School Reunion, part 8 (Finale) (Patreon)

Reaching home from our trip to Bognor Regis at just after 7pm, Andrew promptly announced that he wanted to take me to one of his favourite pubs for dinner and a few pints, because he wanted to see if anyone could spot that we were a couple.

No-one did, despite frequent hand-holding and occasional kisses - or at least no-one commented - but a good night was had all the same.

The next day was still bright, but there were clouds in the sky, and the weather report promised a cooler day. When we sat down to breakfast, Andrew asked me if I had any firm plans for the last day of our “holiday”.

“Yes, actually,” I replied, cutting off a piece of bacon and dunking it into my fried egg. “Remember when you came here for Chinese takeaway that first time?”

“Indeed I do, Sweetheart. I blubbed all over you and slept on your sofa. I’m still amazed you didn’t run for the hills after that.”

I reached across the table and squeezed his hand, with a smile. “Never going to happen. You’re stuck with me now, my chubby love. Anyway, you mentioned that you liked gardens, and perhaps we might visit some?”

Andrew’s face perked up. “Oh, that’s a fine idea, Tommy. There’s several within an easy drive. Do you think –“

“- we can take a picnic? Already sorted. Cold meats, coleslaw, potato salad, lots of sandwiches, fruit, crisps, cheese and biscuits, cake, chilled beer in the coolbox.”

“How the Dickens did you manage all that?” Andrew looked genuinely surprised, which pleased me greatly.

“I was planning this last week, so most of the food is already prepared. I made the sandwiches this morning. Of course, back then it was just going to be ‘two good friends on a nice day out’ – what a difference a week makes, eh?” I planted a gentle kiss on Andrew’s furry cheek.

Andrew’s eyes became slightly moist. “What did I ever do to deserve you, you beautiful boy?”

“Fell in love with me, and made me the happiest accountant in Great Britain. Now haul your fat and sexy arse upstairs, we need to get dressed if we're going to make the most of the day.”

After a bit of Googling, we decided to visit Uppark House and Garden, which turned out to be a lovely Grade 1 Listed 17th century manor-house with extensive gardens, owned by the National Trust. We both enjoyed wandering around the house, looking at the beautiful rooms and antique furniture – I was highly amused when Andrew got into a polite, but forceful, debate with a Room Steward over the age and origins of some of the antiques on display. Once we had finished the tour of the house, Andrew and I took a stroll around the grounds, arm in arm. Andrew was once again in his Panama hat, and was dressed smartly in a blue blazer (unbuttoned, of course), white slacks, a large white shirt open at the neck and a cravat, looking every inch the handsome portly gentleman. I was slightly more casual, in smart blue jeans and a light blue Ralph Lauren Polo shirt (which fitted me well about three stone ago, but now clung tightly to my round paunch). I thought we both looked wonderful, like real men, and I couldn't help gloating at the fact that I was in the company of the most handsome man there, bar none.

At about 11:30, I sat Andrew down on a bench by a burbling stream that we had discovered, far from the busier areas of the garden, while I walked back to fetch the picnic. In order to carry it all, I had loaded it into a suitcase on wheels with the coolbox balanced atop it. Back at the stream, I laid the picnic blanket on the ground before Andrew’s bench, arranged our feast on top of it, and sat cross-legged on the blanket in front of Andrew’s chunky legs while I filled a plate for my hungry walrus. Once all the food was gone, I spread my legs out and leant against Andrew’s knees, finding (to my delight) that the Welshman’s seated paunch now reached far enough down his lap to serve as a soft, supportive pillow. I sighed in satisfied bliss.

“You sound happy, cariad.”

“I truly am, Andrew. I’m sitting by a brook in a shady glade, with a full belly and the man I love serving as my pillow. I think I could pass as the poster boy for happiness and contentment right now.”

“You are so lovely, my sweet one. I’d be kissing the top of your head right now, if this ton of blubber wasn’t in the way.”

