Fat Dad Club, part 6 (Patreon)

It had been just under two months since the incident. Since Boony had caught his husband in the embrace of another man. Surprising no-one, things had gone downhill pretty quickly from there. There’d been fights. Shouting matches. Slammed doors. Tears.

‘We’ve sent Penny back to her grandparents for now,’ Boony told the other fat dads. ‘And Gus had to fly back to New York.’

‘Flee back, more like,’ Joe responded, slugging from his bottle of Bud, elbows rested on the granite-topped island of Boony’s kitchen, letting gravity pull his blimp-like ballgut down.

‘This is all my fault,’ Henry said, round face worn with regret. ‘It happened in my home, with my assistant Hudson…’

‘You can’t think like that,’ Carl told Henry, patting his back, all the wider now, along with the rest of him. ‘You couldn’t have known.’

‘Please, Henry, don’t beat yourself up,’ Boony added. ‘It was Gus’ choice to make. He’s responsible for his own actions. As is your assistant.’

‘Still,’ Henry continued, ‘I’m so sorry it happened at all. No-one deserves that treatment, least of all you, Boony.’

‘So what’s Gus saying now, dude?’ Joe asked, swigging more. ‘Was that, like, a one-time thing or…?’

‘He said he’s still seeing Hudson and… things are getting more serious…’ Boony sank lower against the kitchen counter just from recounting those awful words.

‘What?’ cried Carl.

‘Seriously, what the actual fuck, man? Is he for real?’ from Joe.

‘He says Hudson understands him and listens to him. He says they both want the same things.’

‘I can’t believe that,’ Carl stated. He dipped his hand into one of the bowls of chips Boony had laid out for the group.

‘What a giant douche!’ Joe again.

‘Would it be prudent for me to let Hudson go?’ Henry asked, in genuine concern. ‘I can do that if you’d prefer. I can find another assistant…’ There was this almost imperceptible moment of hesitation contained within that last sentence.

‘No, no, don’t do that,’ Boony told him, touching Henry’s forearm in solidarity. Because of his height and ever-increasing frame, Henry was taking up a lot more space these days. ‘He’s your employee.’

At first, Boony had been glad to have the house to himself; space to think and reflect and all that. But then came the gloom, over the hills of Maupinton and into his breast. That’s when he’d called his friends. He wanted Fat Dad Club here, to help fill this big empty home, lest he remain alone with his thoughts.

‘Gus wants to stay here in the house with Penny,’ he added. ‘He thinks I should move out.’

‘He can’t do that, can he?’ Henry asked.

‘What a fucking joke,’ Joe said. ‘Sorry, Boonster, I know he’s your husband and all, but that guy is acting like a total dickwad right now.’

‘Who owns the house?’ Carl asked. ‘Is it in both your names?’

Boony shook his head. ‘Just mine. Because my teaching position is more stable - Gus is technically freelance - we were advised I should be the sole owner and he just contribute.’

‘Well then I’m sorry, man, but fuck him,’ Joe carried on, now also delving into the snacks. ‘Not his house. Not his say.’

‘I agree,’ Carl said, and a look passed between he and Joe.

‘I also agree,’ Henry weighed in with a sigh. ‘Though if you’d rather a change of scenery while all of this awful business is going on, you are more than welcome to stay with me. I would, of course, ask Hudson not to be there.’

‘That’s really kind of you, thank you,’ Boony told him, and found it difficult to keep his eyes from filling.

He was so glad to have found these guys. True friends. For one thing, his love of food had lately turned into stress-eating, and the fat dads, he knew more than anyone else, would never judge him for that. Hell, they were practically encouraging each other to indulge these days.

‘Boony, we love you,’ Henry kept going. ‘And we’re here for you, however you need.’ He stepped in to place his long arms around Boony, and it felt a bit like being hugged by Santa Claus. Boony let his head rest on Henry’s chest.

‘Th-thank you…,’ he sniffed.

‘We got you, Boonster, dude.’ Joe came in on the action, laying his somehow-still-defined arms around the both of them, his mammoth gut obstructing his way somewhat. ‘We got you.’

