The Augustine Murders - Season 3, Episode 6

III.6

                    “Quelque part où il soit, il mange, et s'il
                     revient au monde, c'est pour manger...”

    
                    (Wherever he may be, he's eating, and should he

                     come back from the Beyond, it will be to eat...)

 Jean de LA BRUYÈRE

Les Caractères – “De l'homme”, 122

April 2th, 1990 – Monday

  Even with the rain pouring heavily over their heads, the two wet and fresh young men were certainly dragging their feet, as they were about to leave the Fat Trout trailer park... There was always time for one last, long kiss for Scott when the doors were closed and he was seated in the trailer, next to full bags of dirty clothes and big, empty boxes of food. 

  Phil was in no hurry to get back to work, knowing that everyone at the hospital wanted to put him on a diet so strict that they would never go for it themselves... Patting and pressing his waist with both hands, Scott commented on the fact that he didn't look much thinner, no matter how much physical exercise he had performed all week-end – day and night.

– “What can I say? Some people can eat and eat, and stay pencil thin... I was never meant to be that thin.”

– “I know...” Scott teased. “You're thick! Like a mighty Sequoia.”

– “Nothing you can't handle, right?” Phil smiled, blushing a bit.

– “Let's say I'm... getting used to it.”

  Scott's hands were on his friend's hips now, and the sweaty blonde boy was only wearing a tight, well-worn pair of jeans and one of his white T-shirts. His green hospital shirt was waiting for him on the driver's seat. He could certainly endure to be handled that way, and he looked ready to show Scott how they could always push things a little bit further, in a most persuasive way.

– “Easy! Easy, big guy... You know how far I can bend, but I swear you could break me like a twig.”

– “In your dreams...” Phil embraced him and kissed him deeply. “Isn't that why I keep telling you to eat large, healthy and wholesome meals?”

– “You mean barbecued red meat, sausages wrapped in bacon, deep-fat fried and starchy foods? Pasta drowning in cream sauce, pastries topped with an avalanche of whipped cream... and more sweets than the tooth fairy could count?”

– “Call me a fairy again. See how many teeth you have left, handsome.”

  Phil was fondling his friend a lot more sensually, as he had put on a little more weight. Scott was definitely not going on a diet anytime soon!

– “Is that your idea of going easy on me?”

  The fat boy had to catch his breath. Scott couldn't understand how Phil wasn't totally exhausted after everything they had done together, but he was still exhilarated and – from the way his friend smiled and held him in his hands, he wouldn't go anywhere until everything was said and done. Phil looked so devilishly charming, in his gentle ways, it was impossible not to fall into a trance under that dark and sparkling green gaze...

– “You wouldn't follow me through thick and thin... I can tell.”

– “We both know you'll have to get thin. At least for a while.”

– “Then you have to get thick, for me.”

– “For you...”

– “Yes, please?” Phil kissed him playfully on the lips. “Eat more food than ever... Put on a little more weight? Stuff yourself as much as you want, whenever you want! Grow thicker and bigger, and rounder... and fatter!”

– “Then you'll get thin... for a whale?”

  Phil chuckled along with his friend but, as the blonde beast hugged him tight and licked his neck up to his jawline, Scott couldn't help feeling like he was his prey – and those deep, loving green eyes were looking at him appraisingly. Phil might as well lick his lips and growl, at this point!

– “I won't be on a diet forever...” He whispered into his ear with a deep, low tone. “Maybe you should get ready for it, because I'll be one hungry bear then.”

– “Hungry for... more of this?”

  On a dare, Scott slapped his plump side, and they both saw how much his empty belly was jiggling and wiggling – waves of fat rippling through his tender, pale skin...

  Much to his surprise, however, Phil let out such a deep moan or sensual groan that it sounded exactly like a bear's growl. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise, his spine prickle with shivers and his lips tingle all at once. He couldn't tell whether it was good or bad that Phil was looking down, right now – as if he was struggling with something... Phil heaved a deep sigh, then he hugged him tight, once again, nestling his head on Scott's softening chest and rubbing his well-fed, round belly seductively.

– “I'm already hungry for this...”

– “I can feel it.”

– “And you're going to make it worse.”

– “So much worse...” Scott chuckled.

  Maybe he could have his way with that wild beast, after all!

  He could hardly wait to bind him in leather and spank him to teach him a lesson – no matter what that “lesson” may be... Phil was a natural. A guy like him should rather teach someone a thing or two about their own deep, dark and hidden desires... That laid-back, dumb blonde bear was surprisingly honest and open about his own most personal triggers – not to mention overly generous to a partner with similar tastes.

  Scott was only struggling with the top buttons on his pants, right now.

  The only way he could get them to close was to let his belly hang out in front, well over the waistband. Then Scott couldn't button up his shirt. It felt painfully tight around his shoulders. He couldn't even pull his T-shirt all the way down to his pants!

  Phil was done with the manager of the trailer park, and he was coming back to their truck. The sun was slowly rising over the mountains. They could hit the road. Lucky for them, only a few people had come to spend the week-end camping in the park. Their little escapade on the lake had gone totally unnoticed.

  As he was about to put on his light green hospital shirt and get the key into ignition, he felt that something odd was going on in the trailer.

– “Scott? Are you okay in there?”

– “I'm... No... I'm stuck!”

– “You're stuck in the trailer?”

– “No! It's that damn T-shirt... It's riding up on me even more than you!”

  It didn't take a doctor to understand that Scott had definitely outgrown his last pair of pants, along with his last T-shirt and designer shirt.

– “Oh? Okay, you're...”

– “I'm stuck! I can't pull these up... I can't pull those down.”

– “Well... Obviously, no.”

– “What can we do about this?”

– “Well...”

– “Come on! Don't just stand there... I can hardly breathe in this thing! Do something... And don't look at me like this!”

– “Okay. Well then...”

– “Don't give me that look.” Scott snapped. “Fuck! You're so dumb... I have no doubt that you can play along and be faithful like Lassie, but I'm not stuck in a well!”

– “No, you're not. You've rather been stuck in a diner's booth, lately.”

  Scott's belly looked even rounder as it was squeezed between his tight pants and a very tight T-shirt, encased in an even tighter, paper thin shirt. He was tugging his clothes down again, furiously. Phil had to stop him before he would tear the fabric to shreds.

– “This won't help. If this is how far you can get your T-shirt down, leave it as it is. As for your shirt...”

– “I can't show up to work like this!”

– “Of course not. You have some shopping to do.”

– “In Biberton...” Scott frowned and shook his head. “I'll ask the clerk for the latest trend models in their “lumberjack” collection.”

  Phil was coming back with a large pair of shears.

– “Okay, Scott. First things first... Plaid shirt on a hot guy? Hot!” The blonde bear was serious about this. “Now, we have to get creative in our own way. You're not going to take off your leather jacket today, right?”

– “I don't see your point.”

– “You may not want to see this anyway.”

  With a few swift and precise moves, Phil cut his friend's T-shirt just below the chest, where his midsection rounded out too much for its tight fit. Then he held Scott by his shoulders, turned him around and cut the back of his shirt almost all the way up to his collar.

– “What the...” Scott gasped, startled.

– “There you go. You can button it up and tuck it in, I guess. Business in front, party in the back... No need to suck in your belly, and no one will notice. Can you go through the day like this?”

  Scott was only convinced when Phil was done helping him to put on his jacket. Fully dressed and comfortably sitting in the passenger seat, he let out a long sigh of relief.

– “I didn't expect this. I've really grown...”

– “Like a perfect greedy boy!” Phil nodded in approval.

– “It's good that we got these buttons to close, at least.”

– “I don't want to see your shirt buttons close. I want to see them pop!”

■ ■ ■

  Going back to Biberton's general hospital early in the morning came with its lot of surprises. It was meant to look like any other day at work for Phil. Scott couldn't tell how soon the nurses may notice that Rick was no longer in his bed, but they didn't expect everyone to be already on red alert...

  It didn't look like a search party either. Everyone was standing by the entrance desk, with Nurse Vickers handling the phone. She looked busy calling people like parents or relatives of their inpatients.

  Nurse Rockwell came to ask Phil as soon as she saw him.

– “We couldn't reach you over the phone, last night! Doctor Lipton wants to see you at once.”

– “What happened, last night?”

– “We don't know... We can't explain it any more than we did when it happened to mister Wingrave. But it's really serious, this time!”

– “Did something happen to Rick? I mean... mister Wingrave?”

– “You should know. You were there!”

  Scott and Phil exchanged a look of panic. They had been so careful the whole time when they snatched Rick out of the hospital, and out of town. Did someone spot them on the parking lot? On the road?

– “I don't understand.”

– “It's those sick students from Saint Augustine Bells.”

– “What about them?”

– “You should take a good look at them. When I came to wake them up, this morning, they were complaining and groaning like pigs... There was nothing unusual about that but it didn't feel the same, somehow. I pulled the curtains open, then I immediately noticed how much the boys had... ballooned overnight!”

– “They were stuffed? Like mister Wingrave?”

– “Oh! Very much so... Round and bloated, and full to the brim!”

– “All of them?”

– “Yes, even that German exchange student... We have moved them to individual bedrooms, but doctor Lipton didn't know what to do.”

– “Don't worry, I will take care of this.”

– “I guess I shouldn't mention this, but...” Nurse Rockwell sounded more hesitant. “This situation rather reminds me of another student from that dreadful school, if you catch my drift.”

  Phil knew what she meant. Scott also understood that they were both thinking about Michael Astern, the first victim in this case. It was such a taboo subject that they had not talked about him for some time. It was of major importance for him too – in his previous life, as a journalist... Maybe he could try and call Ms Astern again? 

  There was a moment of silence, soon interrupted and almost shattered when Dr Lipton joined them, huffing and puffing, walking down the stairs in a hurry, followed by nurse Brinell.

– “Phil, finally!” He shouted. “You have some damage control to do!”

– “Yes, sir...”

– “Follow me.”

– “Right behind you, sir.”

  Scott didn't linger, once they were gone. Nurse Vickers was still busy at the desk – and the other nurses were desperately trying to look busy, so they wouldn't have to think about this new mysterious turn of events in their hospital.

  One dead student sent to their morgue was already a bit much. A fat security officer stuffed to the size of a beached whale in their intensive care unit only made matters worse for them. Now, if that same situation was to be repeated six times over...

  Scott felt a sudden shiver run down his spine. They had not checked on Rick yet, so everyone thought that he was still in his bed, sleeping like a prized pig in his pen.

  It was better for him to come back later.

■ ■ ■

  Scott wanted to look good on his first day at the Sheriff's Office, and he didn't like the way his clothes fit him. Phil had helped him save face in front of the hospital staff and people who would happen to pass by, but his pants were still painfully tight – and he was uncomfortable with half a T-shirt covered by a loosely buttoned shirt.

  Sheriff Maxwell was about to leave. He left the door open and told him where he would find his stuff: uniform, equipment and keys... Scott let out a sigh of relief when he was alone in the department's locker room.

  He got rid of his clothes immediately and for good !

  There was a complete set of uniform shirts and pants, folded on the bench with his badge, cap and ties, next to a cardboard box containing gloves, shoes and more personal protective equipment. Clearly, Scott's new boss was attentive to his needs, without being fussy about it.

  It was no surprise that his dark blue shirt didn't fit too tight on him, as he put it on. There was room for him to grow, so they could last some time... Give it six to eight weeks, Scott thought, before he may consider moving on to a larger size.

  He went through the equipment, and he liked what he found in that box: bulletproof vest, shades, whistle, walkie talkie, flashlight, duty belt, handgun holster, nightstick, knife, mace and...

– “Oh, goody!”

  Scott was holding a pair of handcuffs in each hand – high quality, shiny stainless steel, chained, strong and surprisingly heavy. Smith & Wesson, no less. It was the kind of stuff his dreams were made of.

  When he was all dressed up, the new sheriff's deputy went for a short tour of the office. There was a shooting range next to a room with a few empty holding cells, downstairs. The Police department was a one-story building with limited space, surrounded with tall Douglas fir trees, on the outskirts of Biberton.

  There was a different kind of box waiting for him, on sheriff Maxwell's office, with a note attached to it.

  The note said “Hi Scott! Feel free to grab a doughnut or two”.

– “We're going to be quite a team...”

  Last but not least, the box of doughnuts was placed on an catalog of guns and gears, opened at the correct page for his choice of handgun. Scott took a good look at the different models available. His mind was working on overdrive now... He had to train for it with the sheriff, but he could carry a gun everywhere he would go.

  His head was still swimming after he had eaten two doughnuts, then he remembered something. He grabbed his new car keys, closed the office and drove to Saint-Augustine Bells.

  Scott avoided the main entrance, of course. It looked like the school had hired two muscled, grim looking bouncers to watch the gates, so the security office was officially closed and temporarily empty... Scott knew better, of course. Parking his car a few yards away from the gates, by those tall, smooth and unscalable walls with their special, crooked steel spikes at the top, Scott opened the door the rear garden. Rick used to live there, in his one-bedroom apartment, adjacent to Phil's. It was such a discrete building, surrounded with such walls that most people ignored its existence. There was a similar small door in the opposite wall, leading to the school's gardens, the students' dorms, the chapel, the gym and all the other main buildings. 

  These were the only two unguarded doors, therefore this was the only way in and out of that fortress-like institution, and Scott held the keys in his hand! For a moment, he keenly felt the power he had been given.

  He entered Rick's office without attracting anyone's attention. That back door was never locked, on purpose... Scott was well aware that the students used it to leave boxes and boxes of pastries as little “offerings” to Rick – and bribes.

– “Just as I thought, they're still hoping for it. Good news for you, boys! I'm still around, and I'll take care of these... You gotta have hope.”

  There were no less than eight big boxes on Rick's desk: two very large, very appealing pies, three dozen doughnuts with all kinds of filling and frosting, four dozen cupcakes in two packed boxes, and one magnificent triple fudge chocolate cake...

  Scott looked around, to make sure that he was alone. Then he slipped his hand under the cardboard at the bottom of each box, grabbing all the hundred dollar bills that were stashed in there.

  He didn't want to get caught counting money, but he guessed that he would be leaving with roughly three grands in his pocket. Not bad for his first day on the job. Scott took a closer look at the initials left on the edge of each box and wrote their names down, using Rick's stationery paper and his secret code for all registered students. Then he pinned the sheet on the board, with that list as a reminder. Two nights from today, he would help those ten boys get out in the evening and come back the morning after.

  It was also a sign for the others, that Rick's little scheme would remain in force. Students could keep going for their occasional nights out on the town – thanks to Scott...

  On his way out, he thought about the more minute details of it. There was no need to tell Phil about any of this. He could work as the school's head of security and be just as clueless as ever.

  Eight boxes meant a lot of food, and Scott had no intention of eating all those pastries by the end of the day. There would be more boxes in the morning. It was no wonder that Rick had grown so large and so heavy!

  Driving back to Biberton's Police department, Scott took four boxes out of the trunk with some of the heaviest doughnuts and cupcakes, one of the pies and that impressive chocolate fudge cake... He left them on the sheriff's desk, with a note attached to the box on the top.

  The note said “Hi boss! Feel free to grab a doughnut – or twelve”.

