Jack finds true love, and his body finds its true destiny, in a small town dining club.
| Jack and the Big Diners' Club
(Inspired by an original story by Wilson Barbers. Here, the genders are reversed)
The town ahead was unfamiliar to Jack - just another small town on a minor county highway - but he was glad to see the town limits sign when it loomed up in front of him. He was starving, and the 'shortcut' he was on clearly wasn't short.
Jack had spent his morning with two new clients who'd just set up a business, an autobody repair shop that would be marginal at best, and he was feeling frustrated and hungry. It was Jack's job to somehow impart to such beginning entrepreneurs the basics of running a business, including bookkeeping - the county development authority paid him to hand out his expertise. This morning's clients, though, had so actively resisted his advice that he had decided they were bozo entrepreneurs, not beginning entrepreneurs. This kind of rejection was getting too frequent, and he was beginning to wonder if it was time to move on to a greener pasture - if these guys wanted to fail, Jack was starting to think, then let them fail. There HAD to be a better way to use his business degree, he thought more and more frequently as he drove the back roads of the county.
He drove through the town slowly, looking for a restaurant, a fast food place, anything. Scanning the main street on his second pass, he suddenly saw a place he'd not noticed the first time: it seemed only to be 'a hole-in-the-wall', slotted between an Ace Hardware and a bedraggled five-and-dime store, but the door bore the inscription "Big Diners' Club." An odd choice for a name, the young business counselor thought, as he got out of his old Chrysler and straightened his dark tie. Glancing at himself in the hardware store's window as he passed, he smiled and ran his fingers through his blond brushcut. Broad shouldered but lean and firmly, but lightly muscled, most people would never have taken Jack for a 'Big Eater'. In reality, Jack had a generous appetite, and he loved not only to dine, but cook as well. His appetite ran in the family - his father and brothers ate generously too. But, unlike most of his family, Jack was blessed with a metabolism that burned off calories with abandon. Whereas his brothers were all heavier, heavy enough to be football linemen in their college days, Jack had never grown that big. Instead, his generous appetite fuelled a leanly muscled, speedy frame that his natural athleticism had turned into college soccer stardom.
Jack strode to the club's entrance, a wide glossy green door with the name stenciled on the glass at eye level. As he got closer, it seemed amazing that he'd been able to read the club's name from his car: the lettering looked more faded the closer he got to it. Must've hit the light just right, he thought.
The main dining room opened up after an entrance down a hallway - no wonder there was just a doorfront between two shops! But, the room was still clearly tucked in - it was long, narrow, and simply decorated, two rows of tables alternating sides of a generous passage towards the kitchen at the rear.
The bulk of the tables were filled with lunching couples, and in a flash Jack saw that the lettering on the door had not been a misnomer: everyone lunching was Big, a collection of variously dressed fat folk, all seated with generous platefuls in front them, and from their rapt attention to the food, they were united in their appreciation of the restaurant's fare. It made for quite a reassuring sight - if folks are enjoying their food that intensely, it must be good, Jack thought. As he stepped out of the entrance hall into the dining room, a waiter appeared at his side.
No regular waiter though - the man was built to the same scale as the customers. Roundly packed into his uniform, he had the appearance of a linebacker-gone-to-fat-and-then-some. His black satin jacket strained to cover a set of massive shoulders and arms, and had no hope of meeting across a broad, curved belly, neatly clothed in a generous but well-fitting shirt. Jack had roomed for a year in college with a friend of one of his older brothers, a big, but fit and strong, 275 pound linebacker, and Jack had wondered sometimes what it would be like to be his roommate’s size and build - imagining himself strong and athletic, but more than a hundred pounds heavier. Now, Jack was being greeted by a waiter who was far bigger than that - a man who, Jack imagined, looked like what his old roommate Roddy would look like now - IF Roddy had packed on an extra 150 pounds since college, as former linemen sometimes did! This waiter was BIG, yet moved with an athlete's easy grace.
"Do you want a table?" the burly waiter asked, an assessing look in his eyes.
Jack nodded in agreement, momentarily distracted by the sudden conviction that this hefty male had caught his flash of curiosity. A warm smile beamed above a discreet name-tag - Marc. The name-tage was hard to miss, perched as it was on the waiter's jacket lapel just where the fabric sloped over an heavily bulging pec. Marc led Jack to a vacant table close to the kitchen entrance. Nearby, a huge thirtyish couple was devouring their meal and watching each other sexily; the sight was so openly erotic that Jack had to shift his seat. He wound up facing a wall-mounted TV that was broadcasting a cooking show.
"The special for today is roast lamb with chef's special glaze," Marc the waiter was saying, placing a glass of milk before him. Though he hadn't asked for it, Jack took a good gulp, anyway.
"Do you have a menu?"
"This is your first time here, isn't it?" the well-padded server said, not answering his question. "Not many people are able to find our little club, but if you do, you were plainly meant to."
"We only one item for lunch, the daily special," Marc said with a smile. "Don't worry. The servings are substantial. You'll enjoy it," he added, then rolled his own substantial mass into the kitchen, leaving Jack with the television cooking show and the breathlessly gorging fat couple at the next table. Sipping his milk (which had a full, rich taste unlike any of the 2% supermarket stuff he was used to), he luxuriated in the smell of cooking. Any other time he'd have rebelled at having his freedom of choice so cavalierly dismissed, but from the look of all the other patrons, the special was a success.
