I didn’t see him for a few days, but he came into the gym, looked around, saw me, and made a beeline for me. I just hoped he wasn’t planning on punching me out or something, but all he did was tell me that he’d been…hypnotized. That I had to believe him. That he’d had no idea what he’d been doing–he’d thought he’d been at the gym the entire time. Apparently, he’d stumbled upon a website called the Fat Action Team, which claimed to be dedicated to helping men “Get Bigger,” which he’d thought was a reference to getting more built. I thought that was ridiculous, that if he wanted to gorge himself, that’s fine, I just didn’t get why he had to lie about it. I went back to my cycling, and then he…put a set of headphones on me, telling me that I’d understand if I just heard it…and I don’t…I don’t remember what happened after that, very well. I had a really good work out, I know that–both me and Jay did. He’s my workout buddy. We were both exhausted, but he gave me this website I really needed to check out–they make these awesome workout music mixes, he told me. In fact, he’d already referred me–all I had to do was enter the code, and they’d set me up with a custom mix for free. I took the card he gave me…and I already knew that as soon as I got home, I’d be on my computer getting my first mix–but at the same time, I had this…feeling. That…that I should be able to remember the last couple of hours better. That when I looked at Jay’s face, he had food crusted around his mouth–and my hands felt greasy, and my gut was grumbling–but I couldn’t quite tell if I was hungry, overstuffed, or just nervous for reasons I couldn’t quite explain.

Still, I signed in using the information Jay had given me, and all of those worries disappeared as soon as I heard the first track the training company sent me. I’d…I’d been looking for something like this, actually, something to help me take my training to the next level. I’d always wanted to be…to be bigger

yeah bigger fucking fat fucking so fucking fat I can’t see my cock so fat I can’t see my feet I wanna wheeze I wanna be stuffing my face all day long gotta be fat fat gotta eat gotta get big big gonna be fat pig gonna be fat

I shook my head–what the hell had that been? I looked at the clock, and I’d been listening to that file for quite a few hours–and my shirt was filthy, as was the desk. It looked like grease stains and…crumbs? I was probably just having a snack, I thought. Still, I needed to get to bed, so I could get to work.

Jay and I synced our workout schedules together, and both of us were definitely progressing well. It was so much better having someone to help you lift, you know? Someone else there, by your side, helping you get…get bigger, and watching them get bigger too. I was feeling ripped, and powerful. Hell, I had to buy a whole new wardrobe, can you believe it? Still, it was hard seeing progress in the mirror for some reason, but I kept getting comments from people at work–

“Have you been going to the gym?”

“Wow man, you look…different today.”

It always felt good, getting positive reinforcement from people like that, and I always had Jay. In fact, Jay and I started spending a lot more time together after a few months as workout partners. We didn’t really have much in common, I mean, aside from our training and desperate, crippling desire to get as big as possible, but the more I was with him, the more I kind of liked him. Sure, he was a bit of an asshole sometimes, and a braggart. It was pretty wearing, really, but since I usually had my earbuds in while we were together, I didn’t actually have to listen to him all that much. What I appreciated was his commitment, his desire to get bigger, and he was such a help, you know? I could have never done something like this on my own. I…I needed him, and he told me one night that he needed me too. We decided, then, that for the sake of our training, and to get even bigger, it would help if we just moved in together.

My place wasn’t that big, and I didn’t have a ton of stuff, so it was easier for me to just sell some of my stuff, cancel my lease, and move into his house one weekend. Fuck, that was a lot of work! You’d think that with all of our time at the gym we’d have no trouble moving a couch, but both of us were exhausted after that day. We were probably just tired from all the time we’d spent at the gym lately, getting bigger. We’d also started a calisthenics routine at his house in the evenings, so were working out twice as much!

It was a shock when I realized a year had passed since we’d both first started training together in earnest. It wasn’t too much longer after that one year anniversary that we both got an email from the training company, letting us know that we’d finally finished our first round of training! Included in the email was a final training lesson we needed to listen to–the company said it would help us reorient our worlds and self-perception, help us grapple with these new, bigger bodies we’d crafted for ourselves. Both of us were so excited, and we agreed to listen to it right away. The file was shorter than usual–but it was what happened when we both woke up which was the biggest surprise for us both.