In silent response, I sat forward, turned around and up on my knees, and placed my hands upon Andrew’s “ton of blubber.” The buttons on his enormous shirt were gapping badly. Still saying nothing, I released two of them over the widest part of Andrew’s belly, letting a broad slab of fat bulge forward, and started to kiss and lick and suckle at the meaty flab.

“OooOOOH….” The quavering note of pleasure from above his head was music to my ears. “Sh-should…um, should you be doing that, Tommo? In public, I mean? What if someone comes by?”

“You want me to stop?”

“God no!”

“Then don’t worry. We’re all alone here, and shaded from the rest of the garden. It’s why I picked this spot. I want to feel and taste some of this delicious fat I’ve larded on you these past months. Mmmm…” I sank my face into the soft flesh. “There really is nothing sexier than a big fat man…unless it’s an even fatter man, of course.”

Andrew made no response, he just smiled tenderly and slowly undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, letting his huge belly spill out into his lap. He patted both sides of his gut, making it sway and ripple like a pond. “Here you are then, my gorgeous. It’s all for you to enjoy. This, and every pound we add to it for the rest of our lives.”

Moaning softly, I spread my arms wide and dove onto the mountain of fat, burying my face even deeper into it. (Death by smothering in my lover’s belly. I could enjoy that!) I lifted my face back up into the air, stood up, and leant in to deeply kiss Andrew’s furry lips. “You make me so happy, Andrew.”

“As my reward, would you do me the same service? I want to nuzzle your tum now.”

I laughed, and slowly, teasingly untucked my t-shirt, lifting the hem and revealing a gradually-widening sliver of flesh. I could see that Andrew was enjoying the show greatly. At a certain point, my belly slipped out of the shirt, wobbling and bouncing – more than I would have expected it to, actually. I pulled the shirt off, displaying my softening man-tits, and stepped forward. Andrew eagerly leant into me, rubbed his hands across the soft curve, and pressed his face into the yielding meaty flesh. The eroticism of that timeless moment was only ended when Andrew blew a raspberry into my tummy, making us both laugh.

As I packed up the picnic things, Andrew stood and restored his shirt. I, by contrast, chose to leave my t-shirt off for the time being, and we left our quiet refuge with Andrew’s hand clasped firmly around my bare waist, his sausage-like fingers pressed gently into the bare skin. It was about 15:30 by the time we reached the house again, and Andrew stopped.

“Do you need to rest, Andrew?”

“Not really, Tom love, but I’ve just seen something that makes me think a nice sit-down is in order…”

He pointed at a sign: CREAM TEAS NOW BEING SERVED.

I guffawed. “Why not? Let’s see how many scones that bottomless pit can take, shall we?”

The next couple of weeks were very busy. I spent several hours most days keeping on top of my work, while still finding time to cook up filling breakfasts every morning and delicious dinners most nights. Lunches, at least for the first week, were not my responsibility; on the Monday following our lovely romantic weekend, Andrew announced that it was finally time to reopen his shop. Planning to start slow, opening only on Thursdays, he took several days to air out the storefront, refresh his inventory, and give everything a thorough cleaning. I helped him as much as I could, taking great enjoyment in working alongside my big sexy man. On Thursday, I was beside Andrew for what I whimsically referred to as “The Grand Re-Opening” (Andrew told me not to be so silly, he was just unlocking the door), and stayed the whole day both to act as an assistant, and to keep an eye on Andrew – this was the first time in months that he would be facing people who knew him before his emotional incident, and I wanted to give him all the support I could.

I need not have worried unduly – there were perhaps a dozen or so customers all day, many of them regulars who just wanted to welcome Andrew back, find out where he’d been, and ask about the “nice young man” who stood behind him. To my joy and delight, Andrew responded each time to that last question with “This is Tom Greene, my lover and partner. He’s an excellent accountant, and the love of my life.” While this caused moments of shocked silence in some cases – and once, the customer simply turned and walked out without saying a word – most of the customers were at least gracious, and one or two shook Andrew’s hand, and mine, congratulating us.

At 17:30 pm Andrew locked up, and arm in arm he and I strolled away from the shop. I snuggled against the taller man’s arm. “That was a fun day.”

