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Idea given by 
TerryChubFox
It’s a wonderful autumn day in Foxboro, Massachusetts, so it’s a fine day to come into town. Many people have. I know because I work at the train station for Amtrak. My name is Jeremy and I love this place. I lived here all of my 27-year life. I watched this city transform into the foxy town it is today. By the way, I’m a fox. As I walk home, I’ll tell you of my friend Max, the fat fox.
Three years ago, Max got off a train from New York. He was about my age when he came through my station. When I first saw him, he was 6 feet tall and a very skinny 130 pounds. The New York Giants’ jersey he wore was a little too big for him. He looked as if he didn’t eat for a long time. Being a little flabby myself, I wondered how a guy could survive like that. I walked by him for it was the end of my shift. He tapped my shoulder.
“Excuse me,” he said, “Could you tell me where the nearest sports bar is?”
“You actually like sports, little guy?” I asked him, “I thought you were just wearing that jersey because you had nothing else to wear. You look like a poser.”
He nodded and replied, “I’m a diehard sport fan. My New York Giants are playing the New England Patriots. It should be a good game.”
“I know,” I told him, “In fact, I’m throwing a party at my house that I might be a little late for. I gotta pick up a case of beer.”
“Beer? Would it be okay I came?” the bony fox asked me, “Oh, I’m Max by the way. And you are?”
“Jeremy,” I, the bigger and pudgier fox, told him, “So what brings you to Foxboro?”
“I’m only here for a week. Since I recently graduated from NYU, I finally got s chance to visit my parents,” he replied, “I actually used to live here. I never saw you before though.”
“That’s real weird, because I thought I knew everybody from Fox Town,” I tell him as I scratched my head.
Max laughed. He said, “I guess that is more so true these days.”
I said, “You could say that there are foxes crawling around this place, but don’t ever say that.”
Max laughed more, although I’m not that funny. The rail-thin fox said, “Okay Jerry.” He laughed some more.
“That’s another thing you don’t ever say,” I warned him in a slightly angrier tone.
Max stopped laughing. He followed me on foot to a beer distributor to buy a case of the Foxboro’s Finest brand beer. He offered to pay for half, but I denied his money. Then we walked to my house, only a couple blocks away from the station. I offered him a seat in m living room, while I went to get my telephone to order the pizza for the party.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked me.
“Up the stairs and it’s the first door on the left,” I responded, “What kind of pizza would you like?”
“It doesn’t matter. I love pizza,” he told me as he ran to piss.
Because I know how my friends can eat, I order 3 sausage, 3 pepperoni, and 3 cheese pizzas. I opened the case of beer that I just bought and squeezed into my fridge. Max returns to the living room just as my 3 fox friends arrive, 2 male, Vince and Marcus, and a female, Flora. They instantly see Max’s Giants jersey, and started to clown the skinniest fox in the room. I introduced them. They started to insult him by name. Max took it like a good fox though, only saying that they will see who will win this game.
At last, the food arrived. We each grabbed a couple slices of pizza and a can of beer. We watched the game get started. Max quickly stood and loudly rejoiced when New York won the coin toss. My friends looked at him like he’s crazy. The skinny fox instantly got quiet and sat in his seat. I saw that he had a look as if he felt alienated on his face.
Max only focused on the pizza. He started to eat in a quick fashion, with his beer. After he finished his first two slices and beer, he repeatedly got up to get two more slices and another beer. Each time, I could see that his little belly bulged more. I joked that he might as well take a whole box back to his seat to his seat. He considered it, went into the kitchen, and actually got a whole pizza and a few beers. While I watched the game and cheered on my Patriot, I peeked at the now a little chubbier fox continued to munch on pizza. It seemed that the more New York lost, the more he ate and drink, thus the bigger his tummy got.
“You’re a little quiet there New York,” mocked Vince, my largest male friend.
My female fox friend Flora added, “Yeah, What’s wrong New York?” She stood in front of him.
Max stood and his gut now protrudes about ten inches more in front of him. He said, “There’s nothing wrong. The Giants are just having a bad day.”
