NOTE//
Hey, thanks in advance for checking out my story! Disclaimer: this story involves some initial reluctance, and under age drinking, as well as coercion. I would read the tags to see if this is the story for you!
Hmm, is this a chubby chaser story? I would say... yeah, maybe? This one is for the fat boys who just want to get appreciated and fucked hard :). Please enjoy.
///
In the summer of 1993, I was nineteen.
Southern California had its spots of vacancy, smaller towns that branched from Highway 10 and schools full of Latinos who all seemed to know somebody who knows somebody. I grew up bouncing between them.
When I spoke Spanish, I sounded like a gringo, because I learned it after I was eight, when my dad got out of jail and could teach it to me. My mom wasn't any which way about me learning it or not because most of the time, I passed for white anyway. Not during the summers, though, when me and my best friends would spend all day in the sun.
Dean, Thomas and I all went to separate high schools by the time we reached the age, but we saw each other so often, the high school thing was only a degree of separation between us, and didn't mean much. Since the beginning of middle school, I grew up with these dorkish skinny kids, and we swore that our separate life paths after graduation wouldn't impact our friendship.
Being the bookworm I was, I got into UCLA. Dean took after the men in his family, and stayed close to home to farm, and Thomas went to Sacramento. At first, I was anxious to see that my friends seemed to grow up faster than me and be all-desired by the world for different reasons, while I wasn't even sure what I wanted to be outside of "doctor," and that was almost the least of my worries. Dean was pretty much ready to marry his equally Mexican girlfriend Isabel, and Thomas was using all his white boy connections to get some clout on his campus. When I saw them at the end of freshman year, I thought my friends looked totally different, grown, older. Dean had thickened up, grown into his sharp features. Thomas was athletic, and starting to look like a man.
By this time, I had accepted that 5'7" was as tall as I was going to get, and that my "baby weight" stopped being this thing that I might magically shed by the time I hit adulthood. It would take a plan and some serious life changes to become the slim-bodied hottie I always thought I'd poof into. But soon enough, I found myself staring at the number 280 and the little red cursor that landed on the 2 by my senior year of high school. I tortured myself with another weigh after getting back home, and was unsurprised to see the red line at 304. I knew I'd gained some stress weight, but damn, over 20 pounds.
Dean and Thomas noticed, too, although they were super nice about it, and Dean said I must've been partying too much, chugging down alcohol and getting girls. I wanted to laugh right along with him, but one thing that I did discover in college besides the downtime to eat, was that girls... weren't doing it for me.
This is something I didn't know until it clicked, you know? It's as if one day, I noticed that it was rare that I was horny when other guys were. And that day happened to be at a Dunk-a-Thon, when I felt my heart race and my dick twinge at the Kappa Sig boy whose t-shirt was soaked through to his defined abs, rather than the girl from Gamma who was nearly naked. Previously, I'd thought my embarrassment of seeing naked boys was self-consciousness at the fact that my own body was so far off, but there was something else there.
I would acknowledge that as a softer-bodied individual, I was cute, friendly, and was grateful that I wasn't completely shapeless. I was tanned, but not brown, and the hairstyle that previously made me feel childish was actually starting to work for me, as my brown waves of hair was less of a mop on my head, more like a medium length that made sense. Nothing to put in a ponytail like Dean's, which was down to his shoulders by now. I wasn't unhappy with my face, my soft brown eyes, thick eyebrows, plump lips, slightly upturned nose. Perhaps the late eighties thick black frames needed an upgrade, but I just needed to see at that point.
It was my body that I was still at odds with. The belly I couldn't get rid of was round, soft, and sometimes I felt like I looked pregnant but in a fat way, not a baby way, which was something I didn't know if I hated anymore. The preferable option was a smaller belly, or no belly, but I found it convenient to sit back on the couch and be able to rest various things on top of my stomach. I did feel like it was satisfying to rub gentle circles into my stomach after a meal, or even as I relaxed watching TV. It felt silly to think of rubbing the stomach that could rest in my lap as some sort of breakthrough, but there were times in the past when I disgusted myself enough that I didn't want to touch my own fat, or even look at myself in the mirror.