He kicked back and crossed his lean, muscular legs, finishing off his glass only to find Marc magically by his side refilling it. Up on the plasma screen, the huge chef (he had to be well over four hundred pounds - he looked bigger than Marc the waiter!) was sampling a fresh salad dressing with a single fat finger, placing a dollop on his generous lips and dramatically licking it off.
"My sister-in-law produces that show," a warm, low female voice suddenly said from behind him. "In fact, my sister Bernice pretty much helped make Carl the star that he is." Before Jack could turn to face the speaker, she'd dropped into a chair across the table. "We haven't met yet," the newcomer said, "but I own this establishment."
She was dressed in a deep-cut blouse that aggressively showed off her generous cleavage, over a full, pleated tartan skirt. A dark-haired woman in her late twenties, she had a warm smile that was paralleled by a deep double chin-line. Her eyes were mischievous behind her round cheeks; she had the look of a woman who'd found her place in the world and embraced it. Though she was twice the size of any gal he'd previously dated, Jack found himself instantly attracted to her. He introduced himself, taking her hand when she extended it. She held her hand above his lightly, as if expecting him to kiss it, and then put it back down.
"I'm Chris Harring," she said. "I'm glad you found my place."
She turned and bid adieu to Bob and Ann, the couple nearby, then she returned to his table. "I hope I'm not being too intrusive," she said, "but I like to get acquainted with new faces that come my way, particularly when they're as handsome as yours."
Whoa, Jack thought. He looked into the face of the zaftig young woman and tried to think of a snappy rejoinder. "Are you always such a flirt with them?" he finally asked.
"Not usually," she answered, looking him straight in the eyes. He felt like he was being x-rayed.
Thankfully, his food arrived. Wheeling in a cart with a plateful of lamb and three separately dished side items, Marc proceeded to cover Jack's table with enough food to feed a family of four. "We can talk later. I'll leave you to your meal," the zaftig woman said, rising, then briefly putting a companionable hand on his shoulder. "I hope it's to your satisfaction."
It was. The lamb was cooked to perfection while the array of rich rice and vegetable dishes was so tantalizing that Jack found himself devouring the whole offering. He was sitting back, feeling sated but not uncomfortable, when Harring returned with a dessert tray. She parked herself across from him and waved her hands over the display of sweets between them.
"You simply have to try one of these," she said. Though he really wasn't a dessert person, Jack couldn't resist: he picked a substantial piece of Devil's Food cake. As he slowly savoured his dessert, the rotund restaurateuse asked him if he traveled, then regaled him with a story about a trip she'd made to Europe to find a specific recipe. Intrigued, he asked her about her trip, and that led to a series of stories about her quests through Europe for new and different dishes. He was both enchanted and, to his surprise, aroused.
When he'd finished his desserts (Jack realised to his surprise he'd put away four of them, plus an enormous cappucino), his host produced a large notecard. "I'm being pushy again," she said, "but I hope you'll consider becoming a member of our little club."
Of course Jack signed up: the fee was nominal and the meals reasonably priced. Besides, he definitely enjoyed the company. He changed his client schedule so that he passed by the Club at least twice a week at lunchtime. Although he’d always a good eater, Jack found his appetite much stronger when he visited the Club - he ate far more at that first lunch, and the subsequent ones, then he’d ever eaten at a single meal before - even in his college days. Slowly, over the first week, the effect seemed to spread - soon he found he was eating twice as much at home as he had in his pre-Club days., too
On weekends, he drove out to the Club for dinner - and spent his weekend evenings dining and talking with the club's attractive owner. She had a seemingly endless array of stories about the food she was serving; he listened in fascination, caught up in the romance of her gourmet exploits.
Jack’s expanding hunger manifested itself in many ways beyond the meals at the Club. Where he had hardly noticed the doughnuts beside the coffee machine at the County Development Agency, now he took one every time he passed. On evenings out, where before a drink with friends and a pub supper had sufficed, now he found himself wandering to buffets, or enjoying an evening meal with friends and then going through a fast-food drive through on the way home.
The effects of all this additional food rapidly began to show on Jack’s body too. Where before, he had seemingly been able to eat anything and it never showed, now every ounce of food he devoured seemed to manifest itself physically upon him - an effect surely tied to his dropping of his daily run after his first Club visit. Within two weeks, Jack had developed a noticeably bulging gut in place of his six-pack abs.
His growing midriff was soon complemented by added mass across his shoulders, chest, back, and thighs, though, as while he didn't run, he did visit the weight deck at his gym three days a week.
While most men would have been concerned at such a dramatic shift in their lives, Jack was oddly happy with his sudden growth. He felt great, stronger than ever. This change in his life seemed to suit him, as did all the changes in his body. As well as Chris, he rapidly got to know some of the other Club members, including Marc, and he found new friendships blossoming. His rapid growth put a strain on his clothes, though, and he did start to wonder how he was going to afford a new wardrobe, as he started to outgrow his shirts and pants.