■ ■ ■

  Scott went back to Biberton general hospital. He had every reason to do so. Number One: he was curious about the six students, how stuffed they could be and how they were holding up. Number Two: he wanted to check if the nurses had found out that Rick was no longer there. Number Three: he wanted everyone to see him wearing his new uniform, looking so dashing and in command... There was an optional number Four: Scott had nothing better to do until his boss would come back to the precinct.

  Nurse Vickers, who had already seen him in his usual classy but casual clothes, earlier in the morning, only recognized him because she couldn't imagine that a Police officer would ever show up with spikey, bleached blonde hair... That was enough to catch her eye, then she was no longer shocked but surprised to see him like this.

– “Mister Girder? Is that...”

– “New job. I'm still in charge of investigating the students' case...” Scott confirmed, feeling smart and confident. “It looked like we all needed to take a step up and face the challenge, so... there it is.”

– “Are you really a member of our Police force, now?”

  She immediately regretted doubting him when he shot her a stern look, tugging his shades down to the end of his nose with one hand.

– “Did you have an appointment with doctor Lipton?”

– “Not with doctor Lipton. The other one...”

– “Doctor Hewdge?”

– “Right. Do I need an appointment to see him?”

  On any regular day, nurse Vickers was usually quick to respond with a snappy answer – but not today... Clearly, Scott was ready to stand his ground. The two doctors were climbing down the stairs, so there was no need for her to act so stubborn or defensive.

  Dr Lipton looked rather distraught. He paused and looked Scott up and down for some time before speaking to him. Didn't he just look stunning in his uniform? Scott's return was so unexpected, for the hospital staff, when they were in the middle of such an unlucky streak. The element of surprise worked in his favor – so much so that they would no longer ask questions about his comings and goings. 

– “What, mister Girder? Is it “Officer Girder”, now?”

– “I'm just the new sheriff's deputy...” Scott smiled.

  He could afford to play it down, at this point.

– “I guess you came back to see Phil?” Dr Lipton grumbled. “Very well... Follow us in my office. It may be better to do this with witnesses.”

  Scott had questions about the students in their custody, but the angry old man had more pressing matters at hand.

– “They are locked in their bedrooms.”

– “All of them?”

– “Yes. That's six occupied beds in six private rooms. No visitors.”

  There was no point arguing with him... Dr Lipton had already turned his attention to Phil. It was time for the young doctor's weigh-in.

– “Take your clothes off, soldier.” He demanded. “I hope you've behaved yourself, this week-end... The last thing I need now is to tell the board of administrators at Saint Augustine Bells that they will have to deal with a chunky security officer!”

  Scott tried his best to repress a smile, while his friend was sitting down to take off his shoes. The very idea that Phil should have “behaved” over the week-end was enough to make him chuckle – and feel frisky. 

– “Would you mind closing the door behind you?” Dr Lipton asked him, a bit sharply. “We're all grown up men here, and there's no need for our nurses to watch this.”

  Phil was now stripped down to his boxers. Standing next to Scott, fully dressed in his uniform – with his brand new shirt and pants, shiny badge and buttons, leather belt and shoes – the blonde guy had to feel very naked, as he was about to be evaluated by his boss.

  As Phil was about to step on the scale, the old man shrugged.

– “Of course, some men are more “grown” than others...”

– “Sir?”

– “On the scale, soldier!”

  Dr Lipton slowly adjusted the slides and took the measurement.

– “228lbs... This is worse than I thought.”

  Phil blushed and looked down, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar and about to get scolded. He didn't have to wait for long...

– “There is so much meat on your frame, it should weigh you down even more!” The old man snarled at him. “You leave me no choice. I want to see significantly less carbs in your diet, from now on... You will have to cut down your intake like you've never cut down before, soldier boy! No more sweets, no more bread, rice or pasta, for starters... Clearly, you've been living on sweets and fatty foods for quite some time!”

– “Sir...”

  The old man would hardly let him breathe, let alone talk back to him.

  Scott was a bit taken aback by how aggressively the doctor confronted his friend. Phil was his assistant, of course, but he was venting out his anger on him just as a mean kid would ruthlessly beat a stray dog.

  He was itching to reach for his nightstick when he noticed Phil's hands twitching too. The blonde “soldier boy” was silently holding it in, as much as he could – but if he only clenched his fists, right now, Scott's weapons would prove quite unnecessary to cause major damage!

  Jotting down numbers in his notebook, Dr Lipton didn't notice any of this. He was still mumbling.

– “Southern boy through and through, of course... Helping yourself with most of the pastries you bake for the community, I should say?”

  He poked at Phil's tummy with his pen.

– “No more of that. And no more beer, of course!”

  Actually, Dr Lipton couldn't remember seeing his assistant with a beer in his hand, even on a “special occasion”, but that was beside the point – of course, Phil drank beer... Biberton Brewing Brothers beer, no doubt! The tastiest, most caloric kind... Too much beer, every day! – and the old man wasn't done yet.

– “You'll be on a strict diet until further notice... Very strict, with weekly weigh-ins and measurements. I want you to lose no less than thirty pounds, so we can consider you fit to work as a doctor, set an example again, and properly handle your responsibilities.”

  Those last words had to hurt the most. Scott could tell. Suggesting that Phil had been slacking on the job or taking advantage of his position in any way was going to haunt him for some time.

  Such a diet was also totally uncalled for... At almost 230lbs, the dumb blonde Southern boy was healthy, active and laid-back, strong and beefy with a good appetite – maybe slightly overweight, but Dr Lipton kept scolding him as if he was a disgustingly flabby and obese blimp!

  Turning to Scott, the old man closed his notebook. It felt like Phil was being arrested and handled to the sheriff's deputy.

– “He's all yours.”

  This sounded much better to Scott, and much more appropriate. It dawned on him that he didn't like it when someone got too close to Phil, no matter what they did. Scott didn't want to watch a handsome young man like Gunnar hug him like a Teddy bear and flirt with him all night. He didn't want to watch an old guy to treat him so badly either. They had no right to do this – any of this! Not because it was immoral or illegal, or just plain wrong... They had no right to get so close to Phil, because Phil belonged to him.

■ ■ ■

  Scott closed and locked the door as soon as Dr Lipton was gone.

  Left alone in his office, the two young men seemed to be engaged in a bare, wild and seductive stare fight for a moment, almost as if they kept circling each other.

– “You look so good in your uniform.” Phil offered.

– “You look so much better with no clothes on...”

  Scott could tell that the blonde beast was ready to drop his boxers and pounce on him passionately... Teasing him like this was more dangerous than playing with matches, in a back alley, over a poodle of gasoline.

  Somehow, Phil managed to keep a level head so he could suggest some other kind of game to his friend.

– “Your turn, Scott. We have to weigh you too.”

  The young physician felt compelled to put on his hospital clothes again, while Scott was neatly folding his shirt, T-shirt and pants on a chair. Phil also spent a few minutes carefully washing his hands with soap and cold water. Then he turned the faucet on hot and caused such a splash in the sink that his green shirt was drenched and he had to take it off.

– “Look what you've done, you clumsy bear!” Scott laughed.

– “Look what you've made me do...” The playful blonde boy answered, toweling his hairy chest with his shirt.

  Scott always used to feel cold in a doctor’s office, with their white walls and uncomfortable furniture, depressing posters and pamphlets, potted palm trees and the whole set of glistening surgical instruments – but not this time... With someone like Phil setting his lips on fire so softly with a smile, he couldn’t care less about the room’s temperature.

– “You really don’t feel comfortable in a hospital, do you?”
– “I really don’t like hospitals. And since I’m no longer sick or poisoned, or anything... Staying here felt like renting a room at a bad motel.”
– “We can’t hold a candle to the Paddington hotel, of course. But you got poisoned there, remember? That was a pretty close call... ”
– “True.”

– “While you got to get nursed back to health, here... and be reasonably well-fed!” Phil grabbed and slapped Scott's underbelly from behind, with both hands.

– “Hey! Watch it, you beast...”

– “Let's watch this together.”

– “On the scale?”

– “You bet...”

  It was really hard for Scott to hold a conversation when Phil kept him so comfortably nestled in his arms, rubbing his belly in loving, long and slow circles with a few gentle, well-placed squeezes.

– “I find it better to warm you up before I ask you to step on the scale.”
– “Do you treat all your patients like this?”
– “Only really rare and special cases...”
– “Special, huh?”
 
  Scott could try to call the shots and keep teasing Phil but he had to admit that, for the time being, the blonde doctor was leading the game like a master. They could go on and on, and he could keep him turned on like this all day... Scott only pulled himself together when he felt a finger poking his plump side.
 
– “Okay, you should be ready.” Phil kissed the back of his neck.
– “What am I, a turkey in the oven?”
– “Time for your post-Thanksgiving check-up, then. On the scale, Scott! Let's see what a good butterball you've been...”
 
   Stripped down to his underwear, Scott stood on the scale and waited. He had already been through all this, less than two months ago, but it didn't feel the same... There was no need to remind him how much he had been eating or overeating, lately – Scott could only see the far edge of the scale, looking down!

  The dial spun around and finally came to an audible stop.
 
– “248lbs.” Phil answered the question he didn't want to ask right now.
– “Huh... Wow! That's really something. I had no idea that I could put on so much weight over a few days...”

– “It's only a few more pounds. You've been pushing it a little bit further, like a good glutton, but I can't say I'm surprised with your result.”
– “You mean you could tell?”

– “After I had to cut your clothes with scissors? Yes, I could tell you had to weigh around 250lbs. You've grown bigger, rounder and larger...”

– “And fatter...” Scott completed the puzzle.

– “You're probably still full from your breakfast, just as you were on your latest weigh-in. Did you enjoy a really big breakfast, this morning?”

  Stepping away from the scale, Scott suddenly turned and pinned the beefy blonde guy against the wall, pushing him with his belly... Phil felt just like a fuzzy Teddy bear, with his upper body pressed like this and his arms locked at the wrists above his head.

– “You cheat... Of course, I've scarfed down an enormous, rich and filling breakfast, this morning. You should know! You always cook breakfast for me, every morning. And every meal, every day... You're such a beast, a dumb blonde basting beast... And of course, I've enjoyed it! When have you seen me not clean my plates? It's almost time for lunch, and I'm still full, and stuffed, and...”

  He let out a gritty, rattling and obnoxious belch to his friend's face.

– “BUUUUUURRRRRRP!.. and I want more!”

  Scott used both hands to keep Phil in position, aggressively, straddling his hips a bit as he moved slowly to try and intimidate him. The blonde boy closed his eyes and chuckled – and retaliated with a kiss on the lips. Even backed in a corner, he was much stronger than Scott imagined, and he didn't need to sound any edgier than he truly was, deep down, as he hugged him tight and whispered into his ear.

– “Aaaw, Scott... You are so cute.” He teased him with a smile. “And I am so happy that you feel hungry for more...”

– “A lot more!”

– “You really want me to feed you like a pig, don't you?”

  He had to look away from that fascinating, sparkling green gaze... Phil kept a full-length mirror on the wall, next to the scale. Standing straight, the well-fed young man could check the damage already done to his waist. His whole midsection looked round like a massive soft ball hanging over his boxers – not quite sagging yet, but it was only a matter of days with the current size of his meals... His bellybutton felt like the hole of a generous, home-baked doughnut. It was surrounded by such a swollen bag of blubber that Scott felt like his lower midsection had been inflated into some sort of fat buoy, with his budding love handles ready to grow thicker and wider...

– “So... What is it going to be?” 

– “I want more...” Scott patted his belly with both hands. “More to eat and more to drink. More everything... I need more!”

– “Okay.” Phil comforted him.

– “You will cook larger meals for me. Breakfast, lunch and dinner... and leave snacks and treats and pastries for me, all around our apartments.”

– “I can do that.”
– “I mean plenty of those... And meals like full-on family feasts!” 

– “You need to be fed like a grown up glutton.”

– “Exactly.”

– “Fed like a baby.” 

– “Oh, yes...” Scott moaned.

– “Like a pig...”

– “Oink! Oink!”

  Phil grabbed his friend's sides in his big paws and kissed him deeper.

– “Let me help you to the massage table, so I can examine you.”
– “Okay.”
– “And massage you, of course.”
– “Oh, good... And take your time.”
– “Sure thing.”
 
  It was not lost on Scott that Phil’s expert massages kept growing more and more sensual as he kept growing bigger and fatter... The Southern blonde doctor kneaded all the flesh on his frame like cookie dough.
  Besides, he always kept cookies and soft drinks next to the table.

 

– “How are your six sickly piglets?” Scott asked after a few minutes.
– “Nurse Rockwell didn't exaggerate when she described their condition.” Phil told him everything he needed to know. “They are just as stuffed as they can be! Their stomachs are bloated to the limit, so full of food they feel painfully tight...”

– “Would you say they are distended to the point of bursting?”

– “I shouldn't tell you, but that is precisely what they keep complaining about... It's not just their stomachs, but their entire digestive systems that look swollen, churning and aching under a thick layer of lard.”

– “This looks like Rick's condition all right. All over again... Did they tell you how they got stuffed full so much?”

– “Not a clue. Not a word...”

– “What did they tell you?”

– “Not much, honestly... They were groaning just as much as their guts. All six of them, just the same!”

– “They were all sleeping in the same big bedroom.”

– “Yes, they were.”

– “What did you mean by “just the same”? They're just stuffed full.”

– “That's right... And it is something I don't understand.”

  Phil kept massaging Scott as he talked to him, always focused on what he was doing – while the oiled up fat boy was slowly drifting into a hazy state of bliss... He could hardly wait for his dumb blonde friend to get to his lower, lower back with his gentle paws and magic fingers!

– “What is it that you don't understand now?”

– “Six young men were sleeping in the same room, and their door was locked. Something happened to them during the night, and now they are stuffed full, sick and exhausted... They can barely walk. A few of them can barely breathe!”

– “I don't see what you didn't understand.”

– “The only reasonable explanation for this situation would be that they have been stuffing themselves all night, but they had no access to food. We didn't find any leftovers, empty plates or wrappers. Nothing...”

– “Someone else had to do it. Someone found a way in and out, then he brought a lot of food to stuff them like pigs!”

– “It would require such massive amounts of food... Doctor Lipton asked me to put three of them on the scale, so we could try and figure it out. Each student must have ingested twelve to fifteen pounds of solid food... That's a lot of food! I can't imagine that they would force themselves to eat and gulp down so much.”

– “I agree. Did you say twelve to fifteen pounds... each?”

– “Yes. Let's say ten pounds, at least. That's no less than sixty pounds of solid food you had to bring to their bedroom during the night, coming in and going out unnoticed, somehow. And that kind of feeding takes time! They couldn't get to this point, this morning, unless they were engorged and stuffed together at the same time...”

– “The six of them, at the same time?”

– “That's how it looks.”

  Scott had to think about it. No intruder could be so efficient, so stealthy and so strong at the same time... Of course, those piglets would squeak and scream if someone was assaulting one of them! Of course, someone had to be there to see what was going on, at some point... Of course, there must be crumbs left all over the bedroom floor – what kind of food were they forced to eat anyway? 

– “So we have to consider a group of people with serious equipment and accomplices... Do you think your coworkers could be in on this?”

