Derek got off his bed.
Nothing had happened that was any different than when he’d been laying prone in his bed the night before, or the night before that, and he hadn’t realized anything new about himself in the past hour. He had no idea what was at play that he was able to perform the bodily machinations that had him leave the mattress’ comforts, yet it was a thousand times more than any effort he ever made in the past. But what now? The next step would be to walk towards the door, but when step one being so intimidating when it was just getting up, step two seemed even worse.
Then he walked along the room. No relishing in that he was putting his first foot forward, nor any hesitation or pacing back and forth to at least brace himself for impact, just more of the same autonomous contractions of his leg muscles that piloted his screaming brain into the hallway against its will. Turn back, it said. Turn back HE said, but he knew it was too late. He’d already moved halfway across the house, too far for this to never happen again and to go even further anyway.
There was that last step down the staircase, however. An extra second or two frozen with his bare foot planted on the floor before he was in the same room as Bentley, but with rejuvenated instinct he rounded the corner. Knowing Bentley as long as he did should’ve cured any surprise of his rate of growth, that someday it wouldn’t draw his wonder that there were a few more hundred pounds bouncing along his form, but it just a matter discourse that when one sees Bentley, whether an outside to his life or an insider, whether it be a friend long lost for years who or still in his circle and expecting that he was finally as big as he’d ever get, the sheer difference in size between him and that of whoever’s eyes were basking in him filled the brain with one thought.
HOLY FUCK, HE’S MASSIVE.
With his back once again nestled into the perch of his own thorax, half-standing in some sort of odd pose so his lard-clogged claws of his feet barely contacted the floor, there existed no pose that Bentley could ever perform where no part of him completely loomed a few feet over Derek’s head, or that of a vast majority of the human population. In the time of six months, three extra feet of heigh provided vantage for a head rapidly assimilating with his broadened cheeks and the pillowy ring that compromised his neck and jaw, resting atop shoulders spanning a yard each in length, but his upward growth came severely outclassed by bodily mass roaring out from his old ‘puny’ self’s like foam erupting from the end of a waterfall.
Even subtracting a stinger that had grown taller and wider than a college shuttle, Bentley’s system contained nine tons of bulging, swelling adipose that largely consisted the spherical protrusion sprawling in front of him, but it instead of flop ahead of him in some gross, puddle-like tidal wave of lard maintained some sense of robust, if still wobbly roundness that collected itself in a leviathanic globe that no amount of humans could gather around and easily raise from its greedy collection of the floor it mounted ahead of his feet, or even any forklift that could hope to wedge its prongs between the ground and the insane strain of gravity it placed therein. That didn’t contract, however, from blubber-engorged hips, thighs and calves comprising an ass of two deliciously rounded orbs whose teamwork surpassed the width by mere glimmers past his belly, or milkless breasts billowing along its upper dome that made his shirt some surreal male imitation of a bra.
And what was this monstrous spit in the eye of a virtuous lifestyle of patience and temperance engaged in? Not the movie he was watching, despite his white pupils focused on the waste of electricity across from him. He was eating. What was he eating? A burrito to an outsider, but to Derek he suspected also contained the workings of pizza, or cheeseburgers, or even candy or chocolate, considering how often Bentley stacked fast food on top of or into each other to experiment if there existed some combination of junk he could eat that he didn’t like. His journey was always in vain.
The trash-can sized burrito was deformed slightly by Bentley’s maw biting into it, enough entering his system that would imply that tonight he would choke to death and he would be too fat for the medical team to save him, but if becoming half this size was yet to end his life, Derek assumed it never would. There was also that blissful contentment that kept him unaware there was another party in his room that was scrutinizing his gluttony. Derek treasured it; he let it last hoping that if this was the final time that he would ever see it.
Then Bentley’s compound eye flicked in his direction. “Mm hm hm-hmm!” He grunted to the rhythm of ‘just a minute,’ then swallowed his mouthful without chewing, the food-packed bulge slithering down his throat and past the ether in his leviathan of belly, a satisfied exhale following after with Bentley smiling at his friend.