Marc (and the Club) came to the rescue on the wardrobe situation. Three weeks after his first visit, Jack was sitting down to lunch in the Club with his pants riding low under his brand-new potbelly, and his dress shirt starting to gap distressingly around his midriff. As he lent forward to cut the sirloin, he felt a button pop, and heard a slight rending at the seams of his shirt. Damn, he thought, this is my biggest shirt!
"Excuse me," Marc said, appearing at his side. "I couldn't help but notice - you've having a little trouble with your shirt."
A month before, he would have been annoyed by a comment like that, but now he acknowledge it. Fingering the gap across his growing waistline while finishing a mouthful of twice-baked potatoes, Jack looked up at the portly waiter and nodded.
"My shirts all seem to be shrinking," he said with a grin once he’d swallowed. "Ever since I discovered this place, I've been packing it on. You serve such sinfully good food."
"We've got something in the back that might fit you," the waiter said, whose uniform seemed to fit him better than it had the week before. "We've had other club members with a similar problem. Let me show you." He lead Jack past the kitchen to a well-lit room in the rear: hanging in neat rows was a selection of women's and men's clothing arranged by size. The smallest pieces looked to be about Jack’s current size, the largest...well, before he could rubber neck the enormous pieces too much, Marc steered Jack towards a nearby rack. Jack picked up a couple of pieces experimentally.
"This is amazing," Jack said, fingering a rich cotton dress shirt in french blue that would go well with his tie. "I've never seen anything like this before."
"Well, the Big Diners' Club isn’t just about food," Marc said, smiling approvingly as Jack put on the shirt, which fit well but generously. "We're more than just a restaurant; we're a way of life." He pulled down a pair of navy wool dress pants that looked custom made for Jack's thickening waist and hips. "What you see here is a series of high quality hand-me-downs from members who've said goodbye to these sizes," he explained. "You're not the first Big Diner to come in on a limited budget. What are those, 32s? Here’s a set of 36s - they should fit you fine."
Jack quickly corrected Marc’s enthusiastic overestimate of his old waistline. “These are 29s, actually,” Jack finally said to Marc as he put on the 36s.
“29s? Former skinny guy! Well, no one here is going to be needing anything that small,” Marc remarked, taking Jack’s old pants and dropping them into a box marked ‘Goodwill”
The 36s were a comfortable fit - but Jack figured that was a good thing. Once he had put on a regular size 42 jacket to go with the larger shirt and pants, Jack stepped over to the room’s generous three-way mirror to examine his new self. He liked what he was seeing - his formerly skinny frame had filled out into a well-fed macho form with a growing belly and heavy chest that filled the new shirt; thickening thighs and a well-rounded butt did the same for the larger pants. Jack admired the way his newly thickened arms filled the jacket’s sleeves, and he noted with curiosity that his face was losing the laugh lines he'd been noticing around his eyes just a month ago. . . he was looking and feeling like a totally different Jack these days. In fact, he was suddenly looking a lot like his brothers. Squaring his meaty shoulders, he swaggered back into the dining room to polish off his meal.
"Thanks, Marc," he said when the waiter passed by next. "You and Chris really make me feel comfortable here."
"Looks to me like you have a thing for Chris," the heavyset waiter whispered, leaning conspiratorially over the table. He'd brought a shopping bag full of additional clothing and plopped it on the seat beside Jack.
"She's not yours, is she?" Jack asked, looking up from his plate.
"Oh, no! You haven't met my gal yet," Marc hastily assured him. "She's a club regular, too. So don't worry: you're not treading on anyone's turf. If you ask me, you look like just the kind of man that Chris has been waiting for."
The comfort of the new suit, combined with Marc's encouragement, was so galvanizing that Jack felt his sizable hunger come back with a vengeance. For the first time since that first visit, he made a major dent in the dessert tray. A beaming Chris watching him tuck into the sweet goodies with relish. Jack hadn't noticed it before, but now he realised that she really seemed to get off on watching him eat: her attentions made him want to consume even more. He began to make his meals longer and larger, just to have more time with her at his table.
Two weeks and three wardrobe changes later, Chris asked him a curious question over a cappuccino. Wiping a dash of whipped cream off her cheek, she looked the fattened Jack in the eye and asked, "Do you believe in magic?"
"What do you mean?
"My sister - and I know I've mentioned her - considers herself a student of the subject," he answered. "I've known other women who called themselves witches. I was just wondering if you've ever had any experiences in this area."
"Only college Ouija board games," Jack answered. "I don't know what I believe when it comes to the supernatural."
"Well, I believe there are forces in the planet," Chris continued, "and that we can get in touch with them through heightening our senses, by training ourselves to more fully experience sensual pleasures."
"Like good food?"
"Like good food," she agreed, then shifted the conversation to a critique of one of the recipes Carl was demonstrating on the tube. Chris had all of Carl’s shows on tape and played them for the edification of club members; today’s tape was apparently from a more current TV season as the massive chef looked to be at least a hundred pounds bigger than he'd been on some of his previous shows. Despite the increase in his girth, Carl moved his quarter-ton-plus weight confidently through the TV studio kitchen set.
"I'd like to have you meet Carl one of these days," Chris remarked to Jack, as they relaxed over coffee and strudel after a Saturday evening feast of baked salmon, lasagna, caesar salad and garlic bread.