The most telling moment was when I thought of myself as a sexual object for the first time a few weeks prior to the Dunk-a-Thon. I didn't know what it was, but I stared at myself, naked save for the boxers, and looked at myself from the feet up. My legs were stocky, yes, but he felt just a twinge of something special as I noticed how my thighs hugged the shorts, and my ass filled the rest. I liked that my ass had a shape, round like the rest of me. I glided my palms along the sides of my belly as it hung a few inches past my waistline, and turned to the side as I thought about who might be into someone like me, a little teddy bear type with a lot of body to spare, a hearty amount of jiggle to touch if they were into that. I couldn't remember if I thought of a girl.
Then the sight of that soaking-wet, floppy-haired boy confirmed that I probably wasn't in my element, dealing with females. This was something I vowed to revisit after the summer, when I was back on campus as an RA for my second year. I wasn't going to freak out Dean and Thomas with my thoughts of the sissy shit, so I swallowed it down. Besides, sex should've been the last thing on my fat ass mind. I wouldn't be bumping uglies with ANYONE if I still got winded tying my shoes. Much less some tall, beefy jock.
At the end of June, I'd been having too much fun with Dean and Thomas anyway, and decided that it wasn't even worth figuring out while my friends kept me company. I was working at a gas station for $6 an hour, and was surprisingly making the most money out of my friend group. Enough that I could afford an apartment in my third year of college. I was also the one who ended up buying snacks, or renting the movies because I usually had some extra cash.
On this particular day, I was assigned to alcohol duty when Dean and Thomas came to visit me at the Shell station counter. I told them this meant I wouldn't be providing the chips and movie, since I would have to probably spend the rest of my shift convincing some poor gringo to buy me a six pack and a bottle, because my boss was an inventory nut and automatically expected my half-brown ass to be stealing, even when I wasn't. Dean said he would be able to get to a Lunchables overstock at the grocery store a mile from his place, and Thomas said his sister would give him her R-rated movies if he left her alone with her boyfriend. My mom was still trying to be a helicopter parent despite me being nineteen, and I'd have to sneak out of the house. My dad didn't really care what I did "as long as he didn't have to look no nietos in the eye," meaning he didn't want me to have any of his grandkids while he still had a full head of hair.
Given my new secret, I knew he didn't have to worry about that.
There was a mile between our three houses, and conveniently, Thomas was in the middle, so Dean and I met at his place for years and years, making memories in his backyard, and the huge, single-room basement. His parents were never getting around to finishing it, and over the course of about six years, we ended up turning it into a pretty nice entertainment center. It was extremely boyish, but I was smart with tech, and got two junky 48" TVs to play the same thing at the same time, and the speakers we wired created a surround sound effect. Thomas' parents never admitted it, but they spent a lot of time down there too, despite the literal junkyard furniture and the baseball stickers.
Dean had a car by this point, and I was outside waiting for him at 11pm on that Friday with two six packs of Budweiser in a big brown bag. Before the vehicle, I actually used to walk the mile, and although I still stayed chunky, I knew I was walking that mile pretty quickly through bush and brush and tall grass on the side of the road, and every so often, passing a house.
I checked my watch by 11:15, and realized it was unusual for Dean to be late, at least more than literally two minutes. He had the route on auto pilot at this point. Instantly, I began to wonder if something was wrong. I stood outside, across the street from my house, peering down the street and waiting for the round headlights of Dean's jeep, but nothing was fitting the bill. It was unusual for cars to be out this late, so I kept being surprised at the cars that passed by that weren't Dean. There was a payphone a three minute walk away, but I didn't want to walk too far and miss him.
By 11:20, I decided to chance it, and huffed as I gathered the beers and headed to the payphone. Luckily, I kept my wallet on me, and had a load of various change. I dialed the number that I'd memorized in middle school. It rang once, twice, and then Thomas picked up.
"Noah?" he asked before I even got the chance to say anything.
"Uh, yeah? I'm at a payphone... Dean hasn't picked me up yet." I explained, shaking my head. "Do you know what's going on?"