“Has the whole season been bad days?” she asked him and laughed.
We fox fellas laughed too.
Max didn’t reply to that question. He just said, “Well, the Patriots are a good team.”
Flora stood closer to him and wondered, “You look sad. What’s wrong?”
The fox from New York loudly replied, “There’s nothing wrong with me. The only thing wrong is that there are no chips here.”
She laughed and said, “That’s true, but you’re in Foxboro now, Patriot Town. Take off that Giant’s jersey.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said. Max removed his jersey and revealed his much distended stomach.
“Nice gut,” I sarcastically said.
“Where did that come from little guy?” Marcus, my other friend, added.
Max nervously laughed and placed his hands on his gut trying to hide it.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” my female friend whispered to him, “Your belly is kinda cute.” She winks at him.
Max smiled and removed his hands.
She gently patted and rubbed before she returned to her seat on the couch. I would have thought she liked him if she wasn’t a lesbian.
The game came to an end and, of course, the Patriots won. Max now happily joined in on cheering for the Patriots. He now felt his was with friends and began to have fun. Though he was cheering actively, he continued to shovel more pizza into his maw and guzzle beer after beer. I was so surprised the little guy could do that, but he did. Once the game ended, Max releases a very loud, very long belch. My friends applaud him. He complained that his now rounded belly was completely full. He looked as if he gained 20 pounds.
They all then prepared to leave. My friends asked Max if he would come back next week. Max told them he’d like that very much while he faced me. Of course, I agreed. He then asked me to call him a cab because he’s a bit drunk. I do. Before the cab came, I gave him my old Patriot’s jersey that I got too fat for. When the cab came, he thanked me for having him. The full fox promised me he’ll return.
All that week, I heard not a word from Max. By the following Sunday, as I returned home from work, my cell phone rang.
“Who is this?” I answered angrily.
“It’s Max. So is the party still on for today?” he wondered.
“Indeed it is,” I said as I calmed myself.
“Good, I’m bringing some chips this time,” Max replied, “And I feel bad for eating and drinking so much last. When I’m nervous, I eat.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him.
“It’s not okay,” he insisted, “That’s why I want to go half on the pizza and beer.”
“Alright, but if you do, you better eat half of it all too,” I joked. I heard a strange sound on the phone. I asked, “What was that noise?”
“That was my stomach. I believe it said that you have a deal. I’ll see ya later,” the hungry fox told me.
“Wait,” I said, but I was too late. He had already ended the call.
I wanted to ask him exactly how much pizza to order and how much beer to get. I just got one more of each pizza and a 12 pack more of Foxboro’s Finest. Just a minute after I got back home, my doorbell rang. It was Max. He wore the Patriots jersey I gave him. It also looked to me that he kept the weight from all of the food he ate the previous Sunday. He was no longer the skinny fox I met at the train station.
He had a few grocery bags full of the biggest bags of just about any kind of potato chip he could find. (And popcorn, cheese puffs and pretzels too.) He enters the house and puts the bags on my kitchen table. He saw the pizza and asked how much he owes me. I insisted he’d not pay me back, so Max reached into his pocket. I laughed because his now fatter legs made it difficult for him to retrieve his wallet. I was amazed at how fat the wallet was. He asks again how much he owes me. I was nice and told him just 50 dollars. Max gives me a $100 bill.
My friends came at five o’clock. They are happy to see Max, especially because he wears a Patriot’s jersey. Max and Marcus bump chests. Marcus is almost knocked to the floor by Max’s new gut. Seeing this, Vince stepped for a chest bump with Max. Both of the fat foxes bumped chests in order to knock the other to the floor. Their flabby chests made contact. Neither of them fell to the ground. Vince playfully hits his opponent in the gut.
The game started. We got some pizza and a beer. Max grabbed himself a whole pepperoni pizza and three beers. We all eat and watch the game. We also cheer, all for the Patriots. But we also cheer on Max and his eating endeavor. By halftime, he’d already shoveled 2 wholes pizzas and 3 bags of chips into his muzzle. He washed them down with 10 beers by then. It was amazing how much larger and rounder his gut become as he ate.