“I’d like that,” replied Jack. “I might pick up a few cooking tips!”
The first few months of Club membership passed rapidly: as Jack visited the Club more and more regularly, and his chats with Chris grew longer, it came to seem that the restaurateuse was spending all her time with him when he was there. Other Club members noted Chris’ interest, and the accelerating growth of Jack’s rapidly expanding physique, and they quickly began introducing themselves to him, and sometimes eating with him, or chatting while they waited for a table. For his part, Jack found himself reciprocating Chris’ attention to him by actively showing his attention to the food she served, a sort of gustatory appreciation.
By the end of his first month, Jack's newly developed gourmandizing habits had worked a revolutionary change in his physique, as he had packed on close to 50 pounds; his waistline had inflated by 10 inches to a substantial size 39.
Within months, Jack would be gaining as much in half the time.
About a month into his Club membership, Jack had started feeling a little out of place in his gym - even on the weight deck, his 50 pound gain had not gone unnoticed. One of the other male club members, Tony, had noticed the gym bag in Jack’s car and over a Club lunch one day (enormous servings of a magnificent seafood alfredo) asked him if he’d prefer a more “weight-friendly” gym, a power lifting gym that Tony frequented.
Jack made a trial visit with Tony and loved the place - not a hardbody in sight (well, discounting the lone heavyweight bodybuilder) and all the equipment, lockers and showers were clearly intended for bigger guys - and gals. And the new gym had more 'weight friendly' social activities also - a wine and cheese hour caught his eye - as did a volleyball tournament limited to guys 'over' 300 pounds. ‘I’m not that size yet!’ Jack thought at the time.
A month later, he would be.
Where before, Jack had always been a “hard gainer”, who had found it difficult to add more muscle to his lean frame, now his arms and thighs were growing larger and stronger rapidly. He regularly added more weight to his workout numbers - often increasing the load with every visit to the gym. Such powerlifter habits were not out of place among his new, heavyweight 'gym rat' friends from the Club.
The combination of his new powerlifting habits, and his burgeoning appetite meant that as his second month of Club membership progressed a race developed between the swelling muscles of Jack’s arms and legs and the thickening layer of fat that increasingly covered them. the fat won out in the end, of course, but Jack was left far stronger than ever before. As well as the enormous growth in his muscles, Jack got the distinct impression that his entire body - chest, hips, legs, shoulders - was thickening and widening to too, as if accommodate his growth, muscle and fat, as he accumulated more and more mass. Certainly, he remained amazingly mobile, even as his weight climbed.
As his body grew, adding masses of fat in new bulges and folds above the burgeoning muscle layers, Jack noticed that he was growing more sensitive to his body’s changes, and to touch. He also seemed more in touch with his senses - his taste seemed more acute, his sense of touch more responsive. Food smelt and tasted far more interesting, even intriguing, than he had ever noticed before. While part of his mind knew that his rapidly inflating body was unusual, he was generally unperturbed by his rapid growth - indeed, after the first month he actively embraced it, looking forward to the larger meals, the frequent changes in wardrobe, and to his increasing strength in the new gym. If this was magic, he thought (remembering Chris' brief words on the subject), it was magic of a benign nature.
Jack’s appetite continued to grow, and by the end of the second month he was eating nearly four times as much per day as he had before joining the Club. With such a ramped-up intake he could not help but gain weight rapidly - pound after pound swelled out his frame. By the end of his third month of Club membership, Jack’s weight would soar to almost 400 pounds.
Before he got to that size, though, his eldest brother rang him up out of the blue and invited him over for supper. “We’ve just moved here from Alaska,” Mike explained on the phone, “and thought, since we’re living not to far from you now, we’d have you over for supper.”
“Sure,” Jack replied. “I’d love to! How are Elise and the kids? Two, right? What have you bought? Is the move temporary or permanent?”
“Hey, hey, hey!” his older brother replied. “Elise and the kids are fine - there are four now, by the way. The move’s as permanent as anything in the company. As for the house - well, you’ll see it. How are you, anyway? Still the same skinny little weed?”
“Not anymore,” Jack replied. “I’ve met a new girl, and she’s helping me put on some weight.”
“At last!” Mike joked. “Here we thought you’d be a beanpole all your life. Well, come over on Tuesday.”
When Jack arrived at the address Mike had given him on Tuesday, he was impressed to see a palatial spreading split-level ranch house, with a mini-van and a half-ton in the yard. He parked and walked up to the door, feeling confident yet apprehensive of his reception, as his newly acquired set of size 56 Levi’s and a XXXL shirt were a far cry from what he'd fit into the last time Mike saw him. He knocked and Mike opened the door. Both their jaws dropped at the sight of the other.
“Mike!” Jack exclaimed just as Mike questioned, “Jack!?!”
Jack recovered first - after all, he’d always thought of Mike as big, just not this big. “Boy, Alaska and married life have been good to you. You’ve gone FAT!”
“Not half as good as your new girl seems to be for you!” retorted Mike. “What the hell happened to skinny Jack? You’ve blimped.”
“I could say the same!” replied Jack with a grin, reaching out and bouncing a meaty fist off his brother’s bulging gut. “That’s quite a spread you’re hauling. Guess this means I’m still the little guy.”