And Carl rounded it all off, hugging from behind. ‘I know it hurts like heck right now. I know it does. But we’re here. Boony, we do love you, buddy.’

‘I l-love you guys… too…,’ Boony replied, letting the tears run their course, feeling the warm dad-sandwich all around him.

It helped. A great deal, actually. He felt the sincerity of their words, their warmth.

Curiously, when the dads dispersed, Boony spotted Joe’s hand lingering at Carl’s side for a few extra seconds.

Joe was seeing more of Carl, alright. In just about every sense there was. Since the whole muffin thing, Joe had been sneaking across town whenever he could, helping to grow Carl, feed him, stuff him, enlarge him. And things had gotten more… intimate each time.

Joe’d always taken a pretty laissez faire approach to his own sexuality. Girls had usually been his thing, and that was cool - Christ, his wife Darcy was smoking hot, that was for damned sure. But, okay, there’d been dudes too. Just sometimes. It wasn’t like a whole thing. Just… whatever came along. At least, that’s how it’d been in his free, single days.

Joe knew he shouldn’t be carrying on with Carl the way they were. Free spirit he may have been, but cheater? No. Never. That wasn’t him. He was a responsible father and partner.

But goddamn, seeing Carl blow up…

The guy had already been big when Joe first stepped into that pretentious coffee-book place for their first Fat Dad Club. And since imparting his little speech about “letting go”, well, it had worked wonders. It was awesome seeing them take to it; Henry and Boony were cutting fine, large figures, but Carl? It was his transformation that was really whetting Joe’s whistle. Just the way he filled out those comically boring polo shirts of his, the material getting all stretched and bent out of shape as Carl fattened up so fucking beautifully. Jesus, he was practically spilling out of his clothes now. Watching it happen before his eyes, that wasn’t enough for Joe anymore. He had to get involved. He wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to be the reason for it.

First it was the feeding, some snacks and a little fumbling around, then it started getting more passionate. They were undressing each other. Fooling around sessions turned into full-on sex, always with the stuffing involved. Fucking Christ, combining the two - that took things to a whole other level. Was there such a thing as dopamine overload to the brain? Cos feeding and sucking Carl was a trip like no other! And Joe was hooked. He needed this hit. He sure as fuck wasn’t getting anything near as potent back home.

‘Do you think the other guys know?’ Carl asked him, a couple nights after they’d all consoled the Boonster.

‘About us? Nah, I don’t think so,’ Joe told him, reaching over and casually placing a thick lump of donut into Carl’s mouth.

They were back in Carl’s apartment, in his generously-sized bathtub. It was actually amazing how it managed to contain the two of them, considering their size. Both Joe and Carl’s bellies crested the top of the water. A large box of Krispy Kremes lay open on the bathroom cabinet beside them.

‘Why, did you wanna, like, tell them?’ Joe asked. Some chocolate filling had dripped onto his hand so he fed that to Carl, too.

Outside, through the little patterned window, a thunderstorm was rumbling gently over Maupinton, rainfall pitter-pattering against the pane.

‘No,’ Carl answered quickly, then sighed and relaxed back some, letting Joe continue to ply his cheeks with sugary sweet dough. ‘No. I just… I don’t know.’

Joe’s feet were cradled against Carl’s spongy sides. He loved the feel of it, so soft. Carl had laid a hand on Joe’s ballgut and was gently soaping its apex. Joe loved the feel of that, too.

Though Carl hadn’t out and out said it yet, it was obvious the guy had never done anything like this with another dude before. If Joe had to guess, there was probably some repression there, or some junk like that. He didn’t pry. Didn’t wanna make Carl feel bad or anything. Besides, what did it matter? They were two big fat dads getting even bigger and enjoying every minute of it.

(That’s all that really matters.)

‘How many donuts left?’ Joe asked him.

Carl peered over to the box, some of his folds overlapping in the doing so. ’10…? No. 11.’

