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Brock Devins was the college jock. He stood casually amongst the eighty-or-so friends at the fraternity house. You see, our fraternity was hosting a gathering to make peace with the other brothers around our campus. We weren't exactly 'good' the past few weeks, having a brand new City of Toronto park bench neatly planted in our front foyer. It was an exchange for -- well, we took it from another frat house after they very generously repainted our group vehicle a bright, fluorescent pink. It wasn't so much the color as it was the wrong vehicle...after all, most of us were prone to pink, just discrete about it. Besides, Brock (the master behind most of our schemes), could never let down a challenge. And this is what forged his demise last semester.
"Hey Brock! Wait up." I was running as fast as I could, but still couldn't keep up with him. "Just stop for a minute. We have to go over these plans," I managed to gasp as I slowed in front of him, staring face to face with his crotch in a hunched position.
"What is it Tack. I have to finish my mile. Competition is in just a few weeks," he responded impatiently. "Besides, it's all in the bag. I know what I'm doing."
Brock Devins was a muscular marvel. He was superboy in disguise. Being a national gymnastics competitor as well as playing on the rugby team, developed his body into the massive sculpted figure standing before me. He had everything going for him. If it weren't for his compulsive desire to gamble with life he would be perfect.
I needed to talk to him about the plans for raising our fraternity account funds. We were desperately low in cash this year, especially with the low number of brothers that joined at the beginning of the term. We needed money quickly, and Brock was the one to find a way - whatever the outcome.
"I'm sorry Tack, but I'm outta' here. If I don't stay fit for my gymnastics tournament, I'll be laughed right out of my spandex." He continued running, leaving me still bent over with my hands on my knees. "We'll talk at tonight's meeting," he yelled as he disappeared around the corner.
Later that evening we all gathered in the den for our attempt at 'brain-storming' a way to make money fast. Unfortunately, most of them were experiencing more cloud cover than electrical turbulence! Brock was late, and I was the only one submitting reasonable ideas. I was about to give up hope when the outside door swung open and Brock whipped past the den entrance.
"Was that a goat"!? I yelled as I leaped up from the couch and followed the animal stench to the kitchen. "You've got to be kidding! This is your idea of financial gain? What are we going to do, open a petting zoo?" I was frantic.
"It's the Trojan's team mascot," Brock said defensively as if to rationalize what he did. "I snuck it out after the game. I figure that our frat rivals down the street will pay highly for its safe return."
As if queued like clockwork, a deep-voiced stud came barreling through the front door, heading straight for Brock. "Devins! You're dead!" he bellowed."You're going to be sorry you crossed my path!"
"Wait Joe...it was a prank. Come on, you can take a joke right?" Brock was stumbling for words. He obviously didn't expect to be caught with his pants down by the animal's owner.
"A prank? You guys are crazy. You stole from us and we're going to get you back big time. We're all sick of your crazy pranks...especially when they start affecting me!" Joe was mad, but I couldn't help but notice the sign of pleasure crossing over his eyes. Brock was staring fear right in the eyes, so he didn't notice...but I almost blew my cover as I tried to hold back a grin.
"OK OK...I'll make it up to you Joe. Anything you say, all right?" Brock bartered in desperation. He knew that he could face being kicked off the frat council, and suspended from school if Joe took the matter to the right authority. "My word is as good as gold Joe. Just tell me what I have to do to keep this quiet."
Joe's gaze of fun turned to pure and utter power. He had Brock right where he wanted him. "All right Devins. My terms, and you do whatever I tell you to do. You have a gymnastics tournament coming up, right?"
"That's right Joe," Brock answered promptly.
"Well you're gonna miss it," Joe said in a mean, low voice. It was almost as if he were whispering in a deep erotic manner to a lover. "You're gonna stay right here in the fraternity for one whole month." Everyone watching straightened up as Joe's eyes scanned them from right to left across the room. "And your friends here will be involved too. Someone will get your homework for class. Someone will see to making sure you stay in the house, or I'll have them accused as well. And everyone will do their part in seeing that you gorge yourself with food and drink...non-stop...for one whole month. Get ready muscle stud, it's party time!"
Brock's eyes didn't blink. I was waiting for him to start laughing, but he stood there motionless like a trained dog waiting for his master to give him a command to move. He managed to break the silence, but it wasn't what I expected at all, "All right Joe. I'll do my part, and you keep this silent." I couldn't believe he was actually going to do it.
Joe nodded his head and took his mascot back to the dorm. The slamming door broke the silence amongst us.