“Yup!” replied Mike proudly. “You may have gotten big, but I’m still bigger! Alaska was good to me,” he adds, then goes on, “but then I had to put on weight, to keep up with my own family. You should see Dave.”
“Dave? The little guy? He’s what, now, 14?”
"It’s been a long time hasn’t it? No, Dave is 17 now - hard to believe we’ve been eight years in Alaska - and he weighs 450 pounds.”
“Yup! Fattest guy in his high school - probably in any high school. God, if I’d been that big at his age.... Now, tell me about this gal who’s helping my skinny little brother grow into a man of global proportions. How big are you now?”
“350,” replied Jack. “Twice what I was the last time I saw you. How big are you?”
“Wow,” replied Mike, “I’m up about a hundred since the last time I was down. 420, the last time I checked - but I don’t check too often, it’s hard to find scales to weigh me.”
“420! What happened?” said Jack. “I thought that pipeline job hired you for your strength? Didn’t you figure the hard work would keep you solid? Some hard work, if you can pack on a hundred pounds in four years. Don’t try to tell me this is all muscle!” Jack went on, as he followed Mike through the generous front doors.
“Well, I got up there, and they promptly automated the repair process,” replied Mike. “Suddenly I was driving a robot instead of working out in the cold. Seems the other guys had been pushing for this - and no wonder, half of them were bigger than me to begin with! And we all put on weight after that! Not that Elise minds....” he added, slapping his own gut, “I think she likes it! But tell me about this girl who’s fattening you up. What is she, some sort of witch? I never thought I’d see you fat.”
“Well, you might say that,” Jack replied, “or maybe the family fat gene just kicked in. Anyway, she runs a restaurant - you should come out sometime, you’d like it, it’s all-you-can-eat.”
“Is she up for the challenge?” replied Mike with a grin. “All I can eat is a LOT!”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure of it!” replied Jack as he kicked off his shoes. The sudden arrival of Mike’s four kids - “Uncle Jack!” - put an end to their discussion, though Jack did notice Elise eying him and Mike with apparent approval as they tucked into thirds and fourths of her excellent seafood alfredo. And Dave did appear to be bigger than Mike - certainly fatter, though it was hard to tell past the dark clothes he wore. Dave’s appearance was of a mobile bulging tent, rather than the usual teenage male leanness.
"Now that we're back down south, we need to get together more often," Mike remarked, as he saw Jack out the door. The visit had mostly been one long feed, with pauses, then a variety of desserts over coffee in the expansive living room of the split level. Like Jack, Mike's appetite for sweets seemed to have expanded - though neither of them were a patch on Dave, who simply hoovered the baked goods.
Three months after joining the Club, Jack's rapid, even preternatural, accumulation of mass was raising more than just eyebrows at his job. Of course his co-workers and bosses at the County Development Agency had noticed his rapid gain, even from the second week. How could they not, as he outgrew clothes, then doubled his weight, all before their very eyes and in less than three months. His progress from lean soccer-playing beanpole to football lineman and beyond was the talk of the office. But Jack radiated such joy, and moved his ever increasing form with such strength and self-assurance that no one criticized him - at least, not openly. Several of ‘the guys’ did rib him a few times about his growing gut, about his doughnut consumption and about how he’d vanished from the noon-time jogging club. His boss said not a word - she even quietly procured a wider chair for Jack, in the same colours as his old one. Jack himself rearranged his office to suit his growing width.
His lifting companions at his new gym congratulated Jack regularly on his growing strength, and few mentioned his equally growing girth (which might have been because many of them also belonged to the Big Diners’ Club). And of course, at the Club, Chris and Marc and the rest were all quietly supportive, and often complimentary.
Eventually, though, someone would object, and the morning came about four months after he had joined the Club. Jack arrived in his office to find that someone had taped the lyrics of Weird Al’s parody song Fat to his desktop. At first he didn’t recognise the song, but as he read it through, he started to smile, and by the end he was chuckling gently to himself. As if he’d made up his mind about something, he shut down his computer again, told the receptionist he’d be out the rest of the day, and though it wasn't one of his regular days for lunch at the Club, he squeezed his ample self into his car and drove to the club.
He was an hour early for lunch, and on the wrong day, but that was fine - he had something far more important than food on his mind. Clad in a new, dark green 8XL sweater over his usual vast white dress shirt and enormous grey flannel dress pants, Jack moved his more-than-king-sized form with majestic grace through the extra-wide doors into the Club. Inside, Marc was setting the tables; he looked up and smiled welcomingly at Jack.
"Well, didn’t expect to see you today - you’re early for lunch," Marc said matter-of-factly.
"Is Chris in?" Jack asked. "I'd like to see her."
The waiter sized up Jack’s body language before answering. “She’s in the kitchen,” he replied, then led his stout customer through the empty dining room. Just outside the kitchen door, Jack paused for a moment to collect himself.
"G'wan in," Marc said, misinterpreting his hesitation. "I'm sure Chris will want to see you."
He held the swinging doors open and gestured Jack into the kitchen. Inside, Chris was directing a pair of pudgy youths as they chopped mushrooms and green onions; behind them on a series of cutting boards were several mountains of diced shrimp and ham. Jack slowly made his way to the centre of the great kitchen, taking it all in and savouring the scent of Oysters Bienville in progress. Finally, Chris noticed him.