– “I doubt it.”

– “Not even your boss, doctor Lipton?”

– “I really couldn't say... He looked genuinely surprised and worried.”

– “I bet they could easily fool you.”

  Phil was a hopeless case – but he was massaging his friend's quivering hips and buttocks so deeply, so sensuously... There was no need to ask him what was on his mind, right now.

– “So we're down to person or persons unknown?”

– “If they had access to their victims like this, we can assume that they are not so unknown as to us... Whoever did this had to know a lot about this place and the people who work here.”

– “And they knew how to feed them like pigs.”

– “Exactly... Doctor Lipton is going to pump their stomachs out, so there will be plenty for us to analyze.”

– “What they were forced to eat?”

– “Our first concern was to check if the victims test positive for poison, as is standard procedure... I could also take a guess at what they had to eat, but it is already clear that no major allergens were involved.”

– “Did you get Rick's test results?”

– “They're on my desk. I've seen them... It's a good thing that we didn't keep him under observation much longer. There wasn’t enough poison in his food to cause cardiac arrest, when we took him to the hospital, but he had every reason to believe that someone was trying to kill him as he was forcefed a lot more.”

– “Maybe stuffing him with more food was a way to cover it up?”
– “It's a possibility, and it could be even worse...” Phil sighed. “Rick had to be tied to his bed. He was under a lot of stress. Intoxication or food poisoning can be so sudden and so violent, the pressure in his stomach would only make it worse. I've found traces of digoxin in his blood. He couldn't possibly eat that much, not by himself. At some point, Rick's heartbeat was so fast that he could hardly grab food and lift it up to his mouth.”
– “What’s it like? Too much coffee?”
– “Way too much coffee.”
– “I see...”
– “He was a big eater, and the six other victims were almost trained to be shamelessly chubby gluttons, but that amount of massive overeating can only be observed in rare and specific cases... Most professional pie-eating contestants couldn't keep up with what they've been through.”
– “So you agree with him. Someone was there to stuff them full.”
– “And poison them too... That’s what their symptoms would suggest.”
 
  Scott thought about it for a moment.
 
– “Isn’t that just how Michael was killed?”
– “Not exactly. Michael was allergic to something he was forced to eat.”
– “We’ve been over this... When we first discussed Michael's death, you were convinced that it was an accident rather than first degree murder, that he had been fed something that was fatal for him but the guy who stuffed him didn’t know. Now, what if he knew?”
– “Then it would be a real murder.”
– “Rick’s a strong guy. I can’t imagine that there’s anything in this world that he couldn’t eat. Maybe that's why the killer had to use poison.”
 
  Phil kept massaging Scott in silence. He had to think about it too.
 
– “So you are suggesting that this is the same M.O.”
– “Yup.”
– “And whoever killed Michael also tried to kill Rick?”
– “Duh... That should be clear as day, even to you.”
– “Why did I only find traces of digoxin in Rick’s blood, then?”
– “I don’t know...” Scott shrugged. “Mr Swayn told me that everything is poison, after a certain point, but he’s no chemist. Maybe the killer didn’t know the exact lethal dose... You’re the doctor, you tell me.”
– “When it comes down to poison, killers go for too much rather than too little... I’ve seen it before. I’m not convinced.”
– “Then the killer must be smarter than you. A lot smarter, no doubt...”
 
  Scott felt Phil’s warm hands pressing and massaging his back and his shoulders. The Southern blonde guy was so laid-back he didn’t seem to mind being called dim-witted, once again, but he was always so focused on healing and pleasing his friend – also feeling just how plump he was, in the process.

 
– “We don't know what kind of pattern was followed or what the purpose was behind all this, but if there was just the right amount of poison...” Phil suggested. “You’re right. That would be pretty smart.”

– “What do you mean?”
– “It’s really hard to prevent anaphylactic shock, when you’re allergic... You can’t stop it without immediate medical assistance, or keep it under control. Besides, food poisoning doesn’t fall into the same category as other intoxications.”

– “Okay...”
– “In Rick’s case, poison may have been used to make him weak, then the killer forced him to keep eating until he would fall unconscious. With all that food still in his throat and in his mouth, as you have found him, he would have to choke at some point. Then, if he stopped breathing for a few minutes, even a small amount of digoxin could keep his heart racing and going wild until it stopped beating.”
– “Wow! Okay... And there would be no evidence of poisoning?”
– “I don’t know... If Mr Scupper had found him a few hours later, in the morning for instance, Rick’s metabolism may have processed most of the poison and it would be much harder to trace. There wouldn’t be enough to convince a judge or a jury.”
– “Then it is the same method. Same murder, same killer.”
– “Or killers...”
 
  For some reason, Scott was feeling perfectly comfortable with the fact that there was a killer on the loose. Phil’s massages never failed to make him more than loose, of course... He was more than comfortable, right now – he was hard and horny as a teenager.
 
– “At least Rick’s out of harm’s way, now.”
 
  Scott wished for his friend to move on to some more pressing matters. Then a thought came to him.

– “You're going to pump the boys' stomachs out... What if they had their stomachs pumped full, for starters? With a machine, you know...”

– “A feeding machine?”

– “Exactly.” Scott's mind was going into overdrive, just as he was ready to hump his massage table. “How long would that take?”

– “I don't know... Assuming they were forcefully fed heavy, soft food, it could be done in a matter of minutes, but it would be painful and dangerous.”

– “What if the victim was still asleep?”

– “That would be even more dangerous, honestly.”

– “But it could be done! Massive, discrete and quickly.”
– “I guess...”
 
  Unfortunately, they were interrupted by nurse Rockwell – who didn’t care to knock before opening the door. Phil may have been alone or with a patient. It was just the same as keeping a tool hanging in its place on the wall or being used to operate on the table.
 
– “Doctor Lipton wants to see you. Now! On the double!”

  Phil had to leave the room immediately. Scott rolled over and grabbed a few cookies... He could imagine what was going on in that busy, busy beehive of a hospital. 

  They must have finally found out that Rick was missing.

■ ■ ■

  Lunch break at Saint-Augustine Bells was the most peaceful moment of the day. After their massive meal was served in “reverse buffet”, where third and fourth helpings were brought to each student in his booth, they went for a mandatory two-hour nap before their afternoon classes.

  It was an opportunity for the teachers and administrators to enjoy tea time in Mr Porkenham's office. Mr Swayn would tell them about the next improvements of his Quiet Diet policy and the current areas of research and development. Most of his previous points had already been approved and put into force, such as the principle of a complete lack of empathy towards the students, or the many benefits obtained from their growing obesity... He was always working on it.

– “Researchers have worked on an experimental model of “compulsive binge eating” by providing a rich chocolate diet for only one hour each day, while the control group was given a standard laboratory diet. Within two weeks, the group exposed to the sweet diet exhibited binge eating behaviors and ate no less than four times as much as the control group. The experimental binge eaters also exhibited compulsive behaviors and they put themselves in potentially risky situations in order to get to their sugary food, while the control group avoided such risk.” 

– “Indeed...” 

– “Evaluating risks and making decisions are functions executed in the prefrontal and cortical regions of the brain. So our team of researchers have performed tests to check if the abundance of Sigma-1 receptors in those regions was abnormal in the binge eaters.” 

– “And their assumption was correct...” 

– “Now they are beginning to test new drugs that will block the Sigma-1 receptor to reduce what they consider “binge eating”. Early experimental data showed how the drug can reduce binge eating by 40 percent... It would also encourage the binge eaters to eat more slowly. It would also block the risky behavior they previously exhibited.” 

– “How extraordinary!”

  The conversation, or the presentation, was interrupted when the phone rang on Mr Porkenham's desk.

– “What is it?”

– “Mister Wingrave is no longer at the hospital.”

– “Did they let him out? So soon?”

– “No, he's...”

– “Is he...”

– “He's missing... His bed is empty, and they can't find him.”

  There was a long moment of silence in the office.

– “What can we do about this?”

– “Call sheriff Maxwell. Mister Wingrave can't be far gone...”

– “How about his replacement?”

– “We have already discussed this... That Southern dumb blonde doctor and P.E. teacher will do, for the time being.”

– “With all due respect, I had expressed doubts about that decision and I wasn't the only one who voted against it. While doctor Hewdge is quite a useful member of the local community, we agree that he can't be trusted with our students... Now that we are about to bestow more responsibility upon him, don't you find mister Wingrave's disappearance suspicious, to say the least?”

  Mr Porkenham was familiar with that kind of power play. He knew what could happen when pawns advanced into a formation, ready to capture a better chess piece. He had to make a quick decision.

– “Call Cal.”

– “Who?”

– “Mister Calloway's grandson. Callum Calloway.”

■ ■ ■

April 3rd, 1990 – Tuesday

  From his first day on this new job as a school security officer, Phil could tell that he was walking on the edge of a cliff... When he came back for a few hours at the hospital, mostly working night shifts, he was given the cold shoulder by his boss and the nurses but it was nothing compared to the hostility he felt in Saint Augustine Bells.

  His working conditions were worse than ever. He was required to open and close the gates in the morning, then do constant tours of the school grounds, wearing his uniform but always jogging, always on the move.

  His access to their gym had turned into mandatory training: Phil had to spend hours on the treadmill and rowing machines, every morning – and he had to lift weights in the afternoon... By the end of the day, the poor guy was so dazed he could hardly walk back to his sleeping quarters.

  Phil found solace in weight training. It helped him relax and it gave him something to focus on, no matter how stressful his day could be... He was serious about it and seriously good at it too, when he was left alone.

  It was also a the only opportunity for him to take his shirt off and wear a loose fit tank top sleeveless shirt. His new uniform trousers and shirts, provided by the school, were at least two sizes too tight. On purpose. 

  The seams of his pants were squeezing his manly hips and his meaty, bulbous buttocks, not to mention his crotch... The waistband almost cut into his sides, causing him to constantly shift and tug at it, in vain. Phil's shirt was clinging to his chest so much, with its collar tied too narrow around his neck and its buttons ready to pop like bullets with every move he made, it looked like he could hardly breathe. His leather jacket was also painfully thick and stiff around his shoulders. Phil couldn't fully zip it without feeling that he may choke at any time, and he had to carry a backpack full of useless but heavy equipment on his daily tours... Even his shoes were one size too small!

  Everyone who took a look at him or talked to him made it a point to tell him, in one way or another, that his clothes weren't too tight for him but he was too fat for the job. He was out of breath simply because he was out of shape... His leather jacket wasn't too thick to let him breathe, but he was too thick around the middle to wear a uniform. He could never do a good job in security, because he was just lazy and weak, and so dumb he was worthless beyond saving...

  Phil was fed such a flurry of disparaging and dismissive comments all day, every day – and he wasn't fed much else, at this point. His diet was even more strict than he expected, and he was kept under constant scrutiny to make sure that he wasn't cheating.

  A fine sheen of sweat was glistening on his beefy body, from the early morning sun... Every muscle in his chest, shoulders, arms and back was pretty much popping out with the efforts he had put in all the tasks he was already done with, at the gym. 

  There was a lot more for him to do, of course.

  His paycheck was usually late. Phil had to deal with it for some time... There was a letter on his desk with a new amendment to his contract and his adjusted salary. Neither his salary adjustment nor the calculation method were explained to him, but the result felt like a slap in the face.

  By the end of the day, the blonde guy was looking down and holding his tears, as he was slowly walking out of his office, by the gates. Then he was sweating so profusely that no one would ever notice if he was crying too – or they would simply suggest that it could make him drop some “water weight”...

– “Welcome home, Scott.”

  Phil was in the kitchen, washing his hands. He welcomed Scott with a soft hello, closed the door behind him and completed his “good evening” with a kiss that was much less gentle but much more passionate.

– “How was your day?”

– “I'm glad it's over.”

– “I can see that...”

  Something was always cooking in the kitchen, or the kitchen next door, and both apartments were constantly filled with mouth-watering smells.

  Scott's had moved in with Phil, and everything was going smoothly. It felt like he was back and staying at the hotel – not the Paddington hotel, but certainly the next best place Biberton had to offer. With Phil running the kitchen and providing such impressive “room service” at any time, day and night, it was definitely the hottest spot in the whole county...

  Now that they were roommates with two apartments at their disposal, they had to live by a set of rules. Scott kept a list of those posted on the fridge and he kept making new ones, so the list was already quite long after their first day together.

  The rules were simple, at least. Scott wanted both apartments to be tidy and pristine, so Phil had to clean up the place, wipe and dust the furniture, scrub the sinks, swab the toilets, mop the floor and so on. He had to pick up, wash, dry and iron their clothes, and fold them so neatly in their drawers they looked brand new.

  Of course, he had to cook for Scott's breakfast and dinner, bake plates and platters of all kinds of pastries to put on display in every room, and provide more snacks for the Sheriff's deputy to keep on the passenger's seat in his car.

  Phil also had to keep the bedroom and bathroom welcoming, clean and warm, with bed sheets changed every day and fresh towels hanging next to the shower – so they could always be just so dirty as they wished.

  At some point, even a disciplined, caring, dim-witted guy like Phil would take a hint that he was the slave in their relationship. Scott wanted to tell him, and hear him say so. He would keep pushing for it.

  Phil had taken a cool shower so he was all wet, but fresh – his blonde hair was all shiny, soft and silky to touch. He was wearing an apron to cook, and nothing else. His body felt warm and feverish, somehow. Scott pressed his friend's arms when he hugged him and they felt thick with solid red meat, like stainless steel bars wrapped in juicy beefsteaks...

– “Are you hungry, Scott?”

– “You bet!”

– “Dinner's almost ready. Appetizers are on the living-room table.”

– “Good...” 

  Scott's mouth was already watering. 

– “You're hungry too, right?”

– “So hungry...”

  Phil's stomach was growling.

– “Okay, new rule!” Scott gushed as he grabbed and slapped his friend's waist with both hands. “From now on, when we're alone together, like this, you're not allowed to wear anything. No pants, no shirt, no T-shirt, no jock, no necklace and no bracelet. Nothing.”

– “Honestly, the only piece of clothes that still fit are my socks...”

– “Right. And no socks. I want you to go barefoot, you meaty big bear.” Scott teased as he pulled Phil's apron. “Now, what's this?”  

– “Personal protective equipment...” Phil pleaded sheepishly. 

– “Drop it.”

  Scott didn't have to tell him twice. Phil was not so easily embarrassed, even when his friend was still wearing a Police uniform and bossing him around like an arrested suspect in a criminal investigation. He wouldn't wait for an interrogation, because there was no question about it. 

  The blonde guy had to follow orders, like the disciplined soldier he was, and that was it. From their first night together as “roommates”, Phil had responded to that cruel streak he felt in Scott's behavior, and he played along perfectly.

– “Down on your knees, soldier. Help me take off my shoes...”

  A few minutes later, the two young men were naked and their bodies locked in a timeless and passionate embrace, pressing and rubbing each other. Phil kept holding his friend tight and pulled him closer for another kiss, while Scott was fondling his firm, well-shaped butt.

– “Did you bake these yourself, today?” 

– “Yup, my own recipe for honey-glazed apple pies. I had a whole bunch of juicy apples and a half-hour to kill, this afternoon...” 