Andrew kissed my head in response. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I’ll confess to a few qualms over the last few days, about whether or not I could cope. It was nice to feel your support.”

“I’ll always support you, Andy, you know that. If you need me, I’ll be here every Thursday. Maybe I’ll finally learn something about antiques, eh?”

“Miracles do happen, lad. I picked up your job, you’ll easily pick up mine.”

“You’re my miracle, love,” I said, angling my face upwards for a kiss.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart.” Andrew bent down and reciprocated.

On the following Thursday, I was once again at Andrew’s shoulder when we opened. The shop was much busier, this week; word had clearly got around - both that the shop had reopened, and that there was someone new in Mr. Davies’ life. Several of those customers were just there to snoop a little, but we made a number of sales; Andrew was delighted, particularly that I was responsible for a couple of them. To celebrate, Andrew took me to the nearest pub for an early dinner and a long, late booze-up. At closing time the landlord called us a taxi to drive us home, as we were both very much the worse for drink.

In the back of the taxi, Andrew leaned boozily on my shoulder and patted my leg. “I’m so proud of you, boy,” he repeated, for about the fifth time that night.

“Proud of you, too, big man,” I replied, my eyes half closed. I was finding it difficult to stay awake.

Andrew continued, his voice slurred, his eyes unfocused. “Could never – never have done it wi’out your help.”

“Yeah, you could.”

“No, no, no, no, I couldn’t.”

“Wha’ever you say.”

“I feel like I can take on anything, w’you by m’side….”

“Me too, lover, I –“

“….which’s why I signed up f’r a public auction nex’ week….”

My eyes snapped open, my alcoholic fug momentarily obliterated.

“You did what now?”

But the only answer I received was a series of rumbling snores.

As the date of the auction approached, things got a little strained at home.

I veered between worry about how Andrew would cope in the environment which caused his breakdown – especially if the Odious Alastair was there – and rock-hard confidence in my partner’s strength; after all, he wasn’t the lonely, insecure man he was back then.

Andrew was a seething bag of nerves, but also determined to power through his fears. He refused to let me down by breaking down again, but in the pit of his copious stomach he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was setting himself up to fail.

Both of us ended up treating each other with kid gloves, in order not to lose control in front of the other. Oddly enough, Andrew found his appetite reduced, while I overate like there was no tomorrow. I came within a hair’s breadth of asking Andrew not to go on multiple occasions, while Andrew came close to cancelling his plan just as often – but neither of us knew what the other was thinking until it was too late to do anything about it.

When Saturday morning finally came around, we both dressed smartly and took ourselves off to the auction like soldiers going to battle.

After an hour of looking around auction lots, I started to let myself relax. Andrew was warmly greeted by fellow antique sellers as soon as he arrived, all of them expressing their pleasure at seeing him again after so long. One or two even commented that it was nice to see he’d reopened the shop. Some of the lots themselves attracted Andrew’s professional interest, and he happily discussed them with me. Fifteen minutes before the start of the auction proper, however, the worst happened: from behind us both a familiar, nasal whine echoed out.

“Ooh, look who it is; Moby Dick’s fatter cousin and his bodyguard. Dared to show your faces in public again, have you?”

Andrew straightened suddenly; I grabbed for his hand but was shaken off roughly. We both turned around.

Alastair looked fundamentally the same as the last time I saw him, except his nose now resembled that of a boxer, mashed in and off-centre. His smile was just as arrogant and vicious, however. As he realised how much bigger both of us had grown, he laughed shrilly.

“Fuck me! It’s the dynamic duo, Hog-Man and Piggy! You must have eaten a herd of dairy cows each since I saw you last!”

I was unfazed by the insults – to me, they were nothing more than the unfocused squeals of an immature child, desperate to wound. Anyway, I adored how fat I’d become – all Alastair was managing to do was validate my positive self-Image further. No, I was chiefly worried about Andrew – this hateful little man had left a bleeding wound in the Welshman’s soul which he could rip open whenever he wished. (Have the past few months – the past few weeks as a loving couple – been enough to seal that breach in his defenses? God, I hope so). I badly wanted to glance up at Andrew and read his face, but I refused to give Alastair that weapon.

