but the problem was, I had been forewarned about this particular client. "Forewarned" wasn't the right word, exactly. Teased, maybe. Or badgered, pestered, provoked...
Jake met the guy and set up his consultation with me. Ah, my buddy Jake. I made the huge mistake a few weeks ago of observing that a particular gym patron was "cute" in Jake's presence.
"Cute? You think Tubby over there is cute?" Jake looked absolutely baffled. The guy in question was probably in his late 30s—tall, good-looking, great head of hair. He also happened to be much chunkier than most people would find conventionally attractive. But I wasn't exactly most people. Tubby's thick love handles and soft gut were the first things that drew my eye. His shiny gold wedding band was the other thing. Damn—married.
"Yeah, he's a nice-looking guy." I tried to be nonchalant about it, but I could feel my face flushing bright red. "You know, if he lost some weight, he'd be hot. I bet he played sports in college." I tried to repeat what I'd heard other girls say about handsome fat guys, while not meaning a word of it. I thought he'd actually be hotter if he put on another fifty pounds....
Jake's eyes narrowed. "So, you're telling me the reason you won't go out with me is because I'm not a fat whale?"
I stared at him for a second. Was I truly that transparent? "Are you kidding me?" I sputtered. "Of course not! Why would I be a personal trainer if I were into fat guys? I want to help people lose weight!"
"So can I take you out?"
He'd been hounding me ever since I started working there a year ago. No woman alive had been able to resist Jake's charms. I should've just gone out with him the first time he asked and gotten it over with. He would have been on to the next girl in no time.
I smiled at him sweetly. "Jake, you know I don't mix business with pleasure," I said for the hundredth time.
"I want to see pictures of your exes," he said suddenly. "I need proof."
"Proof of what?" But I knew exactly what he wanted to know.
"I want to see if I'm right. See if you've dated a string of fatboys."
"You're crazy," was all I could muster. I could feel myself blushing again. If he did even the tiniest bit of digging, he would find that I had indeed dated a string of fatboys, stretching all the way back to college. And I was still friends with most of them. There was a reason I ignored Jake's social media requests...
His lips curled into a wicked grin. "It seems to me this is the perfect place to meet fat guys, Casey. Don't you?" We looked around the gym together. At the various weight and cardio machines, there were a variety of men and women. Some had tightly toned, gym-honed bodies, others were a little on the soft side, and still others were downright fat. He was right, of course. There was plenty of eye candy at the gym. "Maybe I need to start introducing you to some of them."
Everyone at Best Gym got five free personal training sessions with their new membership. As the head personal trainer, most of the new members went through Jake first. And after my accidental revelation, Jake made sure to line up as many chubby clients with me as possible. I still had not admitted anything to him. I think he'd hoped to get the confirmation he was looking for, to finally put his mind at ease that the reason I wouldn't go out with him was not because he was undesirable, but because I desired something else.
Maybe I should've just told him the truth, but to be honest, I was enjoying the new clientele. I enjoyed the teasing from Jake. He'd started scoping out fat guys for me, and would come by the personal trainers' desk and whisper in my ear, "Hey, did you see the fatty on the elliptical, Casey?" Of course I had, Jake. Of course I had. I was surprised that he didn't share this with the other personal trainers—Stephanie, Carl, Max, Sarah. Something to tease me with, to hold over my head. But amazingly, it stayed our little secret.
So here I was, in the predicament of waiting around for my newest client, a guy named Ben. His intake form said that he was 32, only a year older than me. It also said that he was 5'9" and 290 lbs. Sounded promising. There wasn't much more that I could glean from the form, but Jake told me he was pretty sure I would like this one. What did that mean? Needless to say, I was even more nervous for Ben than I'd been for the previous dozen or so pudgy guys that Jake had sent my way. It didn't help that he was now running ten minutes late.
At last, I saw someone making their way up the long flight of stairs. Was that him? At first glance, he appeared to be a normal guy, maybe a bit chubby. He had short, dark, wavy hair, blue eyes behind geeky-cute horn-rimmed glasses, and a round, handsome face. His chest was softly padded, and his arms looked strong but nicely cushioned. As the lower half of his body crested the top of the stairs, however, I could see that he was nothing short of my dream guy: his wide, soft belly merged with thick love handles balanced atop gorgeously chunky thighs. The perfect pear. Oh my god. My heart started thudding and my mouth went dry. The whole time I was thinking, "How in the hell did Jake know?"
The man I could only hope was Ben made his way over to the personal trainers' desk, and I observed with shivering delight that he had a subtle but distinct waddle. He was out of breath as he reached Stephanie. "Sorry I'm so late. (Pant pant.) I had an appointment at 11:30 with Casey? (Pant pant.) Had a little trouble with traffic. (Pant pant.) Your stairs are killer!" He smiled sheepishly. He was adorable. I could feel myself blushing without warning, as if everyone in the gym could read my thoughts.
In my experience, there are two kinds of personal trainers: the ones that can't figure out how someone can let themselves get so fat, and the more open-minded ones that allow for the possibility of different lifestyles and body types. I was the latter; Stephanie, the former. She smiled coolly at Ben but wrinkled her nose just slightly. I could almost read her mind: "Eww, fat guy!" She turned in her chair and pointed to me. "This is Casey."
I was already on my feet. "Are you Ben?" I said, extending my hand and smiling my most winning smile. Internally, I was shaking, but I tried to be calm.
"Yes, I am! Again, sorry I'm so late," he said, shaking my hand with a firm grip.
"No problem. Glad you made it! We were starting to get worried about you." I smiled again.
"Haha, yeah, well, I have to admit, I almost called and cancelled. Almost chickened out, I guess?" He grinned at me. He had a gorgeous smile, with perfectly straight white teeth. Wow, this was going to be rough.
"Well, you wouldn't have been the first! It's our first day, so I promise to go easy on you." I winked at him. What was coming over me? "Why don't you follow me over here?" I led him to the office that we reserved for initial consultations. It was more private than the open space of the personal trainers' desk. I gestured to a chair and he sat down. I noted that his fat bottom filled the chair beautifully, and his love handles grazed the arms of the chair as he settled in. I bit my lower lip to keep a whimper from escaping and tore my eyes away from his heavenly form as I sat down.
So, why the pear shape? I've wondered about this many times myself, actually. While I have no complaints about a fat man of any shape or size, the pear shape just drives me a little wild. Maybe it's because it's so elusive. There's plenty of big-bellied men around, but the pear shape is rare. I had a boyfriend about six years ago, Scott. He had the same broad belly, thick thighs, and chunky ass as Ben. I was crazy about him. He'd always hated his body, though, and couldn't quite believe that I found him attractive. He lost forty pounds while we were together, then dumped me because he didn't feel like I was being supportive of his weight-loss goals. (I was! I really was! I even worked out with him and cooked him healthy dinners and everything! Okay, so maybe I occasionally baked cookies for him. You know, like every couple of days. And maybe I stocked the freezer with ice cream, and kept all of his favorite snacks in the cupboard. But that was it, I swear!) At any rate, he broke my heart. I've never really gotten over him.
Not surprisingly, my whole family thinks I'm a nut, especially my little sister, Ashley. She prefers the broad-shouldered guys with tiny waists. (Maybe I should introduce her to Jake!) She still can't figure out why I like 'em chubby.
That's maybe a better question: Why do I like fat guys? I wish I could tell you. Why do some people like a skinny body, and some prefer a muscled body, and some just don't seem to care? I figured out pretty early on that I had a soft spot (no pun intended) for smart, studious boys that loved video games and hated sports. An early crush, Luke, was a straight A student. He went from a little chubby in 8th grade to massive by our senior year. Seriously, he must have piled on 200 pounds by graduation. Be still, my heart. Of course, by the time I was 14, I'd fully ingested all of society's screwed up body issues, so I was terrified to be seen with a fat boy. My crush on Luke (and many, many others) went unrequited, till I got over myself and had my first fling with a fatty named Jonathan during spring break my junior year in college. (I still have vivid dreams about his amazingly soft body.) At any rate, I've never looked back.
The last, probably least interesting question is how I decided to become a personal trainer if I'm interested in keeping a fat guy fat. I just discovered in high school that I like working out. I'm good at it. Nothing more to it. If a guy I'm training happens to lose weight, more power to him. If not, hey, I won't be disappointed! Obviously, this would not be the most popular attitude at a top-notch gym, so at the various places I've worked, I try to keep this bit of information under wraps. Keeping old boyfriends and coworkers from meeting each other has always been a bit of a challenge, but I've managed to succeed so far.
"So, first things first: What are your reasons for wanting to join a gym?" I asked Ben.
"Oh, your run of the mill answers—to be healthier. To lose weight. To be able to walk up a flight of stairs and not feel like I'm going to pass out!"
I chuckled. "Hey, I agree with you. Those stairs are killer!" I smiled at him. "So, do you have some more specific goals in mind? How much weight would you like to lose?" I was curious to hear his response.
Ben started to look uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, his squishy belly wobbling a bit. God, I wanted to dive into that belly. "Well, honestly, I don't know. I'm not exactly sure how much I weigh now. I just—know it's too much." He looked down, embarrassed.
"Alright, fair enough. Is there something that made you join Best Gym?" I asked this question because sometimes the answers surprised me, and could give me clues to how to proceed.
"Oh, you know. It's near my house. Seems like a nice gym. I like the logo: 'You at your best!'" We both looked at the framed poster of the gym's owner, Michael Best, on the wall. He had blindingly white teeth set against overtanned skin, his hair slicked back. He was giving the thumbs-up sign, the gym's logo running along the bottom. I'd met him once or twice. He was alright, for a muscle-head.
"Sounds good," I said, taking notes. "Anything else?"
He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decide to tell me something. Finally he let out a breath and said, "Okay, honestly? Can I tell you why I joined the gym?"
"Yes, please." I smiled and waited.
"My ex-girlfriend dumped me a few weeks ago. I guess I just got too comfortable with her. I'd put on a little weight, aaaand then put on a little more. For the record, it's not like I was super-skinny to begin with!" He smiled that sheepish smile again. "She was nice about it at first—she joked with me that my butt was getting bigger than hers, chided me to go to the gym—but when she could see I wasn't trying too hard to lose the weight, she got fed up and broke up with me. I moped around for a while, and I'm sure I've put on even more weight, but I finally decided to do something about it. So here I am."
Gah! He'd mentioned his big butt. I wondered if he'd read my mind. Focus, focus. Ahem. So, this was a situation that I'd heard too many times before: Wife/girlfriend/husband/boyfriend gained a little (or a lot) of weight, and spouse/significant other was sick of it. It was impossible for me to empathize with the frustrated partner, but I certainly tried to help out the chubby one. In Ben's case, however, I could not fathom how his ex could dump him. He was that cute.
"So, are you hoping to prove her wrong, or win her back, or both?" I held my breath while I waited for the answer. I was probably getting too nosy. This was probably beyond the scope of professionalism. But I had to know.
"Definitely prove her wrong. And maybe win her back? I'm not sure, actually. I just didn't know it was that big of a deal to her. I thought she liked me for me, you know?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I do know." Poor guy. I just wanted to give him a hug. A long, slow hug, where maybe my hand wandered down and grabbed that chunky rear.... "So, how active are you throughout the day, Ben? What do you do for work?"
He made a face. "Uh, not that active, I'm afraid. I haven't worked out in years, and I'm a video game programmer, so I pretty much sit on my ass all day long. Bet you would never guess I sit on my fat ass all day long." He gave me a rueful smile.
Again, the reference to his butt! I stared at him for a few seconds too long. (I'm sure my mouth was hanging open.) Cute, chubby pear-shaped guy that was a video game programmer? Seriously, where did Jake find him? I cleared my throat. "Hey, that's modern life, isn't it? Most of us are stuck behind a computer all day. I'm on the computer way more than I want to be, too!" This was sort of a lie. I spent some time tracking clients' progress and whatnot, but most of my day was pretty active. Ben didn't have to know that, though.
He chuckled like he knew I was lying to him. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Alright, well this gives me plenty to go off of—would you like to get started? We usually begin with taking your weight and then doing a short fitness test, and then we go from there."
"Uh, sure, but aren't you going to ask me about what I eat?"
"Actually, that's Karen's job, our dietician. I won't touch your diet, if it's alright with you." Part of the reason I chose to work at Best was because I didn't want the responsibility of telling clients what to eat. For those special chubby clients, I didn't want to have any more of a hand in helping them lose weight than I absolutely had to!
His face broke into one of those sweet smiles again, and said, "Sounds good to me!" He seemed relieved, like it was one less thing he'd have to worry about today.
We walked back over to the scale near the personal trainers' desk and I told him to take off his shoes. He stepped on and averted his eyes. He laughed, almost to himself. "Ugh, I don't want to see the damage!"
"Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad!" I waited for the digital readout to settle at a weight, and when I looked, I realized the damage was probably a lot worse than he'd hoped. Three hundred eighteen pounds—that was over 25 lbs more than Jake had recorded on his intake form. That was a lot of post-breakup Ben & Jerry's! I was getting turned on at the thought of him stuffing his face, consoling himself late at night with big bowls of mac and cheese, donuts, peanut M & Ms's, cheesecake...
He'd sat down on a chair to retie his shoes, and in the process of bending over, had created the most delectable-looking roll of fat around his middle. (Casey! Stop staring!) "Okay!" I said brightly. "Treadmill?"
He looked me in the eye. "So, what was the damage?"
I was almost afraid to tell him. "Three hundred fifteen pounds?" I was trying to soften the blow. The difference of 3 lbs wouldn't hurt in the long run. "Does that sound about right?"
His eyes just about bugged out of his head. "Three hundred fifteen? Seriously?" He let out a low whistle. "Well, that explains why none of my pants fit," he said, almost under his breath. "Alright, treadmill." He seemed grimly determined. I, on the other hand, was elated, and itching to see this gorgeous chub in action.