– “You don’t say... These pies are just to die for.” 

  Scoot took the glass of warm milk from Phil’s hand, and gulped down... Then he groaned and loudly belched to his face.

– “BUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!”

– “Dude... Are you hungry or stuffed?”

– “Now that felt good! How many more did you bake?” 

– “Eleven. There's more in the oven, since you obviously enjoyed those. No need for a spoon. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  Phil was back in the kitchen, looking over the oven and ready to baste the turkey, yams and vegetables with the pan drippings.

– “I'm ready for your appetizers.” Scott whispered, licking his lips. “Now, for tonight's entertainment, you go get the box in my bedroom and put on some leather for me.”

– “Okay...” Phil nodded, but he was shivering.

– “Good boy. There you go.”

  Scott slapped his buttocks again... By the time he was sprawled on the couch, ready to grab another palm-sized apple pie, Phil was back with his cardboard box full of leather gear and his spanking paddles.

– “You still need a hand to tie that harness?”

– “Yes, please. And... Scott?”

– “Hmmmph?”

– “Is it okay if I don't wear that leather jockstrap anymore?”

– “Why?” Scott asked, gulping down his pie with a glass of milk.

– “We've been over this...” Phil was blushing. “That jock is just too tight for me, and leather has no give. It's not just chafing, it's... It's really too much pressure on my crotch.”

– “We've been over this, all right. And I've showed you. It's the biggest, largest model they've ever made.”

– “I can't help it. It's just too tight. I'd rather not wear it, please...”

– “Fine.”

  Leave it to Phil to find 6XL codpieces too “confining”. Even so, Scott had to admit that he had a point. It was just so painfully tight for his genitals as his uniform was to the rest of his body. Even for a day, or a late evening, it had to feel like torture...

  It may be that a codpiece was just not meant for a guy like Phil. Why did they call it a “codpiece” anyway? There was nothing special about a cod, Scott let his mind wander as he tightened the leather bands and harness on his friend's arms and chest, before attaching him to a ring on the wall. Phil would never fit into anything less than a “sharkpiece”, to say the least – there was a million dollar idea for men's underwear.

– “Okay, so... No jock. You'll be bottomless, from now on?”

  Phil turned to hold him and kiss him deeply.

– “You know you're the only bottom I want.”

– “Okay...” Scott let out a sigh. He was feeling weak in the knees before they had even started. “You know what? If you don't want your trousers to squeeze so painfully around your hips ans waist, you should probably butter your buns next time...”

■ ■ ■

April 4th, 1990 – Wednesday

  Scott felt like he was in Heaven, at Biberton's Police department – he could eat anything he wanted, whenever he wanted to eat, as much as he wanted and without a care in the world!

  Rick was officially “absent without leave”. He was nowhere to be found, and no one could tell when he would be seen again. By an ironic twist of events, Scott was assigned to finding him. He knew where he was better than anyone, after Rick had given him a phone call. He was staying at his parents' house in Philadelphia for a few days. There was no need for Scott to get out of his office and chase ghosts in the windy, cold streets. He could always pretend that he was following a lead...

  Everyone at the hospital blamed Phil for this. Scott found it absurd, of course, but he couldn't help laughing about it because Dr Lipton and the Three Stooges they had hired as nurses were perfectly aware that Phil wasn't supposed to be there when Rick was gone. They chose to ignore the evidence, decided that he was to blame – and they were right!

  That was a lucky shot, but still a shot in the dark. Of course, they also blamed Phil for what was happening to the students in their custody.

  It was still happening... The six boys were locked in separate bedrooms and tied to their bed frames during the night, very much like Rick. And, just the same, they woke up in the morning with their stomachs so full of food and so swollen – their round bellies felt so heavy and churning so loudly that they were reduced to groans and moans all day.

  Phil had to spend some time tending to their needs, when he was at the hospital, and pump their stomachs out as a preventive measure so they wouldn't choke...

  It was too soon to tell if there was poison mixed to their food. Scott only knew as much as everyone else at the hospital: every student had gained at least fifteen pounds over the last few days, and they were constantly bloated and dizzy with the unusually large amounts of food forcefully stuffed in their guts. Mr Swayn may have commented that they were “quiet”, but everyone around those patients was puzzled, queasy and buzzing in anxiety... It was a locked door mystery all over again.

– “I wonder how they do this. It can't be that easy...”

  Scott had brought left five boxes of pastries on sheriff Maxwell's desk. There were just as many boxes for him to go through the day, with a big pot of coffee – and no less than eight grands in his pocket.

  The front door was opened. Through the frosted glass panel, Scott saw a very tall man enter, dressed in a lumberjack's plaid shirt and a long, worn leather jacket... He immediately recognized those broad shoulders and that magnificent, thick, bushy mahogany beard. It had to be Bjørn – and it was him, of course, waving hello and carrying a big envelope in his hand. Scott was always amazed by the man's good looks, his hairy chest and his firm, honest handshake...

  Bjørn was just so surprised to find Scott in the Sheriff's Department, wearing this uniform and sitting at his desk, next to a pile of pink boxes with dozens of doughnuts.

– “So you're deputy Scott, now?” 

– “That's right. Crazy, huh?”

– “I've seen crazier stuff.” Bjørn shrugged. “Besides, it's important to be on good terms with the local Police force. You never know when you may have to answer a call, or make yourself scarce...”

– “True.”

– “Then it's good to know someone like you... I will certainly feel better knowing you're on our side when it comes down to some touchy subjects that no one needs to talk about?”

– “Yeah...”

– “It's even better when I happen to know where you've been last week and over the week-end, and what you've done.”

  Scott didn't like that turn in their conversation.

– “Did you come here to tell me something?” 

  Bjørn suddenly burst out laughing.

– “Don't tie your undies in a knot. I'm here to provide you with an alibi.”

– “An alibi?”

– “Not exactly. Not yours but it could be, since you were there... Except you don't want anyone to know that you were, right?”

  Opening the big envelope, Bjørn produced a ledger with the names of everyone at the B4 Club who had registered for Wednesday night. There was Phil's name and signature at the top of one page.

– “Doctor Lipton has already called the Fat Trout trailer park, but Phil had already told everyone that he would be there for a few days... They figured that they should double check, so one of their nurses called me.”

– “I see...”

– “I said I could confirm, under oath, that Phil had spent the night at my club with a number of people, including my nephew Gunnar. They won't ask questions, when they get a copy of this page. Do you have a printer around here?”

– “I guess.”

  There was a Xerox machine in the corner. Bjørn printed a fine copy and gave it to Scott with a broad, mischievous smile.

– “Your secret is safe with me.”

– “Well, thank you for that.”

– “I don't know what you boys have been doing behind everyone's back. Honestly, I don't care... You know why? Because I know Phil will tell me if I ask him and he knows I won't ask, because I trust him.”

– “You told me Phil couldn't be trusted.”

– “I didn't set it in stone, did I? I wouldn't trust him when my nephew's around him, but you could also say that I wouldn't trust Gunnar if I left him alone with his favorite Teddy bear... This is different.”

– “Okay.”

– “Maybe you should show him that you trust him in this situation.”

– “What do you mean?”

– “You haven't noticed something about that register?”

– “I've seen his names, among other names... What's to be noticed?”

– “Well... There's what you see and what you don't get to see.”

– “Huh?”

– “Phil let you sign first, because it was the last slot at the bottom of the page, then he registered at the top of the following page. And that's the only page his boss will get to see, or your boss for that matter, because they're only looking for his name in the list. You didn't think that Phil did it on purpose?”

– “No...” Scott responded quite bluntly. “It's so unlike him to make such a clever move like this.” 

– “It's totally like him to find a way to protect the people he cares for.”

  Scott didn't know what to say. Bjørn was on his way out.

– “Think about it sometimes. And feel free to come by the house. I know Gunnar will be happy to meet you for the first time.”

  Alone in his office, Scott had plenty of time to think. He also had plenty of pastries, and it was time for his coffee break...

■ ■ ■

  Callum Calloway was your typical brand of former high school jock. He checked all the boxes: tall, dark and handsome, cocky and arrogant, local sports team's rising star, the kind of shamelessly good-looking guy who never had to try hard in his life, because everything always came so easily to him... To top it all, both his parents were important members in the board of trustees who pulled the strings in Saint Augustine Bells.

  From the first moment he stepped into Mr Porkenham's office, Cal was strutting about the place like he owned the school. He was quite athletic, with a razor sharp jawline and fine, chiseled features. His chest looked strong under his elegant shirt, and he kept posing or making faces like someone on the cover of a fashion magazine. His only reflection for the day had to be in the bathroom mirror, every morning... Cal loved himself and his muscular body, his male model face and his perfect smooth tone of voice when he felt like seducing someone from the opposite sex.

  Scott knew the type only too well. In a previous life, it looked like he had been promised just the same good fortune – until his dreams were crushed with his football injury.

  It was hate at first sight when he met Cal. Everyone else looked up to this “new guy” who had been called to the rescue, for some reason, but they were on their guards. Scott knew the team well enough to get that they didn't trust him any more than they trusted each other. 

  Mr Porkenham had to reassure them.

– “He may be callous, but not callow...”

  Those were the best words of praise he could come up with. Cal didn't need as much to make a remarkable first impression, from the moment he shook hands with every member of the staff in the old man's office.

– “Greg, is it? Right?”

– “I beg your pardon, young man?” Mr Porkenham went pale.

– “Please, call me Cal... I like to know people on a first name basis. It means something, when you get to deal with the most important players in the game. So, Greg?”

– “Gregory Porkenham, indeed.”

– “Great. Greg...”

  He turned to meet a few more people.

– “And who do we have here? Miss... Misses?”

– “I'm Miss Spread, Saint Augustine Bells executive chef. I manage the kitchens and our team of cooks.”

– “Spread, huh? Spread... Middle age, no doubt.”

  The short, bespectacled woman blushed so suddenly that her glasses looked fogged up.

– “So you're a chef... Peggy? Is it Peggy?”

– “My name is Diana.” Ms Spread stuttered a bit. “Why would anyone call me... Peggy?”

– “I don't know. It's the closest name I could think of to Piggy.”

  Everyone in the office looked down in dead silence for a minute, but Cal kept going like this with each new member of the staff he met in the morning. Naturally, when he was introduced to the “new guy in charge of security”, there was a remarkably wicked glimmer in his deep blue eyes.

  It was almost lunchtime, and Cal was surrounded with a little group of administrators, managers, teachers and educators, like courtiers around their prince... They had made a complete tour of the main buildings, and they entered the gym as Phil was done with his morning routine.

– “So, this is what I have to work with...”

  Phil held out his hand, but Cal reached right past it to give him a little manly slap on his stomach, served with a cold and haughty smirk. Then he looked the dumb blonde guy up and down appraisingly. Phil's T-shirt was drenched with sweat, and he was quite out of breath, at this point... Catching him off-guard like this didn't help.

– “I can see why you need my help.” Cal said to the group. “When you told me about a “lump of clay” I would have to mold and get into shape, I didn't picture... this. You should have told me it was all dough.”

  He jabbed his prey in the chest a few times.

– “First things first, rules! Rule number one: No talking! You only open your mouth to answer when I ask you a question. Rule number two: No talking back! You keep your mouth shut... Rule number three: You only get to call me “sir”, like a good little soldier. Is that clear? Am I making myself clear, dough boy?”

– “Yes, sir...”

– “Louder! I can't hear you.”

– “Sir! yes, sir!”

– “Not bad. You're a natural...” Cal was beaming with pride. “Last but not least. Rule number four: I'm in charge of coaching you. I'm in command. You obey my orders, you follow my lead, you do as you're told and that's it. Got that, dough boy?”

  Phil nodded, looking down.

– “How much do you weigh? 250lbs? I bet you don't even know...”

  There was a big industrial scale in the school's gym. Mrs Spread was standing next to it, so Cal immediately requested her assistance. It was one of those mechanical weigh beam physician scales, with a heavy-duty solid steel platform... To make matters worse, Phil had to take his shirt and shoes off in front of the whole staff, so he could go through his first weigh-in. It could hardly get more embarrassing for him, and every man around him, with a woman operating the scale.

  Ms Spread adjusted the slides and took the measurement.

– “227... 228lbs?” She announced, giving Phil a dark, judgmental look. 

– “Let's say 230!” Cal smirked. “Boy! do we have work to do...”

  Phil caught it and looked down at his stomach, holding it sadly. He was hungry, and his tummy protested with a distinctive rumbling... It made Cal smile even more broadly.

– “What do you know? Sounds like someone didn't forget that breakfast is the most important meal of the day!” 

  Cal kept on jabbing him again, hard in the ribs. The future young coach felt entitled enough to grab Phil's sides and give him a sneaky squeeze, before he burst out laughing in front of the whole staff.

– “I wasn't expecting such a mess, really... and such a mass!”

  Phil couldn't help bristling, right now, but he kept his mouth shut and his fists clenched. They were off to a bad start, for sure, and he knew he would have to train with Cal every day. 

– “See you tomorrow morning at the gym, dough boy...” Cal waved. “And don't forget to bring like a gallon of water, because I'm going to make you sweat just as much!”

■ ■ ■

April 6th, 1990 – Friday

  For the next few days, Phil was forced to run all the time, without rest, like a squirrel in the wheel or, more accurately, like a bear on a treadmill. He would jog from his apartment to the hospital, early in the morning, then back to school... He had to carry his backpack everywhere, so he could put on his clothes at the hospital and his uniform in his office. He only wore shorts and a loose tank top in the streets, which may cause a few heads to turn but it was the only moment in his schedule when he was free to take a breath.

  His new coach Cal used every dirty trick in the book to make him feel chubby, heavy and out of shape... Then he forced him to work-out so hard that a professional powerlifter would throw the towel by the end of the afternoon. Phil only hung in there by a thread, but it didn't look like he was ready to give up anytime soon.

  Cal seemed to appreciate a challenge too. It was always better to bully someone who could actually fight back... He had turned the gym into his new home, office, headquarters and pleasure grounds.

  Ms Spread's assistance was requested for more than Phil's weigh-ins. Cal suggested from the beginning that their daily training and coaching should be some sort of “attraction” for everyone to see, so the bleachers were placed against the wall and they were often packed with students between classes... After a day or two, Ms Spread set up a whole buffet next to the stands, with a large choice of snacks, and she kept offering fresh smoothies to Cal – he didn't want to get a sore throat, and he was yelling all day at his lazy, weightlifting “dough boy”.

  Naturally, Phil wasn't allowed to eat and he could only drink water. Cal agreed that the smells of so much delicious food were a nice touch...

  Training in front of an audience had some sort of positive effect, however. Cal couldn't get too far in his comments when young men were present, or when Ms Spread was around. When they were alone inside the gym, he slapped Phil's ass unabashedly.

– “You'd better keep wearing a jock, dough boy! Can't rip the seat if it's not there... Now, give me a hundred push-ups, you lazy fat ass! On the double! And you keep counting them for me... Loud!”

  Phil had to do it right, or he would have to start all over again.

– “Guy like you, I bet you're going commando anyway...”

  Training like this was exhausting, but Phil could endure it... His absurd diet caused him the most pain. Sometimes, the blonde sweaty guy felt so hungry and so drained that he almost collapsed in the evening.