‘You gotta eat all of ‘em, okay?’ Joe instructed. ‘Then we’ll get you started on that next box in the kitchen.’

Carl tilted his head back. Just hearing these words was giving him obvious pleasure. Joe took the opportunity to play with his fat-embedded penis some, which drew soft moans from Carl.

‘We shouldn’t… uhhh, shouldn’t really be… doing… this…’

Joe pushed another chunk of dough into Carl as he gripped tighter below. ‘Yeah,’ he breathed. ‘Totally…’

Carl swallowed and shuddered. ‘We should… go back to… ohhhhh, just being friends…’

‘Uh huh.’ More donut. More pleasure. ‘… Just friends…’

Joe caressed and fed, stuffing that gorgeous, overflowing dad-belly.

‘Ohhh gosh darn, yeah…,’ Carl uttered, eyes closed. ‘That’s it…’

This made Joe pause to snicker.

‘What?’ Carl asked, smiling in confusion.

Joe shook his head and let his ballbelly heave to and fro with mirth. ‘You’re so fuckin’ square,’ he laughed. ‘I love it.’

‘That’s just how I was raised,’ Carl explained, sitting up and taking another large bite that was brought before his lips.

‘It’s cute as fuck,’ Joe told him.

‘Growing up, you should’ve seen the look on my mom’s face if she heard us curse or swear. Ohhh, you did not wanna do that around her. Heck, she’s still that way now.’

‘Oh yeah, tell me more about your mom, that’s really helping the mood right now, haha.’

‘Alright, alright,’ Carl shrugged, looking like a happily stuffed dope.

Joe snorted, and kept the donut pieces coming, clutching at Carl’s squishy abdomen as he did so, just for the pure pleasure of feeling it. Man, he wanted that thing fatter. So much fatter.

‘I bet you’re a good son, though,’ he said, meaning it.

Carl thought for a second. ‘I’ve tried to be. Good Christian boy and all that. I think I’ve done alright as a father too. But the husband part… I didn’t quite nail that one…’

He let his gaze trail off, eyes locking onto the spattered window while he chewed, thunder still mumbling softly outside.

Joe thought about telling him how amazing he was. How huge and handsome. He couldn’t think of a reason not to, but still went with, ’What happened?’ instead. Didn’t know why.

Carl took more Krispy Kreme. They’d moved onto a Glazed Cruller now.

‘My wife… My ex-wife… She…,’ Carl stumbled with the words. He exhaled, swallowed down more glazed donut. ‘I couldn’t… I couldn’t make her happy. It just… got to a point where nothing I did was right.’

Joe fed him more, and gently rubbed Carl’s gut as he continued.

‘I got too fat. She didn’t like my weight. She didn’t like my clothes. I was too… too practical. She said I… lacked adventure.’ Then Carl suddenly raised his voice. ‘Which is ironic because I always wanted to travel around Europe, but - but - but we were saving the money for April - that’s my daughter - to go to college.’

‘So what the fuck?’ Joe joined in on the impassioned tone. ‘What, you were supposed to just blow her college fund? You were doing the right thing for your kid, man.’

‘That’s what I said!’

Joe leaned forward, as much as his gigantic ballgut would allow for, which wasn’t much.

‘You should go, dude!’ he said.

‘What? To college?’ Carl asked, pulling a face, cheeks stuffed nicely full.

‘Nooo, doofus,’ Joe laughed. ‘To Europe. Do your traveling that you always wanted.’

And then Carl made that dumb giggle he did. It set Joe off cos it sounded so stupid and hilarious.

‘I can’t just do that,’ Carl said, smirking at Joe’s enjoyment of his chuckle. ‘I got commitments. My job, for one thing. Bills, this apartment, Spot.’

‘Fuck Spot - Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean - I meant, like… dude, there’s ways and means-‘

‘And I’m getting too old for all that-‘

‘What? You’re like 44, aren’t you? Fuck that noise, man!’

Carl chortled again, higher in pitch this time. But Joe grabbed him by the side-rolls, having pushed the last of the Glazed Cruller in.

