Big Bad Brad, Part 1

Brad Castle was sitting at his desk at the Alpha Fitness sales office, working diligently, although it may not have seemed like it to some. As he typed on the computer with his right hand, he reached over the large sack of flab that was his belly with his left hand, pulled a donut out of the large box nearby, and crammed it down his maw. A minute later Brad grabbed another donut, shoved it into his mouth, and licked his soft sausage fingers.

“Fuck, that’s so good!” he said. Brad was about to go in for a third but had to shift in his seat a bit to reach it, causing his two basketball-sized ass cheeks to jostle slightly in his tight dress pants. Brad heard the seam split down his crack, and though he couldn’t see it, the rip revealed a patch of white where his underwear showed through. He was about to let loose some choice cuss words when he noticed his boss, Derrick Eaton, standing in the doorway.

"Oh, hey, good to see you, Derrick,” Brad said with a smile. It took him a good 15 second to haul his body out of his oversized executive chair. “You should have let me know you were coming. I could have bought you lunch."

Derrick Eaton was the President of Alpha Fitness, and the primary reason Brad had gotten his job as VP of Sales was because they had both been college jocks. Alpha Fitness provided workout equipment and supplements to muscle studs (and wannabe studs) around the country, and Derrick was very protective of its image. He insisted that all his top execs represent the company motto of Strength, Vitality, and Discipline, and nobody could match Derrick when it came to those qualities. He looked like he was 30, even though he was 45, and thanks to his vigorous workouts, he maintained a ripped physique that he liked to show off in tight polo shirts. He was also tall with a full head of wavy brown hair and a matching mustache which made him look even more masculine.

"I didn't come for lunch, Brad," said Derrick with a frown. He poked Brad's jiggly belly, which hung well over his waistband and covered most of his crotch. "In fact, it looks like lunch is the last thing you need. You've really let yourself go since out last chat, and you were pushing the limit back then."

As Derrick walked around him, Brad tried to suck in his gut, but it didn’t really make a difference. He was several inches shorter than Derrick at 5’10”, and had short brown hair, big brown eyes, and a rugged complexion that would become deeply tanned when he used to play sports outdoors.

"You have really filled out, Brad. Fuck, your caboose has grown so big it doesn’t even fit into your pants anymore.”

Brad wasn't sure how to answer, so he let Derrick continue. "How big are those pants?”

"Um, they’re a 40-inch waist," Brad lied. He had upgraded to size 44 a month ago.

Derrick shook his head. "So that means your gut must be at least 46."

Brad had his stomach measured when he ordered custom shirts a while back, and it had been 53 inches. "Probably," he muttered.

“I just don’t get it, Brad. You used to take care of yourself. What are you, 30 years old?” asked Derrick.

“Um, no, 26.”

“Fuck me, Brad, only 26 and you’re already sliding way past dad bod and into the obese zone. When I hired you a couple of years ago you could have competed in, and probably won, Mr. America. Now you just look like…well, fuck, North America,” said Derrick as he roughly grabbed the side of Brad’s torso and yanked. “Look at this fuckin’ love handle. Aren’t you embarrassed to have gotten so flabby?”

Brad tried to think of how to respond. Nothing popped into his head, however, and Derrick moved his hand up to the side of Brad’s left arm. “And you used to have those massive guns. What were they, like 19 or 20 inches?”

“21 inches when pumped. Almost 22.”

“Now they’re nothing but mush, Brad. Don’t you miss the respect and admiration that comes with having a great body?”

“Yes, I do, “ said Brad, finally coming up with a story that might put off getting fired. “That's the reason I hired a personal trainer. I started working out this week with a professional body builder. I realized that I was losing control, but now I'm getting back on track. Wait until the next time you visit. I'll be back in 32-inch waist slacks."

"That's what I like to hear, Brad. You need to maintain the Alpha Fitness image, you know. Can’t have the top sales guy here looking like….well, how you look now. A fuckin’ mess. I’m giving you two months to lose the weight and get back in shape, or we’ll have to make some changes around here.”

After Derrick left, Brad sat back down in his chair and considered for the first time that he might actually lose his job and his income. He had gotten to enjoy the easy life a little too much, and now the rich food and cushy office job had taken its toll on his once well-sculpted physique. Brad looked down and all he could see was his soft belly, clad in a shirt that had fit only a few weeks earlier when he bought it, but was now showing some gaps between the buttons as the pounds had piled on. And to make it worse, he hadn't worn an undershirt because the button-down was too tight to put one on underneath, so the gaps between his buttons exposed his pasty skin. He could also feel its substantial weight pressing into his thighs and pushing them apart.

“Now I just gotta find a bodybuilder to work out with,” he said as he started typing search words into Google.

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"My name's Brad. Nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Sebastian.” The trainer shook Brad's hand and looked him over. Brad appeared to be in his mid-to-late 20's with a rugged ex-jock body that had about 40 extra pounds around his waist. “So what are your goals, Brad?”

Brad held up his phone and showed a photo of how he looked a few years earlier. "Well, I need to get back in this kind of shape. I’ve, um, taken it a bit too easy the past two years.”

“Wow, check you out,” said Sebastian. He was impressed. Most of the clients he saw had never worked out before and expected to turn into Adonis overnight, but Brad clearly had a fitness background. “Did you ever compete?”

“I thought about it,” said Brad as he put his phone away and pulled out a protein bar. “But I got so busy at work I didn’t have time. How about you?”

Sebastian nodded. “Yeah, a few regional competitions. I’m hoping to do some bigger shows next year.”

“That’s why I picked you from all the trainers at this gym. You look exactly what my goal is. Big arms, big chest, big legs, little waist,” said Brad. Sebastian was indeed a looker – he had a handsome face, dark skin, and an unbelievably muscular body that Brad definitely coveted.

“Ok, good to know. And is there anything I need to be aware of, training-wise? Any concerns?” asked Sebastian.

“I'll do whatever you suggest, just so long as it doesn't involve a diet," responded Brad as he took out a second protein bar and stuffed it in his mouth.

"No problem, big guy,” said Sebastian. "But you know, that the more you eat, the harder you have to work to get your weight down."

Brad swallowed his bar and took a big swig from a bottle of Mountain Dew. "Eating is not the problem. I've always been a big eater. Ask anybody. It's my lifestyle. I just need to get back into serious exercise and this flab will melt away. Some kind of sissy diet is not going to help."

Sebastian took Brad over to his desk and outlined a fitness program while Brad ate a third protein bar and sucked down more of his Dew. "So you want me to run 5 miles a day and work out three times per week? Heck that's less than I had to do for baseball. Piece of cake. I'll get changed and meet you in the weight room."

The trainer watched as Brad walked away. His client still had the remains of an athletic frame from the back – huge shoulders, thick neck, wide back, and tremendous thighs. Unfortunately, from the front his enormous gut was definitely the most noticeable feature.

Five minutes later, Brad emerged from the locker room and walked back over to where Sebastian was standing while wearing a tight white tank top and a pair of black spandex shorts. "Good thing I got the stretchy shorts. The girls always like to see my ass. Looks like I've got a bit of work to do, however, ‘cause they're a bit tight."

Sebastian nodded. "I agree.” Big Brad might have had a firm ass to drive the girls crazy back in the day, but right now his shorts were stressed to the max to contain two pillowy ass cheeks with the surplus billowing over the top like a supersized muffin.

Brad pulled down his tank top trying to cover up his belly. “Let's get at it, coach."

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After hitting the weights hard, Brad needed some food. And fast. He couldn't even make it home before his stomach was rumbling and he began to feel light-headed, so he pulled into a McDonald's for a quick snack. "I guess it has been a while since I exerted myself like that," he thought. "I deserve a few extra calories for all that effort."

Brad was going to order a salad until he got to the counter, but the smell of the meat was too much. "Two Big Macs," he blurted out. "And a Hot Apple Pie."

The cashier smiled and asked if he wanted fries, and Brad nodded vigorously. He also added on a large Coke to wash everything down.

When his food came, he gobbled it down quickly, barely registering the taste of the gooey cheeseburgers. "Fuck, I'm still hungry."

Fifteen seconds later he was back at the counter ordering round two, and ten minutes later he was back for round three.

Finally, after ingesting about 7,000 calories in under 30 minutes, Brad finally felt full. "Damn, that was not the right thing to do. But it was just one day – as long as I don’t make this a regular thing, I'll still be able to drop a ton of weight."

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Brad didn’t stop, of course, and continued to eat with abandon. Instead of dropping weight after the first week, he ended up gaining another 5 pounds.

“Maybe getting a personal trainer won't be enough,” Brad thought. “Maybe I should think about supplementing my workouts with something else. But what?"

Brad wracked his brain for a little while, but with no answers coming he gave up and left work. He squeezed his belly behind the wheel of his pickup and headed for the gym to meet Sebastian. While stopped at a traffic light, he saw a shop on the corner of the intersection he hadn't noticed before: "Madame Elsa's Remedies."

"Remedies for what?" Brad asked himself. He peered at the strange little shop, trying to see inside, but couldn't make out what was behind the strangely colored glass. "What the heck...maybe she's got something special for weight loss."

Brad pulled over and hopped out of his car, feeling the heft of his bouncing belly and ballooning ass. He threw open the door and hurried inside so he wouldn't be late for his workout. "Hello!" he bellowed as he entered. "Anyone here?"

A big-boned and very tall woman slowly emerged from the shadows. She had black hair, a dark complexion, and was wearing a black lace dress that reminded Brad of something Stevie Nicks might have worn in an early 80's Fleetwood Mac video. "Greetings, sir. I am Madame Elsa. How may I help you?"

Brad walked up closer to the woman, annoyed that she moved about as fast as a snail and talked just as slowly. "Your sign says remedies. You got something for weight loss?"

Elsa smiled, again very slowly. "Why, of course, sir. Why don't you tell me about your problem?"

"My problem? I need to lose some of this flab."

Elsa continued to smile. "Yes, yes," she said softly. "But how did you get that way? How much have you gained? How much do you want to lose?"

The tone of Brad's voice grew darker. "What the hell does that matter? Look, you got any diet pills or not?"

"Of course, but there are different ones for different people. I need to know all about you so I can make sure you get the right ones."

"Fuck, I don't have time for all that," replied Brad. "I gotta get to the gym."

He turned quickly to leave, but he still wasn't used to the size of his growing belly, which sloshed as he moved and hit a display case. The items on the case fell onto the floor, and although it appeared that none of them broke, Brad did snag his shirt on the corner of the case and tore off a button. And once one button came off, the strain of encasing his flab became too much for the others, and within a few seconds, five of the other ones blew off as well.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Brad hollered. "I just bought this shirt! Goddamn it!" And without saying a word to the woman, he huffed out of the door with his exposed gut bouncing as he walked. Elsa, still smiling, closed her eyes and said a few words in her native Romanian. She wanted to teach the man a lesson about becoming less brutish. She considered a few different options, and eventually settled on a curse: every time Brad worked out, he would get fatter instead of getting more muscle – in fact, she doubled it – he would gain two pounds of fat for each pound of muscle he should have gained. And where would all that muscle go? The next person Brad touched would gain it all – in fact, the next person he touched would gain twice the amount of muscle that Brad would have from working out.

She spoke the words quietly in Romanian, and all was done. Then she bent down and started cleaning up the mess that Brad had made.

Brad, of course, didn't know any of this was going on. He simply drove to the gym as fast as he could so he wouldn't be late for his workout. He was still pissed about his ripped shirt, but he figured, "What the hell? I'm going to lose so much weight that I won't need this shirt anymore."

He got to the gym, ran in to the locker room to change, and then met Sebastian out on the floor. But he was surprised that Sebastian wasn't alone. Another guy was standing next to him – this guy was in his early twenties and fairly tall, maybe around 6'1, with thick brown/blond wavy hair and blue eyes. He could have been handsome, except that the rest of him was about as nerdy as possible – thick glasses, unkempt hair, and a physique that looked it had never been worked out in its life. The guy wasn't obese, but unlike Brad who clearly had some muscle under his flab, this guy was just all fat. He probably weighed around 250 or so, with big floppy man boobs and a saggy gut tucked under his skin-tight t-shirt, a huge ass, and totally underdeveloped legs.

"Hey, Brad, this is Dom, another new client of mine. He's going to be working out the same time as you."

Brad chuckled at the thought of this dweeb trying to keep up with him, but he shook Dom's hand anyway and made sure to squeeze extra hard. "Nice to meet you. First time working out?"

Dom got a bit of a shock when Brad's hand touched his, but he chalked it up to static electricity. "Yeah, I want to become a fireman, but I need to get in better shape so I can pass the physical." Brad nodded, but inside he just laughed. "This guy has about as much of a shot being a fireman as I do of winning Miss America," he thought.

"So gentlemen," said Sebastian. "Let's hit the weights."

The three of them went into the weight room and started lifting.