  Hard-boiled egg whites, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, lean chicken breasts with spinach, lentils spiced with curry and crunchy green salad – that was his diet. No bread, no rice, no pasta, no potatoes. No butter, of course. Phil drank half a gallon of skimmed milk every day, but only two glasses of orange juice... They didn't want to spoil him with sweets.

  Scott could tell that his friend was hungry – really hungry... A guy like Phil must have already experienced hunger pangs, but it was still painful to watch him squirm when his stomach rumbled and growled so angrily.

  Naturally, the Southern dumb blonde guy was addressing this issue in a typical, Southern dumb blonde manner, cooking one large feast of a stir-fried meal after another shamelessly large, deep-fried meal... Phil wasn't just overcompensating, as he watched Scott gobble down all that food and lick his lips when his plate was refilled or the next dish was served. He almost enjoyed every bite with him.

  Phil would smell the grilled meats and sausages, the sauces and spices, and the frosting on the cakes. Then, as he presented Scott with another forkful of delicious desserts, it wasn't so clear whether he wanted to grab a bite of fresh, plump pear with chocolate mousse, biscuit, meringue and ice-cream – or maybe he was ready to pounce on his well-fed friend and devour him like a tiger.

  Needless to say, Scott didn't mind... By the end of dinner, he couldn't possibly eat another bite or his stomach would burst. Phil had to insist in his most gentle, most persuasive tone of voice, and he was rewarded for his gluttony with some of the most ravenous, most athletic sex he could wish for. Maybe Phil was overcompensating after all, in his own way?

  Scott took a moment to think about it. Phil was definitely not an angel but, if he had to be an angel, he would be a mighty dark one. Living with him was like falling head down into a whirlpool of pleasures and passions so deep that even the seven deadly sins would get lost and dissolve like sparkles or bubbles.

  Gluttony had to be considered first, for blatantly obvious reasons. Scott had never enjoyed such delicious food, in such generous amounts, from early morning to late-night desserts in bed...

  Naturally, good food was also the first step to wicked foreplay and great sex. If he had to be among the “fallen ones”, Phil was the angel of Lust. Thinking about it more closely, Scott could only award him that title with a special honorary mention: Phil was the guardian angel of Lust – there was so much more than “generosity” in what he did to him, and for him.

  Scott couldn't deny that he had it easy, lately. His new job allowed him to be lazy like a well-fed sloth. Everyone encouraged him to sit down, lean back, relax and enjoy. Phil kept him comfortably sprawled over that fluffy cloud of bliss, but he wasn't the only one to blame for it.

  While he had everything to do with Scott's Gluttony, Phil had nothing to do with his Greed... His bank account and his pockets were flushed with money. Scott had so much cash in his hands that he didn't know where to hide it. Even his wallet felt fat, like a ham wrapped in leather...

  Scott wasn't sure if that qualified as Greed – but he knew he wanted more. More food, more cash, more sex. Basically, that was how Scott felt about Envy... What he wanted most was easy enough to understand. He wanted Phil, but he wanted the dumb blonde sexy guy to be all his. One hundred percent. “Body and soul”, as the saying goes – mostly body, for sure, but down to the last pound of flesh and bone.

  That was the closest Scott could get to Wrath. He couldn't possibly get angry at Phil, with everything he did for him. As he was used to keep raising the bar, it was already amazing that his friend was always up to the challenge, but it was only a matter of time... Scott had just put his finger on it. He needed to make sure that Phil belonged to him, that he owned the clueless blonde boy, like a servant – like a slave... That's why he felt so angry about him sometimes.

  Maybe Phil was guilty, then, in the way he made him angry? How about Pride? Scott laughed when he thought about it, last but not least... He wouldn't have to march for that one! Scott couldn't be prouder, as he was walking the school grounds, with everything he had and everything he was looking for.

  He had parked his car by the chapel. There were twelve more boxes of pastries to share with sheriff Maxwell, in his trunk. He had already made it clear with Phil.

– “Let me take care of it. You don't want to touch any of those...”

  The sun was barely rising over the trees, but the early morning mass was over. Scott saw a small group of people coming out and leaving the premises. It wasn't any ordinary mass, at this hour, on that day... They were celebrating Good Friday. 

  Phil was there, shaking hands with father Knox... As they exchanged a few words, it looked like they were in no hurry.

– “I forgot, Phil is a good Catholic boy. So much for a dark angel...”

  He couldn't exactly eavesdrop and listen to their conversation, from the driver's seat. He lowered down the car window, and pricked up his ear. Father Knox was raising a finger as he spoke.

          “As surfeit is the father of much fast,

           So every scope, by th'immoderate use,

           Turns to restraint.”

  Phil responded with a nod.

                                       “Our Natures do pursue,

           Like rats that raven down their proper bane,

           A thirsty Evil... And when we drink, we die.”

  Father Knox nodded too, and concluded their little exchange with a pat on the younger man's shoulder. 

– “You should know, Phil... That was precisely what I had in mind.”

  Scott waited for the two of them to be on their way before he started the car. He had not understood a word they had said to each other...

■ ■ ■

  Phil look so good in that tight leather harness, and his buttocks were always so firm and so bouncing when Scott spanked him. He made him keep count, while he only encouraged him to “look tough”.

  The spanking paddle clearly hurt him. Scott was often hitting too hard or missing his butt, so his hips and thighs took the blow. It made him startle and his eyes would well up with tears, sometimes, but there was no hurdle Phil wouldn't jump through to please his friend. Somehow, Cal had already trained him for it.

– “I guess you’re right...” Scott finally offered, between two mouthfuls of chocolate fudge cake. “As much as I love your cakes and pastries, I know I’ll be hungry for a nice, thick, juicy steak soon...”

– “That’s my boy...” Phil joined him to rub his soft belly.
– “And let’s be honest for a minute, if it wasn’t for your pies and cookies and... BUUUURRRRP! stuff, I would let myself starve to death rather than touch those industrial platters of food and mashed whatever they serve in our school...”
– “I know, Scott. I know... I wouldn’t let you approach one of those.”
 
  Phil was comforting him better than a man-sized Teddy bear would do, in a tight hug. Scott felt like sinking his teeth into that well-muscled, round shoulder as he was pressing his lips against it. That was some tasty cut of juicy, all-natural USDA grade A beef!
 
– “Ouch! Seriously, Scott... Bite me?”
– “Told you... I’m growing hungry for something more than pastries.”
 
  The two boys exchanged a playful look and a smile. Phil closed his arms  around his friend for a short fight of tickles, rubs and kisses, until he pushed him on the bed covers. Scott had to surrender and beg him to stop, as he was seriously aroused by now...

– “Are you absolutely sure that you're no longer hungry for pastries?”

– “What do you mean, you Devil?”

– “I mean...” Phil leaned forward to kiss Scott's tummy, working his way South and stopping at every weak spot, as only he knew how to push his friend's buttons so dangerously hard. “Banana pudding...” 

  He kept going, pushing his friend over the edge. 

– “With my own recipe for vanilla wafers and meringue...” 

  He wasn't even slowing down. Scott was boiling in his own sweat.

– “And more whipped cream...”

– “Oh God! More?”

– “And my homegrown pot brownies...” 

– “Have mercy on me, you beast!”

– “And one last batch of my special, homemade chocolate ice-cream...” Phil concluded, licking Scott's most sensitive spot.

  The fat boy had to catch his breath and hold him still, in a firm grip... Scott could come at any moment, just listening to Phil's low, soft voice.

– “You're definitely going to make me... BUUUUURRRRRP! burst...”

  The blonde bad boy responded with a swift move and a playful kiss.

– “We're in bed together... I would feel sad if I didn't make you burst.”

  The two lusty young men didn't stop kissing as they lay back down in bed. They had already had sex twice since Phil's early and almost non-existent breakfast, but they were always greedily enjoying each other’s bodies... Scott was beginning to feel like his friend could actually devour him, even with his so skillful lips and tongue – and the more he told him how hungry he was for more food, or how much he was looking forward to grow fatter, the more Phil wanted to feed him and make it happen...

  The athletic dumb blonde boy leaned in, cupped his hand behind Scott’s head and pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss. 

– “Why don't we just take things one bite at a time?”

– “Like what... being reasonable? Is that what you mean?”

– “Something like that. Anything you want... Everything you want...”

  The fat boy nodded, leaning back in to kiss Phil and relaxing more with every new kiss and every new mouthful thereafter.

– “Banana pudding coming on, Scott... Open up!”

■ ■ ■

April 9th, 1990 – Monday

  Scott had never fully grasped how much he loathed his old, dead-end job, as an “aspiring journalist”, but he loved his new job at the Sheriff's Department! They had come up with their own, daily routine with sheriff Maxwell, and they got on really well together. 

  Damon Maxwell was delighted to find big boxes full of pastries, pies and cakes, cupcakes and muffins, peanut butter pinwheels, chocolate éclairs, cinnamon rolls, sugar buns, doughnuts and cookies on his desk, early in the morning – every morning. By the end of the day, the whole, small mountain of food was gone, washed down with a gallon of milk...

– “Way to make yourself employee of the month, Scott!” Sheriff Maxwell cooed as he had to open his belt, once again, to keep on eating his share of pastries – so tasty and so rich, so thick and so fattening he moaned with every bite.

  Naturally, the tall and large black man made sure that his deputy was eating no less than he was. When Scott left five boxes of pastries on his boss's desk, he had to keep six boxes for himself. Damon made sure of it... Whenever Scott found an even number of boxes in Phil's office, at school, he had to eat more. Twelve boxes didn't mean “six for you, six for me”. It had to be “five versus seven”, or “five-and-a-half versus six-and-a-half” – it was a good moment for them to share over the last box of cakes or cookies.

  Sheriff Maxwell also made sure that Scott was drinking plenty of whole milk, all through the day. Then they almost always ate lunch together at the Double D, going for greasy burgers, buckets of fried chicken, onion rings and fries... He would pat him on the shoulder, when they got back to the precinct.

– “I made it quite clear that you were hired to encourage me to grow fatter and rounder, and grow fat and round as you followed me around.” He patted his deputy's full belly. “I think you've made your point.”

– “I have?”

– “You've been stuffing me so full of pastries, I'm beginning to feel puffy. And you're growing faster than I expected... Take a good look at yourself when you pass by a mirror, tubby! I should be careful that you don't try to outgrow me, in a couple of months...”

  Scott felt his face redden a little. He was not even generous with these. Sheriff Maxwell was actually doing him a favor when he stuffed himself with so many pastries, and putting on some weight in the process.

– “I believe this calls for a raise!”

– “A raise?”

– “It's your first paycheck, I know, but it's more than I used to pay my previous deputy. And I've decided to give it to you in advance.”

– “Wow! First paycheck in a long time...” Scott hooted.

  He sniffed the envelope, as he picked it up – as if it could contain more than just a check, thin as it was, then he sighed with contentment... It could hardly be compared to the huge load of cash he had picked up in the morning, but it was a really comfortable amount of money.

– “Is that enough for you?”

– “Are you kidding me? That's a lot more than enough!”

– “How does that make you feel?”

– “What do you mean?”

– “How does it make you feel, right now? Rich?”

– “Honestly? More like... Fat!”

– “Fat?”

– “Yeah... I'm not saying I don't feel like I deserve to be paid, but... It's a lot of dough, and it makes me feel like one of those spoiled kid on Christmas. So, yeah... Definitely. It makes me feel fat!”

  It was such a significant salary jump, compared to his previous jobs, it was a real surprise for him... Clearly, sheriff Maxwell's intentions were to spoil Scott and encourage him to spend a good chunk of his money on snacks and tasty treats – as much as he could possibly eat on the side, between large and filling meals! 

  With all the money that was stashed at the bottom of the empty boxes from Saint Augustine Bells, Scott also felt a little light-headed, having so much cash in his hands. It was overwhelming.

  The sheriff smiled. God! that man was so handsome...

– “Then it's the right amount. How do you like being my deputy now?”

– “Getting paid to sit on my ass all day, at this desk, handling the phone lines and hardly pushing paper, with no need for coffee breaks? I’m living the American corporate dream...” He joked, grabbing another large piece of pie from the box.

– “Then you're good to go, Scott.”

– “I’ve been looking forward to this for so long! That's such a relief.”

  Sheriff Maxwell gave him a shove on his shoulder. 

– “If you don't have any plans for tonight, Maria would like to invite you over for dinner... She will be away for a few days, visiting her parents on Easter holiday.”

– “Tonight?”

  Phil was working night shift again, at the hospital. It was perfect.

– “I would love to spend the evening with you.”

– “Just go casual, and wear your roomiest pair of pants.”

– “I see...”

– “Maria wants to make sure that she can leave me alone for a week and I won't waste away too dramatically... That would break her heart.”

  The two men nodded in agreement, patting each other's bumpy belly.

– “Just so you know, she's looking forward to spend time with her family but she's a bit anxious about it too... Let's say, she's feeling her roots. Don't be surprised if she throws a lot of Spanish words at you. You know she'll throw a lot more Mexican food into your plate!”

  Scott didn't have much choice in his closet, at the moment. He had only bought one pair of baggy pants. They looked only okay, according to him, but they were comfortable and they had some give, which was what he would need the most on such a night out.

  Phil was done with all the cakes, pies, pastries and cookies he had baked in the kitchen. He was ready to go back to work, just as Scott was putting a touch of gel in his hair to get them nicely spikey... His blonde friend joined him in front of the mirror for a good night kiss.

– “You are always so dapper... Where are you going tonight?”

– “Just another evening with my boss and his wife.”

– “Just like that? I had something more special in mind.”

– “She will be away for a few days, so it's like... Game night.”

– “Game night?”

– “Huh huh...”

  Phil looked a bit puzzled, when Scott was in a hurry to leave. It was almost 8PM. He already had his jacket on, and the keys to his car were in his pocket.

– “What kind of games are you playing with them?”

  Scott flashed him with a broad, cocky grin.

– “Hungry Hungry Hippos...”

■ ■ ■

  If Scott had ever tried to curb his appetite before, he was now trying to push it to the brink every day... A dinner invitation at the Maxwells was the perfect opportunity for him to outdo himself, and he could overeat with the best and most encouraging company.

  Damon welcomed him at the door. His shirt was already fully open and he wasn't wearing a T-shirt.

– “Just as I thought, always so overdressed...” He rolled his eyes, with a smile on his face. “Come in, come in. Maria wants to check our weights, before we both sit at the table.”

– “She wants to weigh us?”

– “In your underwear, too... if you're okay with it.”

– “Huh...” Scott only hesitated for a second. “Sure! I'm game.”

  He had seen Phil go through this a few times, after all. The only difference was that Damon had to help him step on the scale, so he would stand straight and in the center of its platform. He couldn't read the numbers either. 

– “So... How much is it?” Scott asked bashfully.

– “¿Cuánto peso gané?”

  Ms Maxwell was there to check up on their results. She exchanged a smile with her husband, as he was about to tell his deputy.

– “Well... Well over 250lbs.”

– “How much?”

– “256lbs, exactly.”

– “Muy bien!” Maria gushed. “¿Has ganado peso otra vez?”