‘Carl, bud, you get one life,’ he said, dead serious. ‘You know, unless you’re, like, a Buddhist or something.’

Midnight snacks had gotten to be a fairly regular occurrence for Henry. He’d floated the notion that perhaps Hudson could assist with them in some way, but that had been shot down quite conclusively. It was probably a foolish notion anyway.

So Henry ate alone in his kitchen. He liked to prepare himself things like grilled cheese sandwiches, or help himself to plentiful slices of cake during the moonlight hours, engorging his already extensive stomach.

Hudson hadn’t been around much lately anyway. Not since that business with Gus. Goodness, what a to-do. Henry shook his head at the thought, and let the crusty toasted bread and soft, pliant cheese fill his mouth, savoring their flavors. He gave his belly a few merry pats. He most certainly did enjoy feeding and growing it.

Doing so alone, however, was… less enjoyable.

‘I wonder if you would have liked to feed me up, Charles?’ he asked.

Some footsteps in the hall outside, and then,

‘I don’t think he would have.’

Hudson stood in the doorway, designer jacket hugging all the right places, brand new Ray-Bans (despite the hour) nestled in his quiff.

And a carry-case at his side.

‘Hudson,’ Henry remarked. ‘Where have you been? I was worried. And your duties-‘

‘My duties are no longer applicable,’ Hudson stated simply. He took a beat. ‘I’m leaving.’

Henry blinked and put down the remainder of his sandwich. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m moving in with Gus,’ Hudson replied airily.

‘What? But… But you hardly know him…’

This was most disturbing. And happening far too quickly!

‘And he’s a married man!’ Henry added, hearing the trace of desperation in his own voice.

‘I assure you, I’ll be quite fine,’ Hudson said, ruffling his perfect hair, perhaps just for show. ‘We’re getting a place together in New York. He couldn’t… uh, he doesn’t want to stay here.’

Henry wiped his mouth and beard down with his napkin and now stood.

‘You’re moving state? Hudson, I… I’m having a difficult time believing this… It’s all so sudden…’

‘Well, I couldn’t stay here forever, could I?’ It came out almost like laughter. ‘That is, unless you want to raise my allowance, make it worth my while…?’

Henry’s face felt hot.

‘Worth your while? I thought… you wanted to help… That you… Your companionship…’

Hudson raised his eyebrows. ‘So that’s a No then?’

‘I… need you… Hudson, I need your help… with Charles, and…’

Henry felt his heart escalating. The room seemed to be getting smaller, or bigger, or… he didn’t know… ‘You can’t just go…’

Hudson huffed out a lengthy sigh and cocked his head, letting his eyelids droop.

‘Henry, the truth is, dear chap, no-one can help you.’

Henry balked at this, but Hudson went on,

‘You’ve been stuck in this - this kind of grief limbo for years now, and nothing I or any of your obese, mid-life-crisis-friends can do or say is going to bring you out of it. And eating yourself into oblivion certainly isn’t going to bring Charles back. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but it’s high time someone did.’

Henry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was as though this were all a scene he was witnessing from above. A play.

(A tragedy.)

He went to speak but found his mouth dry and voice unwilling.

‘I’m sorry, old chap,’ Hudson gripped the carry-case. ‘But this is goodbye. We’ve had a good run.’

And with that, he trotted off, away down the hall. Henry heard him turn the front doorknob and let himself out, clicking it closed behind him.

(”A good run…?”)

Henry was still hot. It was in his cheeks. No, his whole face. He couldn’t breathe properly.

(”Grief limbo…?”)

He felt his teeth clench. His jaw turned to stone. Breaths were leaving him at random. His heart was booming. He heard it against his eardrums.

He snatched up his sandwich plate with a thick, unsteady hand.

‘AAAAAAARRRRGHHH!!!’

He roared as he smashed the plate against the kitchen wall.

It collided with a framed photograph of Charles and he, which itself fell to the tiles, shattered into a hundred pieces.

Henry did not clean it up.

He didn’t even care.