That food intake nearly doubled by the time the game was over. He had to remain seated while the rest of my friend left the house. He said his goodbyes to Vince and Marcus. Flora walks to him and say that she is now bisexual thanks to him. Max smiles as she tells him that the fatter he got, the more attractive he is. She kisses him on the cheek, rubs his belly, and said goodbye to us both.
“Do you want me to call you a taxi?” I asked the now 180-pound fox.
“*belch* Not yet. I haven’t eaten quite half of the food yet,” Max told me.
“Really Max, you don’t have to. You already starting to stretch my, I’m sorry, your jersey,” I kindly warned him, “Besides if you eat anymore, you might explode.”
“I don’t believe that’s possible,” the fattened fox replied, “So Jeremy, what do we have left?”
I looked. We had a few slices of cold pizza and half of a bag of chips. Max insisted to eat them. I hesitantly gave it to hm. He devoured the pizza slices and ferociously ate the chips. I watch in awe at how much the formerly skinny fox could eat. After the all of the food was in his swollen pot belly, Max summoned the strength to stand. I called him a taxi. He promised to be back the next Sunday, even though the Patriots had a bye-week.
Every week since I met Max, he brought a new sense of joy to my football parties. Neither I nor my friends could do better. For our third party, the greed fat fox bought all of the food. Good thing too because the amount of food he ate was purely shocking. Over the weeks, we watched Max go from a bony, frail-looking fox boy to a big-bellied, huge-bodied, chubby furry-faced fox man. He and Flora started to date.
Everything was going well for Max in Foxboro. Since he graduated med school and worked as a doctor in New York, he accepted a position at Foxboro General, our local hospital. He moved to our foxy town. I saw him all of the time around town. He made more friends locally; however, each week, he’d watch the game with us. Our get-togethers became more of a le’s-stuff-Max-until-he-gives-up-together. He never did though.
I realized that Max had now gained an almost insatiable appetite. He could no longer save his giant appetite for Sunday any longer. The hungry fox filled his growing belly every day. And every time I saw him he was a bit fatter. Once he hit 300 pounds, he thought it would be detrimental for his image as a physician, (No one really trusts a morbidly obese doctor.) Because he was finding it harder to hide his enormous amount of flab, He wore a lab jacket at all time, except on game day.
Max come to my house one Sunday a little sad. He did not even eat. Flora sat right beside him. She bragged about how fluffy and comfy Max was now. At halftime, he stood in the middle of the living room. I looked at him. I thought I had outgrown that jersey. His belly now extended completely under it. The shirt now serves as support for his massive moobs. He tried his best to return his balloon of a belly under the jersey, but failed.
Max loudly cleared his throat. “I think this maybe the last game we watch together,” the fat fox said.
Everything got quiet.
“Why?” I asked him.
“I’m taking a better position in Philadelphia,” Max told us.
“Now wait a minute, what about us?” Flora asked him. She went to stand beside him.
"I'm too fat to get on one knee," Max told her.
“Huh?” she replies confused.
The rest of us fellas begin to cheer.
Flora looks at us and then back at Max and say, “Yes.” She hugs him, kissed his chubby face, and said to us, “He’s so soft. I’ll have fun cuddling him every night.”
Max said jubilantly, “Screw my diet. Let’s celebrate. Jeremy, get beers for everyone!”
I got them. We partied wildly way past the game’s end. He partied so hard, no one went home that night. When I woke, Max and Flora were gone. I stepped over the big fox Vince to get to a note that they had left.
It read, “Jeremy, I extend to you my tremendous thanks for your friendship. I will cherish it for all my life. I will try my best to come back to Fox Town on game days. Love ya man.”
So, what happened to Max? Each week, he still came to my house to eat up all my food and drink up all my beer; however, he did calm himself on the eating. He and Flora are now expecting twins. (I didn’t know the big guy, with a big gut, had it in him.) Unfortunately, after they had kids, they came here no longer,
Now, I don’t ever see Max. He was a good friend too. *doorbell sounds then knocks* Wait, I have to get the door. *opens door* Max?
TerryChubFoxIt’s a wonderful autumn day in Foxboro, Massachusetts, so it’s a fine day to come into town. Many people have. I know because I work at the train station for Amtrak. My name is Jeremy and I love this place. I lived here all of my 27-year life. I watched this city transform into the foxy town it is today. By the way, I’m a fox. As I walk home, I’ll tell you of my friend Max, the fat fox.
Three years ago, Max got off a train from New York. He was about my age when he came through my station. When I first saw him, he was 6 feet tall and a very skinny 130 pounds. The New York Giants’ jersey he wore was a little too big for him. He looked as if he didn’t eat for a long time. Being a little flabby myself, I wondered how a guy could survive like that. I walked by him for it was the end of my shift. He tapped my shoulder.
“Excuse me,” he said, “Could you tell me where the nearest sports bar is?”
“You actually like sports, little guy?” I asked him, “I thought you were just wearing that jersey because you had nothing else to wear. You look like a poser.”
He nodded and replied, “I’m a diehard sport fan. My New York Giants are playing the New England Patriots. It should be a good game.”
“I know,” I told him, “In fact, I’m throwing a party at my house that I might be a little late for. I gotta pick up a case of beer.”
“Beer? Would it be okay I came?” the bony fox asked me, “Oh, I’m Max by the way. And you are?”
“Jeremy,” I, the bigger and pudgier fox, told him, “So what brings you to Foxboro?”
“I’m only here for a week. Since I recently graduated from NYU, I finally got s chance to visit my parents,” he replied, “I actually used to live here. I never saw you before though.”
“That’s real weird, because I thought I knew everybody from Fox Town,” I tell him as I scratched my head.
Max laughed. He said, “I guess that is more so true these days.”
I said, “You could say that there are foxes crawling around this place, but don’t ever say that.”
Max laughed more, although I’m not that funny. The rail-thin fox said, “Okay Jerry.” He laughed some more.
“That’s another thing you don’t ever say,” I warned him in a slightly angrier tone.
Max stopped laughing. He followed me on foot to a beer distributor to buy a case of the Foxboro’s Finest brand beer. He offered to pay for half, but I denied his money. Then we walked to my house, only a couple blocks away from the station. I offered him a seat in m living room, while I went to get my telephone to order the pizza for the party.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked me.
“Up the stairs and it’s the first door on the left,” I responded, “What kind of pizza would you like?”
“It doesn’t matter. I love pizza,” he told me as he ran to piss.
Because I know how my friends can eat, I order 3 sausage, 3 pepperoni, and 3 cheese pizzas. I opened the case of beer that I just bought and squeezed into my fridge. Max returns to the living room just as my 3 fox friends arrive, 2 male, Vince and Marcus, and a female, Flora. They instantly see Max’s Giants jersey, and started to clown the skinniest fox in the room. I introduced them. They started to insult him by name. Max took it like a good fox though, only saying that they will see who will win this game.
At last, the food arrived. We each grabbed a couple slices of pizza and a can of beer. We watched the game get started. Max quickly stood and loudly rejoiced when New York won the coin toss. My friends looked at him like he’s crazy. The skinny fox instantly got quiet and sat in his seat. I saw that he had a look as if he felt alienated on his face.
Max only focused on the pizza. He started to eat in a quick fashion, with his beer. After he finished his first two slices and beer, he repeatedly got up to get two more slices and another beer. Each time, I could see that his little belly bulged more. I joked that he might as well take a whole box back to his seat to his seat. He considered it, went into the kitchen, and actually got a whole pizza and a few beers. While I watched the game and cheered on my Patriot, I peeked at the now a little chubbier fox continued to munch on pizza. It seemed that the more New York lost, the more he ate and drink, thus the bigger his tummy got.
“You’re a little quiet there New York,” mocked Vince, my largest male friend.
My female fox friend Flora added, “Yeah, What’s wrong New York?” She stood in front of him.
Max stood and his gut now protrudes about ten inches more in front of him. He said, “There’s nothing wrong. The Giants are just having a bad day.”
“Has the whole season been bad days?” she asked him and laughed.
We fox fellas laughed too.
Max didn’t reply to that question. He just said, “Well, the Patriots are a good team.”
Flora stood closer to him and wondered, “You look sad. What’s wrong?”
The fox from New York loudly replied, “There’s nothing wrong with me. The only thing wrong is that there are no chips here.”
She laughed and said, “That’s true, but you’re in Foxboro now, Patriot Town. Take off that Giant’s jersey.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said. Max removed his jersey and revealed his much distended stomach.
“Nice gut,” I sarcastically said.
“Where did that come from little guy?” Marcus, my other friend, added.
Max nervously laughed and placed his hands on his gut trying to hide it.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” my female friend whispered to him, “Your belly is kinda cute.” She winks at him.
Max smiled and removed his hands.
She gently patted and rubbed before she returned to her seat on the couch. I would have thought she liked him if she wasn’t a lesbian.
The game came to an end and, of course, the Patriots won. Max now happily joined in on cheering for the Patriots. He now felt his was with friends and began to have fun. Though he was cheering actively, he continued to shovel more pizza into his maw and guzzle beer after beer. I was so surprised the little guy could do that, but he did. Once the game ended, Max releases a very loud, very long belch. My friends applaud him. He complained that his now rounded belly was completely full. He looked as if he gained 20 pounds.
They all then prepared to leave. My friends asked Max if he would come back next week. Max told them he’d like that very much while he faced me. Of course, I agreed. He then asked me to call him a cab because he’s a bit drunk. I do. Before the cab came, I gave him my old Patriot’s jersey that I got too fat for. When the cab came, he thanked me for having him. The full fox promised me he’ll return.
All that week, I heard not a word from Max. By the following Sunday, as I returned home from work, my cell phone rang.
“Who is this?” I answered angrily.
“It’s Max. So is the party still on for today?” he wondered.
“Indeed it is,” I said as I calmed myself.
“Good, I’m bringing some chips this time,” Max replied, “And I feel bad for eating and drinking so much last. When I’m nervous, I eat.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him.
“It’s not okay,” he insisted, “That’s why I want to go half on the pizza and beer.”
“Alright, but if you do, you better eat half of it all too,” I joked. I heard a strange sound on the phone. I asked, “What was that noise?”
“That was my stomach. I believe it said that you have a deal. I’ll see ya later,” the hungry fox told me.
“Wait,” I said, but I was too late. He had already ended the call.
I wanted to ask him exactly how much pizza to order and how much beer to get. I just got one more of each pizza and a 12 pack more of Foxboro’s Finest. Just a minute after I got back home, my doorbell rang. It was Max. He wore the Patriots jersey I gave him. It also looked to me that he kept the weight from all of the food he ate the previous Sunday. He was no longer the skinny fox I met at the train station.
He had a few grocery bags full of the biggest bags of just about any kind of potato chip he could find. (And popcorn, cheese puffs and pretzels too.) He enters the house and puts the bags on my kitchen table. He saw the pizza and asked how much he owes me. I insisted he’d not pay me back, so Max reached into his pocket. I laughed because his now fatter legs made it difficult for him to retrieve his wallet. I was amazed at how fat the wallet was. He asks again how much he owes me. I was nice and told him just 50 dollars. Max gives me a $100 bill.
My friends came at five o’clock. They are happy to see Max, especially because he wears a Patriot’s jersey. Max and Marcus bump chests. Marcus is almost knocked to the floor by Max’s new gut. Seeing this, Vince stepped for a chest bump with Max. Both of the fat foxes bumped chests in order to knock the other to the floor. Their flabby chests made contact. Neither of them fell to the ground. Vince playfully hits his opponent in the gut.
The game started. We got some pizza and a beer. Max grabbed himself a whole pepperoni pizza and three beers. We all eat and watch the game. We also cheer, all for the Patriots. But we also cheer on Max and his eating endeavor. By halftime, he’d already shoveled 2 wholes pizzas and 3 bags of chips into his muzzle. He washed them down with 10 beers by then. It was amazing how much larger and rounder his gut become as he ate.
That food intake nearly doubled by the time the game was over. He had to remain seated while the rest of my friend left the house. He said his goodbyes to Vince and Marcus. Flora walks to him and say that she is now bisexual thanks to him. Max smiles as she tells him that the fatter he got, the more attractive he is. She kisses him on the cheek, rubs his belly, and said goodbye to us both.
“Do you want me to call you a taxi?” I asked the now 180-pound fox.
“*belch* Not yet. I haven’t eaten quite half of the food yet,” Max told me.
“Really Max, you don’t have to. You already starting to stretch my, I’m sorry, your jersey,” I kindly warned him, “Besides if you eat anymore, you might explode.”
“I don’t believe that’s possible,” the fattened fox replied, “So Jeremy, what do we have left?”
I looked. We had a few slices of cold pizza and half of a bag of chips. Max insisted to eat them. I hesitantly gave it to hm. He devoured the pizza slices and ferociously ate the chips. I watch in awe at how much the formerly skinny fox could eat. After the all of the food was in his swollen pot belly, Max summoned the strength to stand. I called him a taxi. He promised to be back the next Sunday, even though the Patriots had a bye-week.
Every week since I met Max, he brought a new sense of joy to my football parties. Neither I nor my friends could do better. For our third party, the greed fat fox bought all of the food. Good thing too because the amount of food he ate was purely shocking. Over the weeks, we watched Max go from a bony, frail-looking fox boy to a big-bellied, huge-bodied, chubby furry-faced fox man. He and Flora started to date.
Everything was going well for Max in Foxboro. Since he graduated med school and worked as a doctor in New York, he accepted a position at Foxboro General, our local hospital. He moved to our foxy town. I saw him all of the time around town. He made more friends locally; however, each week, he’d watch the game with us. Our get-togethers became more of a le’s-stuff-Max-until-he-gives-up-together. He never did though.
I realized that Max had now gained an almost insatiable appetite. He could no longer save his giant appetite for Sunday any longer. The hungry fox filled his growing belly every day. And every time I saw him he was a bit fatter. Once he hit 300 pounds, he thought it would be detrimental for his image as a physician, (No one really trusts a morbidly obese doctor.) Because he was finding it harder to hide his enormous amount of flab, He wore a lab jacket at all time, except on game day.
Max come to my house one Sunday a little sad. He did not even eat. Flora sat right beside him. She bragged about how fluffy and comfy Max was now. At halftime, he stood in the middle of the living room. I looked at him. I thought I had outgrown that jersey. His belly now extended completely under it. The shirt now serves as support for his massive moobs. He tried his best to return his balloon of a belly under the jersey, but failed.
Max loudly cleared his throat. “I think this maybe the last game we watch together,” the fat fox said.
Everything got quiet.
“Why?” I asked him.
“I’m taking a better position in Philadelphia,” Max told us.
“Now wait a minute, what about us?” Flora asked him. She went to stand beside him.
"I'm too fat to get on one knee," Max told her.
“Huh?” she replies confused.
The rest of us fellas begin to cheer.
Flora looks at us and then back at Max and say, “Yes.” She hugs him, kissed his chubby face, and said to us, “He’s so soft. I’ll have fun cuddling him every night.”
Max said jubilantly, “Screw my diet. Let’s celebrate. Jeremy, get beers for everyone!”
I got them. We partied wildly way past the game’s end. He partied so hard, no one went home that night. When I woke, Max and Flora were gone. I stepped over the big fox Vince to get to a note that they had left.
It read, “Jeremy, I extend to you my tremendous thanks for your friendship. I will cherish it for all my life. I will try my best to come back to Fox Town on game days. Love ya man.”
So, what happened to Max? Each week, he still came to my house to eat up all my food and drink up all my beer; however, he did calm himself on the eating. He and Flora are now expecting twins. (I didn’t know the big guy, with a big gut, had it in him.) Unfortunately, after they had kids, they came here no longer,
Now, I don’t ever see Max. He was a good friend too. *doorbell sounds then knocks* Wait, I have to get the door. *opens door* Max?
Category Story / Fat Furs
Species Vulpine (Other)
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 19.8 kB
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