  Scott held his reasonably empty belly with both hands. He had gained eight solid pounds during his first week, working with sheriff Maxwell...

  It was Damon's turn to be weighed, and the tall handsome man was eager to step on the scale for his loving wife.

– “298lbs! Muy bien, muy bien...”

– “Okay!” Sheriff Maxwell thumped his belly. “Time to eat...”

– “Of course! You haven't reached 300lbs yet!” Maria complained. “Tengo un marido irritantemente delgado e increíblemente guapo... Obviamente tendré que engordarlo y cambiar todo eso!”

  She held her sexy, well-fed husband in a tight embrace. Then she took a good look at Scott and he saw a glimmer of delight in her eyes.

– “Necesitamos un montón de comida para engordarlo mucho y rápido.” 

– “Sorry... What did you say?”

– “You're going to eat a lot... and she means a lot. That's all you need to know.” Sheriff Maxwell smiled. “She wants us to eat and gain weight.”

  Maria made Scott and Damon sit down at the dinner table.

– “Es la hora de tragar!”

  And so, for the next four hours, the two grown men gorged themselves on Mexican food, wearing only their boxer shorts...

  They were both leaning over their plates, so that their forks only had to travel a few inches to get to their mouths. Then they kept shoveling in mouthful after mouthful of food, as if they hadn’t eaten for weeks.

  Tequila shots were served with Maria's “appetizers” for her big boys – a variety of baked halloumi skewers served in large portions, with onions and peppers, chubby empanadas filled with chicken, bacon or beef chilli with sour cream, and thick Jalapeño poppers filled with cream cheese, served with a pot of genuine jalapeño jelly.

– “How do you like being a sheriff's deputy?”

– “I love it! It's great!” Scott responded enthusiastically. “I've never had such a... BUUUUUURRRRRRP... cushy job in my life!”

– “Me alegra de oír eso.” Maria patted his stomach. “I'm glad to hear it.”

  As she was going back and forth to the kitchen, sheriff Maxwell winked at his new deputy and handed him another beer.

– “She meant to say she wants to hear you burp some more, tonight...”

– “Oh? Well... If she keeps going after me like this with food and drinks, she won't be disappointed.”

  The feast truly kicked off to a start when she brought tacos, tostadas, burritos, enchiladas and freshly fired fajitas, still sizzling from the kitchen, with a generous amount of sour cream, cheese, guacamole and salsa. Scott's fingers were already greasy with all that food...

– “Traga como un puerco, ándale!”

  Maria kept encouraging her husband to eat like a pig, pushing him even as he tried his best to eat faster... Then she complimented Scott on his appetite but insisted that he should challenge her husband too, and eat like a greedy, messy piglet.

  She brought platters of arroz con pollo topped with cheese sauce and served with tortillas, and huevos rancheros, eggs topped with red sauce, rice and beans. There was enough food for an entire troop of boy scouts.

– “You expect me to eat all this?” Scott felt a little overwhelmed.

– “If you want to get ahead of the game, you’ll have to!”

  There was more to come: Baja chicken bowls with roasted breasts and rice cooked in coconut sauce, served in large tortilla bowls topped with sour cream and chilli peppers, sweet potato fries and corn on the cob...

  Scott was treated with even more plates of bacon and grits, which he had to wash down with more beer. Damon pushed another half-pint glass of strong brew in front of him, without spilling any foam... His first six-pack of Biberton Brewing Brothers light blonde beers was already gone.

– “Ooof...” He complained. “Do you want me to choke, burst or pass out from alcohol poisoning?”

– “No para envenenarte, pero sé cómo te llenaré hasta hacerte reventar.”

– “Huh... What did she say?”

– “She's not planning to poison you. She just wants to see you so stuffed as you can get. Stuffed to your tits... Take a breath and eat some more!”

  Maria showed no mercy. Cramming more and more and more food into Damon, she rubbed her husband’s gut when it looked like he would pass out from the stuffing, taunting him about how ballooned he was getting and how he was going to grow so much fatter...

– “Traga más rápido... Ahora engordarás, puercote!” She took a massive forkful of food up to his mouth.

  Scott was not forgotten, of course. The Maxwells kept rushing him to eat like a pig. His belly had blown up to the point of wedging firmly into the edge of the table... His eyes glazed over as his hands fell to rest on the growing ledge at the top of his ball gut.

– “BUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP!”

– “You're a good eater, but you're still so puny!” Maria patted and rubbed his belly. “No me extraña que sigas más delgado que una tira... También deberías alimentarte mejor para engordar!”

– “Hmmmph?”

– “Maria thinks you should be fed better, if you want to grow...”

– “Huh...” Scott was distracted, huffing and puffing.

– “Grow fatter. Eat more. Get fed.”

– “Okay...”

– “Get fed more. Better! Every day!”

– “Huh huh...”

  Maria put another large plate of spicy pork roast in front of him.

– “Ahora un plato más para ti, muy nutritivo...”

– “Are you sure? I’m really full, like... full, full! Oh, well... I guess I could go for another one...”

  Scott marveled at his own appetite and resilience, despite clearly struggling with the discomfort of being so completely stuffed.

– “Debes tragar mucho más para engordar muchisimo... Y luego voy a atiborrarte de todo tipo de comidas grasientas!”

  After shoving in the last forkful, which he carefully ran around the plate to get every last drop of sauce, Scott fell back in his chair. Letting out a long groan and dropping his hand on the top arc of his growing belly, where his chest edged into the swell of his fat-filled bulge, he grunted that he was absolutely stuffed.

– “I couldn't eat another bite if you forced me to do it...”

– “Did you eat everything in your last plates?” Sheriff Maxwell asked. 

– “Yup.”

  Damon hauled his huge body out of his chair and, with his gut swaying from side to side, he swaggered out to the bathroom and back. Then he cradled his friend's stomach in his hands, jiggling it between his palms. That prompted another monstrously long, loud and obnoxious belch from the depths of Scott's gut.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!”

– “Well done, Scott... We're definitely off to a good start!”

  Maria was coming back from the kitchen with desserts.

– “Y ahora un delicioso postre para ti.”

– “Oh! God...”

  There were more, large portions of thick and greasy churros, which Maria served with fresh strawberries and chocolate sauce.

– “Vas a comer hasta que estés a punto de explotar!”

– “Hmmmph... Hmmmph...”

  Scott had so much churros crammed in his cheeks that he could barely close his mouth to chew.

■ ■ ■

April 13th, 1990 – Friday

– “No! No, soldier! Your position is wrong!” Cal yelled at Phil, as if he was cautioning him while the blonde, sweaty guy was squatting. 

– “Better, sir?” Phil stood straight, arching his back like a pro.

– “No, no... You're not worth a damn, dough boy!”

– “Sir! yes, sir...” The blonde guy had to keep going.

– “Keep your neck up! Activate your core, if you have any...” Cal nodded, patting his own chiseled stomach as if to demonstrate.

  Scott hated guys who kept telling others what to do at the gym – but this was worse than anything he had experienced or witnessed.

  Cal kept slurping on his smoothie. Ms Spread prepared them herself, just for him. The young coach's comments and criticisms kept coming in fast and thick throughout the day. Phil looked beaten down by the end of their evening sessions...

– “Time for your weigh-in! Get your fat ass over here.”

  Dr Lipton was a bit reluctant to do it in his office, but Cal was raring to put Phil on the scale to taunt him and publicly shame him in front of a group of students.

  Ms Spread was back with another large pitcher for his smoothie. The gym was also packed with students, sitting in the bleachers or standing before the buffet. It looked like Cal was trying out-do himself, analyzing and nitpicking at everything Phil did in order to make himself look better, stronger, superior.

  Cal was “the man” around this gym – or so he thought. As much as the boys sneered around him, they had no interest in sparring with him. He wasn't the bigger man in the room so much as he was the biggest jerk in school. That was some hard-won title, considering the competition. All those students were bullies, so this felt like off-hours class for them.

– “If you were paid by the pound instead of the hour, you could retire by Christmas!” Cal kept yelling at him. “On the scales, now.”

  Phil did as he was told, a bit out of breath again. 

– “Stand still...” Cal commanded, slapping him on the back. “That's what you do best, dough boy.!”

  Ms Spread moved and adjusted the slides.

– “How much?”

– “A little under 225lbs.” Ms Spread announced.

– “I thought as much.” Cal smirked. “We all put so much time and efforts into this for you. What for? Hardly one pound of lard off this bacon dog!”

■ ■ ■

  Scott was done with his boxes of pastries for the day. He had plenty of time, at the precinct, for his shooting practice and self-defense exercises with his boss. It was another regular, lazy morning for him.

  Back in Saint Augustine Bells, he also felt satisfied that his system with the secret code and boxes of pastries worked, allowing a few students to come and go without anyone noticing a thing. 

  When he found that he couldn't stuff his wallet with more cash, Scott decided to leave four hundred dollar bills on the fridge, attached to his blonde friend's list of chores. He didn't put much thought into it, but Phil was overwhelmed.

  Scott was immediately rewarded with a tight, heartfelt Teddy bear hug that was even more bear-like and comforting than Phil's usual tender, loving hugs.

– “What's that money on the fridge for?”

– “Food, of course. I thought you could cook something tasty for me.”

– “You got it...” Phil kissed him passionately.

  There were genuine tears of joy in the hungry guy's eyes. They never talked about it, but Scott knew how badly Phil was strapped for cash...

  Sure enough, there was more food on the table for his breakfast and dinner, full plates and bowls of cupcakes, cinnamon rolls and timbits in every room, bigger snacks for his lunch break, more elaborate recipes and more generous amounts of spicy, fried foods on the side of his main course, a wider variety of cakes and pies for dessert, and an endless flow of homemade ice-cream, milkshakes and sweets before bedtime.

  Scott looked really good and self-satisfied, in his uniform, as he walking the school grounds again in Saint Augustine Bells.

  It looked like father Knox was in the middle of argument with Mr Scupper, the school's gardener. Scott didn't want to interfere, but he saw them shake hands and go their separate ways... Then he followed the man of the cloth.

– “Good afternoon, father.”

– “Mister Girder? I mean... officer Girder. How nice to see you! I heard that you were willing to spend some time on the premises, every day, to increase security.”

– “Huh... Yeah, that's the point. Was that mister Scupper with you?”

– “It was.” Father Knox sighed. “Rambling as ever...”

– “What was he rambling on? His ghost story again?”

– “You've met him, you know how pig-headed he is about this. He must have been reading The Turning of the screw, recently.”

  Scott remembered about it. He had borrowed it at the hospital's library, but he had only read a few lines and gone to sleep.

– “What's so remarkable about this?”

– “You know how that story goes. The children are allegedly possessed by the ghosts of two dead servants, and their nurse is determined to find that supernatural or unnatural influence.”

– “Okay...”

– “Since the servants were having an affair, it is implied that the boy and his sister are tempted into incest by the ghosts who would possess their bodies and have some sort of intercourse.”

– “What? Is that what it's about? I mean... What does it have to do with what's happening around here?”

– “Mister Scupper suggested that the ghost he keeps talking about gets to possess the six students who are currently at the hospital.”

– “What for?”

– “To make them gorge on food, apparently. Did you hear anything about them, by the way? How are they doing today?”

– “According to the nurses at the hospital, they're always stuffed like piñatas in the morning. Every morning... They had to remind people not to bring food or feed them at any time, like they tell you at the zoo. I believe the boys aren't allowed visitors anymore, but they keep putting on weight like this.”

– “And they have no explanations about it.”

– “Not that I know of... I had no idea that there would be a ghost so hell-bent on gluttony.”

– “Ghosts are usually vengeful spirits.”

– “Do you get to preach or talk a lot about gluttony?”

– “I do... There's a lot to be said about gluttony, you know.”

– “Really?”

– “The Church follows the teachings of Saint Thomas Aquinas, who listed five forms of gluttony...” Father Knox explained. “There is Laute, which means “eating too expensively”. Then Studiose, which means “eating too daintily”. Nimis, eating too much”. Praepropere, “eating too soon”. And Ardenter, “eating too eagerly”... Ardenter is often considered the most sinful, since it is a passion for mere earthly pleasures.”

– “Is that something you discussed with Phil too, recently?”

  Father Knox turned to Scott. He was about to open the door to his office, next to the school's chapel.

– “Phil Hewdge, our male nurse and new security officer?”

– “Yes.”

– “Why would we talk about gluttony? Maybe we did. I see him every now and then, and we get to talk about so many things. Are you friends with Phil?”

– “Yes... We're friends.”

– “Very good.”

– “Forgive me father, but... I recently heard you talking about... I forgot. Something about surfeit and fast?”

– “Oh... Yes, a few days ago.”

– “I wasn't eavesdropping or anything, but...”

– “It's quite all right. I guess you didn't understand why we were playing one of our little games with lines from a Shakespearean play.”

– “You were quoting Shakespeare?”

– “Measure for measure, if memory serves me correctly.”

– “Okay... Phil knows a lot of Shakespeare, it's true, but I had no idea...”

– “Not just Shakespeare. Our dumb blonde soldier is quite familiar with the whole Elizabethan and Jacobean repertoire. I keep teasing him with little known plays by Marlowe, Kyd, Jonson, Middleton, Dekker, Marston, Fletcher, Chapman, Beaumont, Ford and Webster... I haven't even scored a single point in that game yet.”

– “It's a strange game to play...”

  Father Knox chuckled.

– “I'll let you in on a little secret, since Phil's your friend.”

– “Yes?”

– “It's a code between us. When Phil wants to tell me something, and he doesn't feel comfortable about it or we don't want anyone around to listen to us, he quotes something from Shakespeare... We've been doing this for over a year. It's proved very useful, especially during confession.”

– “Confession?”

– “Phil is catholic, you know.”

– “Yeah... I knew that. I was just thinking... Would you say he's a good catholic boy?”

  There was a moment of silence. Father Knox looked puzzled.

– “I guess... It's a good question. I don't know how he was raised, but I bet there was no religious education for him before he joined the Army. I bet that is also when he started studying Shakespeare and the others. Truth be told, Phil doesn't consider himself a good catholic boy... and that's precisely why I think he is.”

– “I don't understand.”

– “There are things that he is willing to tell me in confession, but there are things so sinful he doesn't trust me. That's when we play around Shakespeare. Then, if it's something really dark, he quotes a few lines from Marlowe.”

– “Marlowe...”

– “Christopher Marlowe. He was like... Shakespeare's evil twin brother.”

– “Seriously?”

– “They were born the same year. He wrote seven plays. He was a self-proclaimed atheist and homosexual. He may have been a spy for queen Elizabeth. And he was killed before he turned thirty, so...”

– “Yeah... I get the evil twin vibe.”

– “Then, if we have to discuss something unspeakable, we go for some scene by Webster or Ford. Beautiful, poetic plays but dealing with incest, poison, murder and madness, even werewolves...”

– “Werewolves? No shit!”

– “When you meet Phil again, sometimes, ask him to run a few lines. Go for some Christopher Marlowe. You'll see...”

■ ■ ■

  It was raining again. Clouds were gathering endlessly over the horizon. The wind was howling through the trees, and it was getting dark... Some storm had already broken in the distance, and it got closer.