Don’t do this!!! Derek thought when Bentley made that eye contact, smiling that smile that he smiled when everything was as is, where things between them were normal, fun and non-awkward. Don’t do this don’t do this dontdothisdontdothisdontdothisdo
“Hey, Derek. What’s up?”
“I’m gay.”
The words sounded bizarrely loud inside of Derek’s brain, so loud that the startled flinch Bentley elicited implied he had read his mind. Then Derek smacked a hand over his mouth.
“…I-I’m sorry?” Bentley ejected.
April fools! Ha ha, just kidding! Oh, I was just rehearsi- “I’m gay.” Derek stamped out, enunciating those five letters so he and Bentley could here each of them. “I’m gay.” He spoke again. Bentley shut his fallen jaw, but it didn’t make the blimp-like beedrill look any less surprised. “I’m gay, Bentley.”
“…you’re gay.”
“I’m gay.”
Bentley kept staring, then nodded. “You’re gay.”
“I’m gay.”
“You’re gay.”
“I’m…” No. This was reflex talking, now it was his turn. “I thought…I thought for a long time, ever since I was a kid, that…that it was girls I was supposed to be attracted to. I never hated them, but I just thought it was because I wasn’t interested in dating that I never got a girlfriend, and…”
Derek paused, observing Bentley’s blushing face, but he nodded for him to continue.
“..and the more I though about it, being out in college and out in the open, the more I knew it wasn’t because I was interested in dating. It was because I wasn’t into…yeah. Girls.”
Crickets. The buzzing of the lamps. The gentle breeze of the air conditioning.
“…okay.”
“How does that make you feel, Bentley?”
“Well, being around Mike’s ass swinging around back at the club for so long, I’d be more concerned if it turned out you didn’t become gay!”
…was what Bentley would have said if he cared that much about being the undisputed quipmaster of the group, or something about apologizing for trying to hook him up with girls and a slurry of other things that he felt guilty for his brain improvising. Here was a very flustered friend of his in one of the most personal moments of his life, where he had no idea if even his most lighthearted joke would make things worse.
“Well, how would you like me to feel?” He spoke instead.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, I just…you’re my best friend, and I didn’t to feel like our friendship was a lie if that’s what was keeping it together.”
“A lie?” Bentley replied in an almost hurt tone, but that was followed by a chuckle. “Derek, if our friendship was a lie, what do you think I’d be trying to gain letting it go on for this long?”
“I-I don’t know, I just…well…”
“Hey.” Tilting forward enough that he could get on his feet, Bentley ducked down so as to pick up Derek and hug him. It was an awkward grip for the beedrill to grab hold of his friend against the length of distance his stomach billowed through, just as weird as the angle the human was forced into against the curvature of he massive yello-striped orb, but Bentley remained oblivious to the real reason for the deep red blush that swelled on Derek’s cheeks as he made the most bodily contact he had ever made with his housemate. “Whoever you had the hots for before, I never cared at all, and if you don’t want me to I don’t care about it now.”
But try as he could to make no jokes at Derek’s expense, Bentley couldn’t resist a giggle when the human plopped his head between his fatty pecs and hugged him back, eyes tearing up.
“Thank you, Bentley.” Derek murmured tearfully into his chest. He realized then that what he though was Bentley’s skin was anything but; it was fur, so smooth that it was indistinguishable from short distances but addictively soft to pet and comb his arms around.
“Any time, buddy.” Bentley answered earnestly, but obliviously ripped Derek away from his haven in setting him back down. Derek’s skin yearned for that feeling again; he had to do it now. He needed it!
Choice 1: Derek at last confesses, and it was in that one moment that that day, April seventeenth, became Bentley’s “December third.”
Choice 2: Derek confesses. Although touched, Bentley sadly reveals that he’s not into other men.
Choice 3: Derek bolts. Aw…
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