"Jack!" she said, a great smile lighting up her face. "What brings you here so early?" She strode over to his side.
He was so taken aback by the marvellous odours in the kitchen that he nearly forgot his original intention. He breathed deeply of the scent of seafood and began.
"Chris, I want to know - do we have a future together? I've been coming here for four months now, and while your marvellous food was the initial attraction - this place has changed me massively! - I’m very attracted to you. I hope you’re as attracted to me as I am to you, and that you value me for more than just my humongous appetite."
"Do you love me?" he went on, "or is it just my 'gut' appeal?" he concluded, grinning at his own words.
Chris chuckled, then swept off her apron. "Are you kidding?" she answered, "I've been waiting for this moment!"
Putting her plump right hand on his fat left, Chris lead him through the kitchen to an elevator door. "My rooms are upstairs," she explained, as she pushed the elevator button. With a flourish, she took him to her bedroom.
Like the rest of the apartment, it was large, spare but elegant. Jack noted with interest the mirrored ceiling and a bed that looked super-king-size. As Jack neared the bed, Chris pressed her arms into both sides of his broad-beamed torso and leaned in to kiss his lips. She tasted vaguely of garlic and onions: Jack thought it was the sexiest tasting kiss he'd ever had. He returned it eagerly.
"I take it," he said, "that this means you're ready to take things to a deeper level."
"The deepest," she said, fingers tracing the bulges of his hulking body. "You're the most handsome man that I've ever met."
“Handsome?” Jack queried, even as his hands glided over hers.
“Massively handsome,” she affirmed.
With that, she began to kiss his chin-lines, working her fingers down the front of his dress shirt and over his glacier-like pecs, which draped down to meet the top of his keg-like belly. Despite - or perhaps because of - their new layers of fat, Jack’s pecs had become extremely sensitive, and with the feel of Chris' fingertips through the material of the shirt, his nipples and instrument started to stiffen.
"I hope I'm not rushing things," the zaftig Chris said as she stopped and backed off, "but I can't wait to see you naked, to see the magnificent fat man that you've become."
He smiled at her compliment, reached down and pulled up the mammoth sweater. Discarding it to one side, he then unbuttoned his dress shirt, tugging it out of his belt line; his fat flesh tingled as the cool room air brushed his bare skin. He shrugged and the dress shirt fell away behind him. He pulled at his belt buckle, and Chris assisted him with the button and zipper; the wool pants fell away to the floor, and he stepped out of them. As he turned, he could feel the folds of his fleshy body bounce gently around him, and Jack watched his new lover admiring his flamboyantly corpulent form. He wished that he could clearly communicate the magnificence he felt in his new, vastly obese form to her: the feeling of exultant manhood that surrounded him as his powerful, padded arms had to spread when he pressed them against his bulky torso, how the fat padding on his powerful thick pecs surged in vast waves, how his massive thighs flexed and spread and rubbed against each other as he moved, and how his vast, all-consuming belly felt as it bounced gently about him, spreading warmth throughout his being. But all he could do was offer his vastly fattened body, his obese outer form to Chris. It seemed to be enough.
She went at his naked magnificence greedily, fondling each cleft and fold, exploring every aspect of his newfound corpulence. Kissing the mountainous rise of his belly, she gripped and kneaded his hanging stomach appreciatively.
"You built this glorious bulk, Chris," Jack said meditatively, as Chris knelt to explore the overhang of his generous paunch, which tingled in response to her touch. "You and your wonderful cooking."
"Not just me," Chris demurred, looking up into his eyes. "Plenty of folk have sampled my fare. But only you have responded so completely, so fully."
She was close to rousing him digitally. Jack sighed happily as he felt Chris - now his lover! - push closer to him, kissing his fattened knees and squeezing the back of a stout calf simultaneously. As she continued to work his lower half, he moaned and stroked her hair and ears. Chris turned her attention to his massive gut, stroking it and trying to lift his vast gut apron. As she did so, however, his enormous gut overhang flowed out of her hands gelatinously; holding his stomach seemed an impossibility. Jack was now too much man for any single pair of hands to hold or control.
Finally, they moved to the bed. As Jack fell back onto the mattress, he stretched out to receive her, his generous flesh bouncing and rippling as the mattress compressed and rebounded under his quarter ton weight. Quickly stripping off her kitchen outfit, the scent of her culinary labors lingering wonderfully, Chris towered over his enormous form. She lay down on top of him, and he looked at their reflection in the mirrored ceiling: as generously built as she was, he engulfed her, his greatly broadened body spread out to either side of her. Lifting his belly to free his member to slip inside her, he grinned lustily as she kneaded his ample avoirdupois. They both came quickly and heartily.
Before he’d even cooled down from their lovemaking, Jack’s hunger returned with a vengeance; he was famished! As if she'd read his mind, Chris bounded out of bed and went to the door. On the other side, waiting for Jack, was a cart laden of cheeses and breads. Mouth watering, Jack sat up in bed, and Chris rapidly wheeled the cart over to him.
"This is marvelous!" he said between bites. He'd never experienced sex so intensely before, but since he'd grown fat, he seemed more attuned to everything sensual. The magic of sensual experience, he thought.