  Scott was coming home to a seemingly empty apartment. He took off his coat, his shirt and his T-shirt as he was entering the kitchen.

  There were big bags of groceries on the table and by the fridge but Phil wasn't cooking at the moment, and the lights were off. Throwing his wet T-shirt on the floor, Scott saw Phil's own uniform shirt neatly folded on a chair. It was also wet, and sweaty. His shoes were by the door.

– “Phil?”

  Scott followed a trail of clothes on the floor: T-shirt, trousers, socks...

  His blonde friend was lying stretched out on their bed, fast asleep and, much to Scott's satisfaction, naked. For one thing, Phil was supposed to go without clothes when they were alone together, but his boxer shorts were always too tight – and not quite like the clothes he was currently forced to wear.

  It was only 9PM... Scott didn't turn the lights on. He could picture how Phil had come back from the local stores and supermarket, thrown the small change from his four hundred bucks in the big glass jar he kept on the kitchen counter, wanted to start cooking but choked in his painfully tight, wet and sticky shirt and passed out. It was just like any other day for him, but he had every reason to be exhausted.

  Phil was a sound sleeper, and remarkably discrete. The way he snored felt like a big cat's purr, or a tiger's... He must have fallen on the covers and he was now spread in bed with his hands almost over his head.

  Scott took a good look at him, then he came up with a wicked idea. Going back to the kitchen, he took a hammer and a small hook from a drawer and proceeded to plant the hook on top of the headboard. It was done in a second, and Phil didn't even flinch in his sleep.

  Taking the handcuffs attached to his duty belt, Scott swiftly put them on his friend's wrists and pulled them up to get the chain in that hook. Hauling him up like this caused Phil to stir and slowly wake up.

– “Huh... Dad... Don't...” He mumbled in his sleep. “What?”

  Unfortunately, Scott was too big to take off his shoes by himself... He pulled his pants down with his underwear to join Phil in bed, ready to prey on him and tease him as he wished.

– “Scott?”

– “Wakey wakey, big bear...”

– “What are you doing? Why did you tie me up like this?”

– “Careful, these are my Police handcuffs. Solid steel and everything... I suggest you don't yank those chains.”

– “They're hurting me, Scott...”

  Phil was doing what he could to sit up in bed, so his arms wouldn't be too painfully stretched out, but Scott kept him in position as he lay both hands on him – caressing the blonde fur on his chest and going down his magnificent happy trail, pressing his thigh and moving to his crotch.

– “Your balls are always so heavy... and bigger than peaches.”

  He couldn't hold them in his hand. They were just too massive.

– “Scott, I mean it. These cuffs are hurting me...”

  Suddenly, Phil's stomach also protested with a long, hungry and almost beastly growl. Scott chuckled and patted his friend's flat tummy.

– “What's that, big bear?”

– “I'm hungry...” Phil looked down in embarrassment.

– “What do you know, I'm hungry too... and I didn't see anything in the kitchen for me. Who's been a sleepy, sleepy bear?”

  Scott's teasing was always so effective. No matter how uncomfortable he was, right now, Phil was getting impressively hard under his touch.

  It was still pouring outside and a distant, ominous rolling thunder was echoing the blonde boy's rumbling stomach.

– “What time is it?” Phil asked, a bit confused.

– “9PM, I think. It should be time for my main course...”

– “Let me out of these cuffs, please. I'll start cooking right away.”

  Phil kept squirming helplessly in his tight cuffs, struggling as he was still trying to turn his wrists in them. They were sore and rubbed raw... His stomach was aching and his whole body was stiff.

– “I don't know... It's already too late. I'm feeling hungry for a big, thick and juicy, pan-seared porterhouse steak. What do you think? Should I baste you with butter, you meaty big bear?”

  Phil was panting heavily... He may not know what to say, but his body responded in the best possible way.

  Scott was really squeezing him too hard, keeping his hand at the hairy notch of his crotch – to the point of strangling him, in a way – and he kept teasing him with his left hand, his little finger slowly caressing Phil's long and thick, bobbing shaft – up to the ridge behind his cock head...

– “Please, Scott... Let me out of these cuffs, please.”

– “Okay, but I want you to say it right.”

– “I just asked you...”

– “Nuh huh... Say it like you mean it.”

– “How?”

– “I want to hear you say it: Let me out of these cuffs, please... SIR!”

  Phil looked into Scott's eyes.

– “Sir?”

– “That's right.”

– “Seriously, I've been doing this all day...”

– “With Cal? It doesn't count. Say it for me.”

– “Let me out of these cuffs, please, sir...”

– “Louder!”

– “Let me out of these cuffs! Please, sir!”

– “Louder! Say it like you mean it, soldier!”

  Phil couldn't even say those words again, but Scott was merciless – and he wasn't done. 

– “Cal has been training you all wrong. You know why? He wants to keep this wild, growling beast locked inside a cage, in the basement... You want to set that big, wild bear free!”

– “Right now, I only wish for you to take those cuffs off.”

– “You're such a helpless, lost bear in the woods.” Scott suggested with sparkles in his eyes. “I know what we should do!”

– “What?”

– “We should get you to loosen up a little.”

– “Sorry, what?”

  With his pants and undies down to his ankles, Scott reached for one of his bags at the bottom of the closet. He had stashed a lot of bottles from the mini-bar in his bedroom at the Paddington Hotel.

– “There you go!” Scott uncorked a tiny whisky bottle then pushed it between Phil's front teeth. “Drink up and feel like a giant.”

– “Hmmmph...”

  Scott forced his dumb blonde friend to drink bottle after bottle: vodka, bourbon, gin, tequila, whiskey, brandy, rum, scotch and more... It was painful for Phil, who couldn't help making a face and sticking his tongue out after every shot.

– “Feeling a bit dizzy, huh, Southern boy?”

– “Scott... Please stop. I'm not feeling well.”

– “Come on, you'll feel all warm and ticklish in a moment.”

– “I mean it, Scott... I've hardly eaten anything since noon.”

– “I know, I know... You're hungry.”

  More bottles were pressed against his lips, and Phil had to take shots after shots, with Scott quickening the pace on purpose... At some point, the blonde guy protested.

– “Please, Scott... Stop this. I'm really feeling sick.”

– “Please, big bear. You can take it.”

  Scott kept the drinks pouring into his friend's mouth, until Phil startled and had to spit it all out. There was a strong and very distinct smell of perfume with the drink spilled all over his chest.

– “Yikes! This is awful...”

– “Huh? Oh! Right... That was a sample from the hotel's cologne.”

  Phil was no longer squirming. His whole body was shivering and there was that mysterious, fierce kind of fireworks in his sparkling green eyes.

– “Let me out of these cuffs, sir! Please... Now!”

  Scott was fascinated by this perfect soldier's tone of voice. It was even more impressive than anything he had been looking for.

– “Okay, let me find my keys and...”

– “Scott!”

– “What?”

  Suddenly, Scott heard a strange, crackling noise. It had nothing to do with lightning outside... Phil was jumping out of bed and running to the bathroom with his hands still caught in Scott's steel cuffs – and tumbling straight to the can.

  For a moment, Scott was left dumbstruck... There was a small hole in the wall and plaster where the hook had fallen. Then he heard his friend throw up all the alcohol he had just been forced to drink.

  There was another moment of silence, then the toilet was flushed. Scott stood up, put on his trousers and joined Phil in the bathroom. The blonde beast was a mess, shivering in front of the mirror, with his hair tousled and tears rolling down his cheeks. He kept his arms crossed before his chest, as he was brushing his teeth.

  At this point, Scott didn't know what to say.

– “Keys. Now.”

  Phil didn't have to raise his voice.

– “Look at what you've done, you free beast...” Scott already had the key in his hand. “The chain is broken, these cuffs are bent, and they are my only pair of handcuffs. I use this for my job, it's not a toy... What am I going to tell sheriff Maxwell?”

– “You can tell him whatever you want, and the short of it should be the Truth.” Phil snapped, but his voice broke. “Truth be told, I'm not a toy...”

  Turning away from the sink, Phil pounced on Scott like a ravenous bear and held him in a hug to kiss him passionately. His tongue was still stiff from those drinks but his breath was so fresh and so hot at the same time, Scott felt weak.

– “Why did you do this?”

– “I just wanted to play.”

– “Why didn't you wake me up? We could play...”

– “I wanted to wake up the wild beast inside you... Everyone at school and at the hospital treats you like a dog.”

– “I know...” Phil held him in a tight, comforting embrace.

– “You're not their dog. You don't belong to Cal, or doctor Lipton.”

– “I know...”

– “Because you belong to me.”

  Phil looked deep into his friend's eyes.

– “I do?”

– “Get down on your knees. Help me take off those shoes.”

  Scott's tone was insidious and possessive... When Phil patiently pulled down his pants and boxers, he told him to stay down. 

– “You know... Those idiots you work for? They don't just treat you like a dog. They really think you're a dog... A hungry dog. A stray dog, going down the streets and back alleys, looking for scraps of food and some temporary shelter behind the dumpsters...”

– “Scott?”

– “And they're right about it.” Scott insisted. “Or they're only half right, because you're not really a dog... but you're a beast! A really big beast, like a bear. A wild bear everyone keeps poking and taunting, and baiting, because they keep you locked inside a cage. That's why they do it. They wouldn't feel safe if you weren't staying behind bars. You've been cuffed before, right? You've been arrested and put behind bars before.”

– “Yeah...”

  Phil looked down. Standing naked on his feet and knees, on the kitchen floor, he looked like a fallen gladiator. With his arms stretched out by his sides, Phil's hands weren't the only part of his body that touched and rested on the cold ceramic tiles... Towering over him, Scott stripped him further down with his words.

– “They want to take you out. I bet they would shoot you like a brown bear, if they could. They just want you to go, give up and leave. Not just the hospital or this godforsaken school, but leave town. Leave Biberton.”

– “I know...”

– “You do?”

– “Of course. It may be that I'm not bright, but I'm not blind. I know the school's plan is for Cal to replace me... They expect me to be a failure.”

– “That's what they want, and you're bound to fail.”

– “We'll see about this. I don't care about their plan...” Phil whispered in a surprisingly dark tone.

– “Neither do I!”

– “You don't?”

– “Because you belong to me! Everyone in this town wants you out on the streets, where you belong. Not me... They want you to fail and keep running aimlessly, like a caged tiger. Not me... They want to remind you that you aren't worth the sweat off your own back.”

  Scott kept piling it on him more aggressively, beating him down to the point where any man's last shred of self-esteem would be taken away – that is, until Phil quietly begged him to stop and looked up to him.

  There was always some kind of raw, masculine sparkle in those green eyes, but Scott was immediately silent... An alpha male wolf would have lost that stare fight. Phil looked both ferocious and afraid – not afraid of him, but afraid of what he might do to him.

– “You should be more careful with what you wish for, Scott...”

– “Why?”

– “Take a good look at me.” Phil straightened up a bit. “I'm fallen and I'm not sure I can get up. I'm cold. I'm hungry... I think I've never been so naked in my whole life. I won't sing you a song or anything... I'm lost for words. Is this really what you want?”

– “Lost for words? How about a few words by William Shakespeare?”

  Phil looked deeply shaken, like a man about to fall down the edge of a cliff, but Scott knew his friend well enough – asking for a few words from a Shakespearean play was like throwing him a life line.

          “What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine...”

– “What's that?”

– “You asked for something by Shakespeare. So it goes.”

– “Which play is that?”

– “Measure for measure. Not the easiest one to follow...”

– “Definitely not. I don't follow... What's yours is mine, and what's mine is not yours to share! And you belong to me just the same.”

  Phil looked lost all over again.

– “Huh... Okay.”

– “I bet mister Shakespeare has something to say about it too. Right?”

– “Actually... Yes, he does.”

– “Does he now?”

– “Richard II...” Phil whispered.

– “How does it go?”

          “Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all...”

– “That's much better. You're mine...” 

– “Yes, sir!” Phil kissed him on the lips. 

– “And mine...” Scott kissed him back and deeper, more possessive than ever. “And mine, and mine... and mine!”

  For a long moment, they let their bodies free to go on pure instincts, while their stomachs were groaning.

– “I want you to be my personal cook, my baker, my candy maker, my delicious fudge packer...”

– “Of course.”

– “Be my partner in crime, my massage assistant, my bodyguard...”

– “Count on it.”

– “Be my private servant, my devoted houseboy, my slave...”

  Phil looked a bit taken aback.

– “Your slave?”

– “Told you.” Scott slapped his friend's firm butt. “I own these buns.”

– “So you want me to be your... sex slave?”

– “I want you to know that you're my slave, all the way!”

– “All the way...”

  Scott felt his friend embracing him tighter than ever.

– “Okay...” He nodded. “As long as you remember what I told you...”

– “What did you tell me?”

– “I've warned you, Scott... Whatever happened, you asked for it.”

– “So I did.”

  Phil's grip on him suddenly got more arousing and firm. He whispered in a more menacing tone, licking Scott's neck and playfully pressing his teeth to his throat, pushing him dangerously close to the edge.

– “Don't put me in cuffs like this... ever... again.”

– “Okay.”

– “We should choose a safety word, too.”

– “Safety word?”

– “Yeah...”

  Scott thought about it for a second.

– “Spit.”

– “You want me to spit on you?”

– “No. That should be our safe word.”

– “Huh... Okay.”

  Phil treated Scott as if he had already forgotten about that incident.

– “You must be hungry. I should cook a big meal for you, master...”

– “Master?”

– “You want me to call you “sir”? Just sir?”

– “One or the other... I like it.”

– “Time for your bedtime treats, sir.”

  Scott had to sit down on a chair. He could feel those warm waves of lust washing over his helpless, naked plump body. Phil looked like a very hungry, very horny beast, next to him.

– “Why don't you go full “bad boy” for me, and treat me with something by Christopher Marlowe?”

– “Marlowe... Are you sure?” Phil smiled like a wolf on the prowl.

– “I'll take my chances.”

– “Well, again, you've been warned...”

  Phil went for a small bottle of milk in the fridge, and gulped it down. Then he took a bottle of water and poured it all over his head, shoulders and chest, as he slowly walked to Scott.

          “In silence of this solemn evening's walk,

           Making the mantle of the richest night,

           The moon, the planets and the meteors light,

           There angels in their crystal armours fight

           A doubtful battle with my tempted thoughts...”

  Scott was fascinated, as Phil lifted him up and carried him in his arms.

– “I'm going to fatten you up like a suckling pig, slap and pound your fat ass all night... Then I'll make you surrender to me, and I will devour you raw to the bone. I want a lazy, overfed, pampered and satisfied master!”

■ ■ ■

April 14th, 1990 – Saturday

  Everyone in Saint Augustine Bells avoided Cal. Students kept showing up when he trained Phil, but their attitude during these work-outs was surprisingly quiet... They grabbed a bite at Ms Spread's buffet, just like him, but they didn't talk so loud as usual and they didn't comment or ask questions.

  The teachers felt like they had nothing to do with what was happening inside the gym, and they didn't want to get involved. Cal was always so annoying that they didn't want to cross paths with him in any way. 

  Mr Porkenham only commented on Cal's behavior once, reminding his staff the old saying “Treat him mean, keep him keen.”

