It had been a month since you’d noticed your friend getting a little soft - a gentle, jiggly roll hanging over his pants was all that you could see at first. When you said something to him then, he brushed it off as water weight, or an after dinner bloat. Had you noticed those crumpled bags littering his apartment then?

It had been three weeks since your friend whined about his dryer shrinking his whole wardrobe. Everything he owned hugged him tightly, making all his new curves and rolls all-too obvious. His gut paunched out from under his shirt at all times now, and you heard it growl loudly mere moments before he decided it was time for another food run. When you pointed out the much, much more likely reason for his apparel issues, he said you were crazy, between bites of his triple-patty bacon supreme, and swigs of his extra large chunk-o-chocolate shake.

It had been two weeks since he asked you to start making deliveries for him. He paid you for gas, and even a little extra - and for some reason, you couldn’t help using that extra to buy that rounding roo another little something. He was undeniably fat, now, with a thick, heavy tail that dragged behind him, plodding steps that made even the sturdiest of floors creak, and a rumbling, round gut that was always begging for more. He responded to your comments about how often you delivered with a shrug and a belch, saying,

“Heh- Yeah, I guess I like fast food once in a while - but only three or four times a week…”

Even though you’d dropped by his place at least three times what he claimed…

It had been a week since your friend crushed his first chair. He rambled to you over the phone (between long, chewy bites) about the shoddy Swedish craftsmanship of that PLONKA chair he’d been using. You were out of town, so you couldn’t console him in person, and you didn’t have the energy to argue. You agreed with him when he said he was gonna order a few snack pies, an extra sandwich or two, and a Big Gulp Galloon milkshake to make the night better. After all, he deserved it, didn’t he? You looked up the chair online after hanging up, and saw that it was double-reinforced… up to 500 pounds.

It had been an hour since you first stepped into his flat since coming back, and found him beached in that living room, couch firmly flattened under his double-decker behind. It had taken all your strength to haul that order into his house. You wanted to act shocked at just how fat he’d gotten - but you already knew what was waiting for you. How could you not? You read that order - the receipt was as long as your arm. His jowls wobbled happily when he saw you and waved, a half-finished chicken sandwich hanging out of his greasy maw.

It had been a minute since he’d fallen asleep, his heavy, heaving stomach rising and falling as you leaned against it, his big roo feet twitching as he slept, undoubtedly already thinking of all the food he had yet to eat. You switched off the game you’d been playing as you lifted yourself from his jiggling, jostling stomach, which spread even further across the floor than when you’d came in. You looked at him for a moment, wondering if you aught to judge him for just how quickly he’d lost himself. Then, you marched to your car and drove off to get the next order…

—-

Here’s a fun, fast-food themed fatty piece from back in April, featuring a most pleasantly plump kind of kangaroo! The stories for these side pieces are always such a delight to write, and this one might be one of my personal favorites. Of course, it’s fresh in my mind, so perhaps that bias will change when I find my next favorite.