"Will you marry me?" he asked Chris, after he’d plowed through an entire loaf of whole grain bread and nearly a wheel of cheddar. As he waited for her answer he sank his teeth into yet another thick slice of rich cheese, now on fragrant olive bread.
What other answer could Chris give? Nodding happily, she gave her “yes” out loud. Tugging the cart closer, she massaged Jack’s ample form as he gorged on the proffered feast. When Jack had finished off the cart of cheeses and breads down to the last crumb, she suggested a quick clean-up. “I have a great shower, built for two,” she said, “with lots of towels.” Jack, reading her intentions correctly, agreed. “But you go first,” she said, aiming to watch from behind as his huge backside propelled his prodigious body across the room.
The shower, when he turned the corner into the bathroom, temporarily threw Jack for a loop - it was enormous! But, as he walked past the glass entry door, and easily moved about the interior, its commodious size seemed definitely right for him. So to were the multiple shower heads - four on the ceiling, but more unusually multiple rows of shower jets on the walls, and even a couple on the floor. Jack noticed a series of control studs in a couple of panels, and he pushed a few experimentally. Different shower jets turned on - overhead, then below, then a pattern on the walls. He suddenly realised that if he turned, the wall jets would wash all the parts of his body easily - well, except for down below, but he pressed another control, and a powerful yet not too powerful floor jet rose and scrubbed the underside of his overhanging gut.
The shower’s walls were made of thick clear glass, and through them Jack could see Chris’ longing gaze as she entered the bathroom behind him. Happy to be in this place, he hammed it up for her, inhaling so as to further expand his gut, and bouncing his gut and his lovehandles against the shower's spray for her as she came across the bathroom. She stripped down and stepped into the shower.
“Did you have this built with me in mind? It feels a bit like a car wash, but for big guys,” he ventured, gesturing to the shower jets covering the walls.
She replied eagerly. “Yes, it is! But wait ‘til you feel it in action. My sister helped me design it – do you like it? It makes a quick wash easy. Just put on these goggles, touch the top control stud, then turn around.”
Jack donned the proffered swim goggles, his meaty arms stretching back over his head, then touched the indicated control. A swirling pattern of warm water erupted from the walls and covered Jack from head to toe. Chris slipped on goggles of her own, then gestured to Jack to turn around, and he slowly did. She took a wash cloth and began to soap him up, as his gentle rotation continued. After a couple of minutes, she stood back, and watched the swirling pattern. She gestured again to Jack to have him pull up on his massive belly, and as he did she touched a second control stud. Several jets on the floor joined the wall-mounted ones, and Jack stepped over them, letting them clean his belly hang and his behind. He grinned at Chris, and she touched the top control stud.
“It IS a car wash for fat guys!” Jack remarked, grinning, as Chris stepped towards him and kissed him. Then she grabbed a towel from just outside the shower – a huge towel, metres long – and handed it to Jack, and grabbed a second one to use herself.
As Jack toweled off in the expansive bathroom, Chris helped him avidly. Now well aware of how his size and form delighted her, Jack decided to see just how interested she was in big guys. He asked in a steady voice, “Since you have a bathroom so obviously designed for a big guy, do you maybe have a scale too? Or,” he added, more gently, as if being reluctant, “maybe there’s a shipping scale in the restaurant?”
Chris, smiling, replied, “Well, yes, I do have a good scale. Why do you ask?”
“Ever since I was a kid I’ve weighed myself every week,” replied Jack. “But I’ve 'run out' of scale. I used to weigh myself at home, but that scale only goes up to 350 pounds - and, I’m a bit beyond that now!”
“I’ll say!” interjected Chris.
“I know I’m still growing - either that, or my clothes keep shrinking,” Jack grinned, “and I’m curious about how big I am now.”
The warmth in Chris’s reply told Jack he’d been right about her interest in big guys.
“Sure,” said Chris, smiling broadly, “I have a scale up here that should do - I'll just pull this rug aside. Maybe I won't need to cover it with a rug anymore.”
She moved a small rug Jack had hardly noticed to show a gleaming steel surface, covered in non-slip tread, nearly four feet across. On the wall Jack suddenly noticed a small display on a shelf, in between some potted plants. Chris tapped a spot on the display, and it blinked twice, then shone out a steady “000" in large numerals.
“There you go,” she said, excitement obvious in her voice. Jack waddled over, hung the vast bath towel on a nearby hook, and stepped onto the platform.
“Hope I’m not too heavy for this one!” he remarked jokingly.
“Oh, you won’t be, I'm sure,” replied Chris.
The display blinked twice, slowly, then shone steadily. “519!” exclaimed Jack happily. Chris just beamed. “Wow,” Jack went on, mentally calculating, “that’s three times what I weighed when I first met you.”
“So you’re three times the man you used to be,” Chris noted with a grin.
“I guess that’s true,” Jack replied happily. Stepping off the scale, he grinned madly at Chris, then did a little dance, his vast gut and butt swaying and bounding around him. He reached out his huge arms to Chris and twirled her twice around the bathroom, coming to a bouncing halt beside the scale. Letting go of Chris, he picked up the enormous towel again. “I wonder,” he said mostly to himself, and he picked up the long towel to wrap it around his huge gut. “Great!” he exclaimed as he found the towel wrapped amply round his paunch. “I haven’t been able to do that in over a month - my towels at home are all too short.”