A moment later, there was movement next to me… and I smiled in relief as Andrew stepped forward. This was not the hesitant shuffling of a hurt child trying to escape, oh no; these were the strong, assured steps of a man – a real man - moving to brush away an irritation. As Andrew stepped into my eyeline, I gleefully saw Alastair’s smile vanish, his face grow pale, and a moment later my big fat lover grabbed his shirt and tie at the neck and hauled him up onto his toes.

“You,” snarled the huge and powerful Deputy Headmaster I used to love and fear in equal measure, “are nothing but an arrogant, selfish, stunted, self-deluding petty thief!” His deep voice increased in volume. People were beginning to gather and watch the show. “You stole valuable antiques from me four years ago, and if I could prove it in a Court of Law, I would drag you there by the ankles so fast your bony arse would catch fire! Nobody likes you, nobody trusts you, and nobody would piss on you to put you out if you were burning.” People were definitely watching now; watching and smiling. “You have been allowed to have power over me, and that’s my fault; I granted you that power because I was alone and vulnerable. Well, chwilen ddu, I’m not alone any more.” His voice was very powerful now. Without looking, he reached back and took my hand in a firm grip, tugging me forward. I came willingly.

“Remember this man? This man, Tom Greene, is a brave and fearless man. He reminded me how to be brave, when I'd let myself forget. He also taught me what true love is, and it’s not the twisted, toxic thing you peddle. This is the man I’m proud to call my lover, my partner, and one day – if he’ll have me – my Husband!”

He threw the little weasel to the floor with utter disgust on his face. “You are nothing. Less than nothing, as far as I’m concerned. Come near us again, and I’ll let Tom have you for a chew toy – if you’re lucky.”

And with that – to the glorious sounds of rapturous applause and actual cheering – my big, beautiful, brave warrior took me in his arms and kissed me long, hard and passionately. When we separated, there was a light kindled in his eyes, his face, which I knew was matched in my own; the light of true and enduring love.

We didn't even notice when the ‘chwilen ddu’ – Andy told me later it was Welsh for ‘cockroach’, as I would now always think of him - scuttled away to lick his wounds. Nor did we care.

The auction itself was a great success. Almost everyone in the room - or at least everyone who had seen the altercation - was in a party mood, and there was much cheering and laughter whenever anyone bid successfully on a lot. Andrew himself got the biggest cheers whenever he was the successful bidder - and the sweetest were those on the occasion when Andrew pipped Alastair to the post to secure a lot of Victorian jewellery. The fiesta-like atmosphere continued after the auction ended, as about twenty people joined us at the nearby pub. Conversation flowed, our empty pint glasses were constantly refilled, and we received several invitations to parties or other social events. It seemed that Andrew's state of friendlessness - and mine - was well and truly over.

From that day forth, everything seemed to get better and better for us. Andrew's customer base grew, and he was soon required to open two, three, and even four days a week. My own clientele expanded greatly by word of mouth, until I had more work coming in than I knew what to do with. Six months to the day after I brought him to my home, Andrew left it to return to his own house... and I went with him. For the next year, we moved between the two homes until we sold them both, and bought a lovely big house on the outskirts of Arundel; a new build, designed to our specifications, future-proofed to allow for increasing girth and reducing mobility as Andrew got older, and as we both grew ever fatter. It also had an enormous, fully stocked kitchen and the biggest bed you've ever seen.

Oh, and one more important milestone to mention; on Andrew's 60th birthday, we had a big party for all of our new friends. Gifts were plentiful - almost all of them foodstuffs - and our tables and other surfaces groaned under the weight of the massive feast we provided, which would be talked about for years to come… because in the middle of the party, Andrew tapped a knife against his wine glass and called for silence – and before all those present, my beloved Fat Welshman struggled down on to one knee... and asked me to marry him!