I’m not sure the first time I noticed it, to be honest. I’d been going to the gym pretty regularly–you know, decided to finally try and lose those twenty-five pounds I could feel at the end of my shifts. I got the gym membership free through my insurance, so I figured it couldn’t hurt. But this guy–we’d never spoken or anything, but one morning I saw him come in, all pumped and excited for his workout, right? He had sort of…an off season body. Muscled, but a big gut too. He’d head over to the free weights, put his earbuds in his ears, turn on his player…and then he’d just turn around and walk right back out the door of the gym, earbuds still in. The first time I saw it happen, I assumed that he must have forgotten something in his car, but I kept looking over from my stationary bike, and he never came back in. From that day on, I saw it happen a few more times–always the same guy. He’d come in, psyched. He’d put in his earbuds, and he’d leave again–I never actually saw him lift a single weight. So…I was a bit curious, you know? Why have a gym membership if you weren’t going to actually work out?

My work schedule shifted up a bit a few weeks later, after some turnover at the store. I started going to the gym in the afternoons a few days a week, and there he was again…only this time it was the reverse. He’d come into the gym, lumbering, looking kind of tired, leaning back oddly. He’d go over by the weights, take his earbuds out, wipe his forehead like he’d just finished a long weight routine, and then leave. I worked it out–he usually arrived at the gym at around eleven, and that day I say him leave it was about two–what in the hell had he been doing for three hours? Curiosity got the better of me–on one of my morning workouts, he came in and left, like usual–so I got up and followed him out to see where he was going.

I kind of expected him to go to a car–instead he walked off down the sidewalk, and I followed him at a slight distance. I knew I was being a bit…creepy, but I was honestly curious what was going on with this guy. We walked two blocks, and I remember how…odd he seemed to be walking. A little stiff, head straight ahead, not looking from side to side at all. Waiting for the crosswalk, he just…stood there like a statue. Anyway, he turned into a doorway, and I couldn’t believe where he’d ended up–it was a fucking all you can eat buffet. I watched him outside, through the window, as he paid, got his seat and proceeded to start shovelling food in his mouth–plate after plate, I had never seen anyone eat like that. I went in and got a place of my own, eating slowly, and sure enough, for two straight hours he pounded back load after load, before getting up and leaving in time to get back to the gym around two. I followed him back. Saw him walking with the same strange gait as before, and when he got back to the gym, he did the same routine–pulled out his earbuds, heaved a few breaths like he’d just pumped a staggering amount of iron, went and got a drink, and then left.

Should I ask him about it? I pondered what to do for a week. It seemed…so strange, and yet I couldn’t help but feel like I’d witnessed some forbidden secret pleasure of his, because…because the way he’d been eating, it was obvious it had given him some…some incredible pleasure. But I needed to know. I didn’t really know why I needed to know, I was just…what would make someone do that? Pretend to go to the gym, just so they could stuff their face? So the next chance I got, I followed him again, but this time, on the way, a hurried to catch up to him on the sidewalk, walking beside him, and tried to ask him what he was doing. He didn’t even notice me–he just kept walking, eyes unblinking, face forward. I tried again–could he not even hear me through the music? What was he listening to exactly? So I…I pulled an earbud out–well, both of them came out, actually, and I shouted at him again, asking him what he’s doing. He blinked a couple of times, and stopped walking, looking around like he had no clue where he was.

“Hey. Are you alright?” I asked.

He turned to me, “I…where am I? I thought I was at the gym.”

I did my best to explain to him. That he wasn’t at the gym because he’d left the gym, because every day he went and stuffed his face at a buffet. He didn’t believe me–he just put the earbuds back in, his eyes glazed over and kept walking like he hadn’t even talked to me. So I followed him to the buffet, I waited until he’d gotten his first plate and was devouring it, before I pulled the earbuds out again. He recognized me, but I could see he was still confused–so I showed him, that this is where he’d been going…and, well, he freaked out. I mean, screaming freak out, and then he started cursing something, shouting something about some fucking training company, and left at a jog. I followed, and saw him get into his car and speed away from the gym, wondering what in the hell that had all been about.