"Well you heard him. Sounds easy enough. All I have to do is eat, then I don't get kicked out of school, and I keep my reputation," Brock said with almost simplicity in his voice.
"What are you talking about Brock...you're not going to do this, are you? You don't have..."
Brock cut me off mid-sentence, "Shut up Tack. Just do what I tell you and don't ask questions."
After several days, things were quite different in the frat house. Joe had sent specific instructions as to how things were to be handled with Brock, and we were not to stray from those guidelines under any circumstances. And the incredible thing was that Brock did not put up a fight. It was as if his pride and compulsive ego had grown larger than life, and nothing was going to stand in his way to show everyone the extent of his will.
Besides, Brock had even more riding on his success -- Joe promised to compensate our financial deficit, as well as pay for all required groceries for Brock. Money was not an issue with Joe. His family was very wealthy, and this whole deal amounted to nothing more than petty cash as far as he was concerned. Joe wanted revenge -- not just for stealing the mascot, but for all the foolish things Brock did in the past, and Joe was willing to pay for it.
We had to rearrange the kitchen to suit Joe's requirements. It was set up like a fast food restaurant. We worked shifts between classes, sharing the tasks of cooking, cleaning, shopping, and feeding.
Brock was positioned in a chair at the center of the kitchen, with the table in front of him piled high with food. It seemed like a never-ending torturous task, but he seemed to endure it all.
"Are you sure you don't want to take it a bit slower Brock? You're not running a marathon you know," I said (pretending to be supportive).
He answered in short breaths, as if exhausted from all his eating, "No way man...I'm gonna...see this through...even if it...kills me."
Brock was getting big. Big and bloated. His once washboard stomach had been pumped up like a balloon. A thin layer soft flesh cascaded around his arms, across his chest, and collecting everywhere around his belly. You could still see a bit of muscular definition in his legs, as they swelled past the capacity of his jeans. I have to admit, it was rather erotic seeing my lifetime jock go to pot before my eyes. Seeing him sitting there powerless, at the mercy of everyone around him, swelling up as he gorged himself with food.
The end of the month came quickly, and Joe wasted no time dropping by to see if Brock truly kept his part of the bargain. It was like an inspection officer was dropping by to make sure everything was in order.
Well, Brock certainly kept his part of the bargain. There were no scales available, but he had to have gained at least 80 lbs. He sat in the same chair for the entire month, with nothing moving but his arms piling food to his mouth. He was big. We had to change him into a pair of XXL track pants after the first week, as his legs and belly were too big for his jeans. Now his track suit was getting snug as well.
He sat there moaning in his chair, slightly rocking from side to side as if struggling to keep his weight vertical. His face was puffed up with a layer of fat, his arms and chest were tight and swollen, and his enormous belly dominated the space where his flat stomach used to be. The poor guy was ready to burst. One extra day and we would have been rolling him out of the house.
Joe stepped toward him with a smile on his face. "So you actually did it. You big, fat slob. I can't believe you actually did it," he repeated in a sarcastic tone, while poking Brock in the belly. Every time he pressed his finger into his gut, or patted him humiliatingly on the side, Brock's stomach caused a shock wave that spread out and bounced like an over-extended water balloon ready to burst. You could tell Brock was humiliated, but the worst was yet to come.
Joe let out a snickering chuckle, "You know Brock, this whole thing was a set-up. Everyone was involved. Everyone at school, including all your frat brothers!"
The room was silent as Brock's eyes widened in utter horror. His fat, over-stuffed body too big and bloated to get up or do anything.
"That's right my fat friend," Joe continued. "We were all sick of your crazy pranks. And with the help of...well, let's say a little financial persuading, I was able to convince everyone to get in on the prank of a life time. Your own prank Brock...and you were sucker enough to fall for it. And now look at you. You're big, and fat and lazy...you'll never be able to compete in sports again."
Everyone involved came into the house to see Brock sitting in his chair like a stuffed turkey. They all took turns rubbing his belly and poking him jokingly. But more than anything, it seemed as if he had become popular in another way. It became a ritual to have Brock at all the rugby games as the new mascot. It was almost as if they were keeping him fat, immobile, and controllable.
And so it came to this. The frat party was also a celebration in Brock's honor. He stood in the middle of the crowd of frat brothers as they took turns stuffing him with pizza and beer, to see just how big he could get. I couldn't help fantasizing about Brock's weight-gain. You could say he got his 'just dessert'.
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