“I’ve adapted this apartment to suit a big guy,” Chris remarked simply, "because I knew that someday I'd meet the right one. Drop that towel now and we’ll get dressed - I have to get back to the restaurant. I have a lunch to get on - and I’m sure you must be hungry.” Jack’s ample gut chose that moment to rumble its agreement.
Chris helped Jack back into the dress shirt and slacks, and the two of them rode the elevator back down to the Club, just in time for them to sample the lunch items.
“Jack, you must try these,” Chris said, grabbing a plate and putting one of the roasted oyster appetizers on it. Jack dug in with his fingers.
“Fabulous!” he exclaimed, as Chris passed him a large bowl filled with a rich, thick chowder. After a few spoonfuls, he simply tipped the bowl up to his mouth and chugged the rest.
“Also fabulous!” he declared. One of the cook’s assistants, who had cottoned on to what Chris was doing, passed her a salmon fillet on another plate. She proffered this to Jack, who speared several large pieces and filled his mouth with them. Chewing enthusiastically, he announced, “Marvelous!”
“This is our first all-seafood lunch. Well, go snag a seat, while I go to the front,” said Chris, pushing Jack gently in the direction of the main dining room. “Marc’ll look after you.”
Chris hurried to the front door to greet the first members arriving for lunch. Jack moved his vast form to a seat near the kitchen door, his great stomach gurgling audibly in anticipation of a good lunch.
Marc, noting a special glow on Jack’s and Chris’s faces, and hearing Jack’s stomach complaining, came to his own conclusions, and made sure to keep Jack’s table loaded with food. Observing how voraciously Jack dug into his lunch, and Chris’s glances of contentment at Jack’s binging, Marc kept the serving dishes on Jack’s table refilled regularly for a long time. As Jack’s gorging was finally slowing down, Marc wheeled an especially heavily laden dessert wagon, lovingly organized by Chris, up to Jack’s table.
“Chris says this is all for you!” remarked Marc. “Hope you have room for it all!”
His appetite suddenly raging again, Jack dug into the sweet stuff ravenously. After a few minutes, Chris appeared at his side with a tall jug of milk. Under her urging, Jack proceeded to demolish the entire wagon load of sweet delectables.
"You've come a long way from the man who didn't ‘do' dessert," said Chris as she smiled sweetly at him.
"And it's you who's led me all the way," Jack replied after a pause for chewing, wiping an errant crumb of chocolate brownie off his cheek.
By mid-afternoon, Jack’s sex-heightened appetite was finally sated, and he and Chris returned, not to her rooms, but to the kitchen, where Chris began to instruct him in the practical aspects of restaurant food preparation. The next morning, he returned to the County Development Agency just long enough to give his notice and clean up his office. He hired an agent to sell his condo, and moved in with Chris.
Two weeks later and more than 80 pounds heavier - at 614 pounds, heavier than the famous TV chef Carl (whose weight had reached a new peak for the current season of his popular TV cooking show) - Jack was spending all his time with his new fiancée at the Club, learning her cooking secrets and applying his own business experience in a way that satisfied him far more than working for the County Development Agency ever had. With Chris’ grateful acquiescence, he took over the finances of the Club, and was able to almost immediately streamline and improve her bottom line.
Of course, working directly with Chris in the Big Diners’ Club - and living in the condo above - meant that Jack was now surrounded by her excellent food and her not-always-subtle encouragement not just for four or five meals a week, but 24 hours a day. His magically-enhanced appetite re-doubled; he found himself feeling permanently hungry, so that he began to snack regularly through the day, in between meals of growing length and size. He ate more than ever before, and rarely left the Club’s premises, except to go to the powerlifting gym, or in search of new clothes: as a result of ever more food and encouragement and lessened activity Jack continued to grow larger and larger.
As Jack had always been a guy for numbers, he used Chris's scale regularly, and plotted the results. He quickly had his growth curve memorised in the same way he'd used to memorise soccer stats: whereas in his first month of Club membership he’d gained 49 pounds, and in his fourth month he’d added 121 pounds to his body, in his fifth month, thanks to his "live-in" Club membership, he'd comfortably added 209 pounds to his burgeoning mass.
The end of that fifth month saw Jack happily settled into Chris’ upstairs condo, living and loving in a body which had been 'upgraded' by over a quarter of a ton. Even more impressively, both the size of Jack's appetite and his rate of gain would continue to accelerate as he began his sixth month in the Club. Of course, this was helped along by the conversion, sometime in the fifth month, of the “bedtime snacks” that Chris had started plying him with when he'd moved in into a full scale fourth daily meal - and the mid-afternoon “snack” kept threatening to do so.
Naturally, Jack took as many meals as possible in the Club dining room - where his comprehensive gorging (his daily food intake would have fed 15 ordinary men) began to inspire other Club members, especially the younger guys, to greater gluttony. Jack was unaware of this at first, until Marc reported to him and Chris that he had heard several younger members discussing how to “do a Jack” - by which they meant either greatly increasing their intake, or their weight, or both.
(Continued in Part II: