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The Boomerang Feeder Part 4
🕑 Added 2017-09-04 19:03:18 +0000 UTCThis was quickly becoming a disaster.
I’d been on this treadmill for all of 5 minutes and I was already feeling close to death. My t-shirt was drenched in sweat, my thighs were chafed, and my underpants were so far up my crack it’d take a forklift to get them out. I don’t know even remember why I agreed to do the gym with Craig in the first place.
That’s a lie - it was because he asked me too. He’d been worried about how big he’d gotten, so here we are. We’d been coming to this gym for 3 months now, and each experience had been more awful than the last. I was at the point where I was mostly just trying to get through the hour or so we’d spend here doing the least amount of damage possible, but the “jog cool down” as Craig had called it always left me in shambles.
The only benefit was I got to see the wobbling behemoth that was my man in the corner of my eye, each footfall landing with such a heavy thump I thought he’d break the machine. All I really wanted to do was just sit down and watch Craig - how his beach ball sized ass cheeks would jump up and down, how his belly would slap each thigh as it was raised, how his tits would flop atop his belly. It was like poetry in motion.
But as the good boyfriend, I put up the front, got on this stupid death machine and ran as much as I could. Or jogged. Maybe sometimes walked briskly, which was the point I was fast approaching.
I was finally admitting that there seemed to be a side effect in my evil plot to turn Craig into a whale. While he’d blown up better than I ever could have hoped, I may have accidentally gained a few right along with him. OK, more than a few. If the gym scale was to be believed I was up to 280 pounds, which on my previously waif-like body made me almost as chubby as Craig. At Least he had been lifting weights all throughout college so had the muscle to back it up. I was always the lazy coder that never got up off the couch, and it showed.
Whereas Craig was all super thick arms and legs along with tits and belly and ass, I had a sort of billowy-ness to my sudden obesity. I was just thick and jiggly everywhere, punctuated by rolls around my chest and waist where my man-boobs and love-handles had grown in. They didn’t quite flop the same way that Craig’s did, but I felt the tug on my chest with every plodding step I took. My belly wasn’t so much a big round tank as it was a growing muffin-top, each passing month sagging further and further over my belt line.
The biggest thing about me now was my ass, which unlike the rest of me, had grown into these enormous pale spheres that kept getting bubblier and bubblier. While it made my day job of sitting that much easier, the constant back and forth rubbing of my cheeks while I jogged inevitably meant my undergarments got caught in between and wind up nearly sucked into my sphincter.
It was around the 9-minute mark that I finally hit the big red “stop” button, and my treadmill descended to a walking pace. I gulped air like a drowning man and looked over at Craig beside me. He was still thundering along, drenched in just as much sweat as I was but somehow possessing far more stamina than me despite being far larger. We didn’t know how much though - we’d tried to weigh him the first time we came here, but the gym’s scale maxed out at 400 pounds.
He must have retained something from his football days since I knew he’d be going for another 10 minutes at least. I got off my treadmill to go towel myself down and try and drink as much water as I’d just sweated out. It usually meant I was at the fountain for a solid 2 minutes.
I was on my way to the fountain when I noticed there were a few younger musclehead guys hanging around it. I was desperately thirsty though, so continued my plodding toward them when they finally took note of me. One pointed at my soaked t-shirt and smirked. It wasn’t a friendly smirk.
“Hey, tubbs. You thirsty?” One of them said while the other pushed my shoulder. I was so tired I nearly fell flat on my ass.
“Saw you jogging there, tubby. You look like you could use a drink after that brisk jog,” the other said with a laugh.
This was unbelievable. I was at a gym, and I was being pushed around like it was fucking high school. Only this time it wasn’t for being a super nerd, but for being fat. Frankly, it didn’t feel all that different.
I tried to ignore them and just muscle my way in front of the spigot, but they just kept pushing me away. I was about to give up and just go to the bathroom to drink from the tap when I felt more than saw one of the guys get bodily lifted and jammed against the wall. I looked up and there was Craig, all sweaty and red in the face, holding one of the muscly jerks to the wall with his belly while he held the other around the neck in those big hands I always loved.
The guy against the wall had both his arms trapped beneath Craig’s bulk, and while he squirmed mightily he couldn’t break free. The other was starting to turn blue while Craig’s tree-trunk arm tensed - he was choking him out.
“We don’t have any problems here, do we boys?” He said it jovially, but the look in his eye made it clear what would happen if they said there was a problem. They both shook their heads and Craig let the guy against the wall drop and released the other who gasped for air much like I had a few minutes ago.
They both took off, metaphorical tails between their legs, although I did hear one of them mutter “fucking fat faggots” under his breath as they left.
“You OK?” Craig asked. I nodded assent, and he held me for a few seconds while I stopped trembling. Then I pushed him off so I could gulp down as much water as I could.
After that Craig said I didn’t have to go back to the gym. In retrospect, I probably should’ve kept working out like Craig, but it seemed more work than it was worth. Instead, I focused on making dinner for when he got home. He did work up an appetite from the gym at least.