  The only person who couldn't get away from Cal was Phil, of course... Every time his coach said something, the dumb blonde guy looked like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

– “Keep your back straight, dough boy!” Cal shouted as he watched Phil complete another series of sit ups in the middle of the room. 

– “Yes, sir!”

– “No, no! You’re never going to burn any fat with such lame attempts!” 

  He pretended to complain, hideously overstating it and forcing Phil to flop on to his mat, red in the face.

– “Try it again, soldier! Again! Again, you dough boy!” He barked. 

  Phil redoubled his efforts, sitting up slowly as Cal watched him closely. 

– “That’s not any better... How did you ever make it in the Army?”

  Cal only enjoyed seeing Phil give up on his exercise after nine or ten long, exhausting series... He kept pushing him worse than ever, and he made it so much harder for all the “extra weight” he claimed Phil carried on his frame. 

– “You know what?” Cal sneered, slapping Phil's stomach. “I think you’ve actually put on a few pounds, recently. Take a good look at you! There's no way a dough boy like you can ever lose weight...”

  He pushed Phil in front of the wall mirror, roughly, as he reached down and pressed both hands on his hips. 

– “And your ass is always so meaty. Can't you feel it, dough boy?” 

  Phil could only feel Cal's strong grip, but he was only allowed to nod. Cal pinched his side, looking for what may be considered love handles. 

– “You’re a real softie, a big Teddy bear. I knew it from the start. Clearly, you need to work out more, and more often! Harder. Better. Got that?” 

– “Yes, sir.”

– “I think you’re just so chubby as you were when we started this work-out routine!” Cal teased, basking in his own glow.

  Ms Spread was bringing him another big milkshake.

– “Okay, time to get you weighed now!” Cal announced. 

– “Again? So soon?” Phil gasped. 

– “I suggested that we perform more frequent and consistent weigh-ins with measurements for you, dough boy, since you are clearly behind with the administrators' schedule. Weight is a good indication of fitness and so are measurements, wouldn't you say?” 

  The scale big industrial scale was waiting for them.

– “Come on! There you go, tubby...” Cal insisted, patting Phil’s firm but bulbous rump as he stood just below the step of the scale. 

  The sweaty blonde guy sighed and stepped on as he was told. Mrs Spread was standing behind the scale. She adjusted the slides and took the measurement.

– “Huh... 232lbs!” She announced, looking puzzled behind her glasses.

  There was a general uproar from the bleacher, for once.

  Phil couldn't believe it. How could he possibly gain weight, as it was?

– “I’ve been cutting down so much. I don’t understand...” He whispered, both hands on his flat stomach.  

– “What do you know? You must have gained like five pounds, dough boy! You’re disgusting...” Cal concluded, slapping Phil’s allegedly overfed gut. “What the hell have you been eating again? Deep-fat fried food, am I right? I can smell all that greasy Southern cooking on you...” 

  As soon as Phil turned to face his coach, still standing on the platform, there was a distinct clicking sound with the scale's counterweights... Cal had put his foot down during his weigh-in and he was backing off now. That was a sneaky underhanded trick, and it felt all the more humiliating that he may have fallen for it even for a moment.

  Ignoring the students' cheers and sneers, Phil politely asked Ms Spread to weigh him again, as he was standing at attention with his arms by his sides and his fists clenched again.

– “224lbs.” Ms Spread confirmed.

– “Come on then, dough boy! Time for a shower!” Cal moved Phil along, feeling a little impatient with him – as he found himself with egg on his face. “We should make you go through some more cardio... You haven't lost a pound and you're still so chubby, we should try some different kind of game sometimes”.

– “What kind of game?”

– “How about basketball? Not a sissy game. Can you go through it?”

  Cal didn't notice the fierce fire in Phil's eyes, as he was strutting out of the room with a grin on his face. 

■ ■ ■

  There was a mess of dirty plates and bowls, empty buckets and boxes all over the apartment, from the kitchen counters to the coffee table, when Phil came home with the groceries. Scott was sprawled across the sofa, looking like he had not even bothered to take a shower today.

  Once they were both naked and ready for the evening, Phil asked his master not to waste time on spanking. Scott knew that he often went too hard on him, but he didn't know when to stop... As long as he had more cake or pastries in front of him, he would keep spanking. His wrists and elbows felt sore, sometimes, and he could tell that Phil was holding his tears... It was always better for him to keep his master lazy and well-fed, pampered and horny.

  Phil was doing an amazing good job: Scott felt stuffed to his tonsils, every night, with the most delicious foods he could wish for!

  With his new allowance, the poor guy could actually provide huge amounts of food for his master, so much that Scott had to be fed most of his desserts in bed.

  The most remarkable consequence in their new relationship – along with their mind-blowing, explosive and immensely fulfilling sex life – was how Scott gained weight faster and how it showed more obviously on his face and body.

  Phil didn't insist on it when he massaged Scott, but there was so much more for him to fondle that the blonde guy felt like offering him some well-deserved praise.

– “You have been really eating well, lately.”

– “Thank you... You've been cooking really well.”

– “Thank you, sir. Maybe...” 

  Phil kept rubbing his lower back, while Scott was stuffing his face on a variety of tasty appetizers.

– “Maybe I should cook something lean for you too?” He sounded a bit concerned. “To be honest, Scott, I didn't expect you to put on so much weight so quickly...”

– “Cook something lean? You? Phil, your food is always so fattening as it is delicious. Stick to what you know... Bacon, lard, chicken fat, butter, cooking oil and grease!”

– “I know... I'm cooking to fatten you up and I'm thrilled that you keep growing so well, but I find your weight gain really fast and impressive.” 

– “Of course, I'm eating pastries all day...”

– “That's good. I'm always there to bake quite a few of them.”

– “For the community, right?” 

– “I'm glad to see them find their way to your mouth and stomach...”

  Scott felt his friend kissing him between his shoulder blades.

– “Of course, I couldn't get so fat on your cooking alone!”

– “What do you mean?” 

– “My boss, sheriff Maxwell, wants me to eat so much during our lunch breaks. He's invited a few times over dinner too, when you weren't here to cook for my evening meal.” 

– “I understand... The Maxwells?”

– “You've met them, right?”

– “I know them, but I've never been to their house... Maria participates in the program, with cakes and cookies for the children's hospital.”

– “So you know her.” 

– “Of course.”

  Memories from his latest late-night feast with the Maxwells brought a broad smile to Scott's face.

– “Maria is such a good cook...” He almost closed his eyes, and licked his lips. “She wants her husband so fat, and she feeds him so well for it!”

– “Scott?”

– “I guess you're right... I couldn't grow this big, bouncing belly on your cooking alone.”

  Sitting up on the massage table, Scott patted his own belly a few more times, feeling both satisfied and hungry for more.

  Phil's cooking was rich, delicious and abundant... It was very fattening, but Scott could tell that his personal cook and servant was also a soldier and a physician, attentive to his needs and determined to please him all the way but also anxious to keep him healthy, active and well-balanced.

– “As a matter of fact, I was told I should be fed better!”

  It was time for his main course... There was a huge feast prepared for him, set like a buffet on the table and counters in the kitchen. He didn't wait for his friend. He didn't even waste time on piling food on a plate, going for every dish with his hands or with a large spoon and making a pig of himself.

  Phil stood silent. It looked like a knife had been stabbed into his heart. 

  As he joined him in the kitchen, Scott let a long, loud and obnoxious belch erupt from the depths of his gut – directly into his face.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”

  Phil moved to stand next to the buffet, pouring beer for his “master”.

– “So... This is not enough for you?”

– “Hmmmph...”

– “Is this not enough for you... sir?”

  As he handed him a tall, pitcher-sized glass of beer, Phil's hands moved in a way to include both the food in front of Scott and himself, standing like a porn star in that dim-lit kitchen – more like sexy Lucifer rising...

– “What do you mean?” Scott asked with his mouth full.

– “You've heard me, sir.”

– “Is it about the Maxwells? Are you... what, jealous?”

  Phil moved closer, grabbed a thick ham toasted sandwich, smothered in melted cheese, rolled it and stuffed it into his friend's mouth.

– “Maria is a very good cook. Obviously. Then I don't mind...” Phil leaned in to whisper into his friend's ear. “But, master? If you ever cheat on my cooking with some cheap, greasy junk food, I will roast you.”

  Scott knew he had crossed a line. There would be no going back... 

  Phil wrapped his arm around Scott’s chest, then he made him turn his back to him and face the buffet on the counters, inviting him to eat more while his other hand explored the soft chunk of his love handles.

– “I could pound your growing fat ass right here, right now, master...” He whispered always so seductively.

  He could feel Scott melting under his touch... Then, without a word, the overfed boy widened his stance a bit and almost pushed his ass cheeks into Phil’s groin. The hunky, dumb blonde servant had already lubricated his cock, and he knew exactly how everything was going to play out. Phil eagerly slipped straight inside, holding Scott firmly with both arms now wrapped around his chest. 

– “You want to grow big, round and plump buttocks for me, Scott...” He whispered, slowly building up a pace. “You want to feel your meaty ass cheeks jiggling before I start really pounding into you.” 

  Scott mumbled with pleasure and widened his stance as much as he could. Phil held him in his arms so well that his lower belly rested on the table and he kept devouring everything within his reach...

– “Eat all you want, Scott. Eat with your boss. Let the Maxwells feed you as much as they want. You need to grow fatter for this... Much fatter!”

– “God, Phil! This is so good... Forgive me.”

– “Enjoy yourself, Scott. No need to ask for my forgiveness...”

  Phil brought another large piece of fried chicken to his mouth.

– “Eat, master...”

– “Hmmmph... Have mercy on me.”

– “No...” Phil breathed fire down his neck. “Eat and grow fatter for me!”

  When Scott was finally done with his last piece of cherry pie, he was ready to burst and come at the same time. His devoted blonde slave was such a bad boy that he was still wriggling and squirming...

– “Time for desserts in bed, sir.”

– “Hmmmph... More desserts?”

– “And sex, of course.”

– “I need to catch my breath...” Scott begged him.

  Phil carried him to the bedroom and gently put him to bed.

– “I am sooo stuffed... sooo much!”

– “You've been eating well, master.”

– “How about you clean up this mess before you bring me my desserts?”

  Scott didn't mind that Phil was ready to clean his soft, smooth belly like a bear, only using his tongue, but the dirty blonde boy was on a diet – and he could also behave like a perfectly clean and decent servant...

  After toweling him for a few minutes, Phil also went for a short break in the bathroom, drank another glass of milk and came back to bed. Scott asked him to walk slowly and tease him like a perfect Southern hustler. 

– “I guess you're feeling bad tonight, master? Really bad?”

– “Definitely. You go bad for me, all the way...”

– “All the way? Really?”

– “More Marlowe?”

– “There's always more to go with Marlowe... There's more to come, but you've really hurt my feelings, tonight.”

  Scott gulped down.

– “I'll have to go full-on John Ford for you, fat boy...”

  Phil was harder than stainless steel, shining with sweat and draped in steam as he walked to join Scott in bed, with a heavy punch bowl full of pastries in each hand.

          “All pleasures are but mere imagination,

           Feeding the hungry appetite with steam

           And sight of banquet, whilst the body pines,

           Not relishing the real taste of food...”

  Scott's stomach was already groaning or moaning in delight. His whole body was aching with all the food he had devoured – and all the food he was about to be fed and stuffed...

■ ■ ■

April 16th, 1990 – Monday

  Cal's idea of a basketball game was pretty much him going for brick shot after brick shot and parading on the playground. Phil could only try to follow as he ran and jumped like a professional player, only to bite the dust in the end.

  Phil's tank top was too tight around his chest but he was free in all his moves, for a change – and he ran fast, jumped high and was perfectly capable of shooting from different angles. 

  If this wasn't a one-on-one game, everyone would expect him to pass the ball to another player. He maintained perfect spacing, worked on his own offensive rebounds and he kept moving all the time.

  The game was over in a matter of minutes. It was humiliating...

  Cal's weaknesses were obvious from the start. Tall, strong and thick as he was, he couldn't run so fast. He kept protesting and complaining that Phil's three-pointers shouldn't be counted, in vain. The students who had gathered in a crowd to watch were cheering and sneering, just as they did inside the gym. 

  Of course, they didn't care whose ass was getting kicked.

  Phil kept trying to teach and make them practice basketball, but they were too lazy to attend those classes – just as they were encouraged to drop gym class or anything like P.E... Most of them had never seen him play, and Phil proved to be quite the master free-throw shooter.

  Cal was furious. When it became clear that protesting wouldn't do the trick, he gave up and took a ball to throw at his opponent with all his strength... Caught off-guard, Phil was hit on the side of the head. He lost his balance, fell down and remained knocked-out unconscious – flat on the ground for a few minutes.

  Everyone left in a hurry. The show was over... Cal was already gone to his bedroom, in the main building, fuming about the whole situation as he mumbled in frustration on his way off the grounds.

  There was a long moment of silence – until father Knox showed up to check on Phil... He had been watching the game from a distance, so he was there to witness what a mess it had turned into. As an all-American sports fan, he felt sorry about such a waste of a good game.

– “Phil? How are you holding up?”

  The blonde guy was stirring and slowly sitting up, still confused and out of breath. He helped him get to his feet.

– “You're bleeding.”

– “I know... It's nothing.”

  The priest stood in front of him, as if they were about to pray.

          “And why on me? why should the envious world 

           Throw all their scandalous malice upon me?”

– “Come on, father. You're not the witch of Edmonton...”

– “Very good.” The old man nodded.

  Father Knox came to sit next to him on the bench.

– “Why are you going with The Witch of Edmonton?” Phil asked.

– “I couldn't say... I guess because you have been burned enough?”

– “You could say that.”

– “Then you remember how it goes, in that play...”

          “I am now ignorant. Would some power, good or bad,

           Instruct me which way I might be revenged?”

  Phil only shrugged to it.

– “What's the point? Mihi vindictam, et ego retribuam...”

– “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord, and retribution. Saint Paul knew a thing or two about a wrathful God...” Father Knox approved. “And, just as I thought, you don't look too convinced.”

– “In that old play, the Devil is a black dog... Are you implying that God works in the same, mysterious way because payback's a bitch?”

  The man of the cloth laughed and tapped him on the shoulder. Phil was still running a cold sweat in his tight and dirty tank top, with no towel at hand. He looked drained and disoriented... Father Knox figured that the young man couldn't get up from that bench without his help again.

– “Whoever said you're dumb shouldn't feel proud that they're so smart.”

– “I guess...” Phil let out a sigh, looking at the night sky. “It is going to smart in the morning.”

■ ■ ■

 

  It was a fine dry night, with a gentle breeze over the lawns and paved garden paths as clean as a ballroom floor. The street lamps, unshaken by any stronger wind, drew a regular pattern of light and shadow.

  The phone was ringing when Phil came back to their apartment. Scott had not come back yet.

  It was Dr Lipton.

– “Hello?”

– “Phil? Are you listening?”

– “I am. What is it?”

– “What do you think? It's those damn students!”

– “What's wrong with them now?”

– “I'm not sure...” Dr Lipton stuttered. “I think they're all dead!”

(To be continued...)