1.

The Santa Rosa was on her way back to Southampton after three months at sea. Ben was relieved. It had been his first voyage, his first time working on a cruise ship, and he hadn’t really enjoyed it. Yes, the weather in the Mediterranean was much better than back home in Nottingham, and he had developed a healthy tan, but he hadn’t enjoyed the job. He had always wanted to sing for a living, of course he dreamt of being a pop star, but he had always known that this was unrealistic. Still he lived for the stage. He had twice applied to RADA and twice been rejected, instead opting for a musical school for gifted youths in Manchester. The job on the Santa Rosa had at first seemed perfect, his big chance to perform regularly to real audiences who weren’t just his mates. He was a good singer with decent range, and he was handsome, not pretty but handsome, with deep brown eyes, a constant five o’clock shadow and thick brown hair that swept over his forehead. The audiences liked him but he hadn’t been so keen on them.

 

It was the repetition that bored him. He sang the same nine songs to what felt like the same twenty people every night. They were not the same people every night of course, but he could have sworn that they were. A retired couple from Basingstoke and their friends, also retired from Basingstoke. A loud fat business man always on his phone, the type who could never leave his job behind. A lonely bachelor and a lonely widow. Neither of whom would talk to each other, both hoping to catch someone twenty years younger. What a waste. A gay couple, a lesbian couple, four people who would wander in and out at least three times during a one hour set, and worst of all the children. Rude, demanding, obnoxious, and always on their phones. They all applauded politely. One or two would talk to him afterwards and tell him half-heartedly how good he was and that he should be on TV. He didn’t believe them because they didn’t believe themselves. As the Santa Rosa came into harbour he was glad it was over.

 

David was surprised at how well Ben was looking. They had been in constant contact via text for the three months that Ben had been away and all Ben had said was how much he hated it and couldn’t wait to get back home. So when he saw Ben disembark looking very well tanned, bulked, and smiling broadly, he was a bit shocked. He had been expecting him to appear depressed and anorexic, kind of like he had been that time in college when they both smoked too much weed and got dumped in the same week. He complimented Ben on his healthy appearance but Ben just waved it off blaming it on too much sun and too much access to the staff buffet three times a day. They drove back to Nottingham in near silence.

 

Ben had planned to go and live back with his parents for a while but David convinced him that was a terrible idea and that he should crash on his couch until he’d worked out what to do next. At twenty five David was slightly older than his friend and had maybe assumed that Ben was a touch more mature than he actually was. Ben wasn’t by any means childish but he took David’s kindness for granted and treated his apartment like it was his parents house. He spent his days playing computer games and eating snacks on the sofa and made no effort to look for an actual job. Singers don’t work in customer service or offices and they certainly don’t labour or lay bricks. He had replied to a few trade advertisements looking for club singers or band members but had no luck and anyway he really wasn’t into emo or death metal. So like a lot of self-proclaimed artistic types he sat around on his friends sofa waiting for his dreams to come true.

When David first read the advertorial on the pop-up strewn website of what used to be called the Nottingham Evening Post he considered asking Ben first but quickly dismissed the thought. Ben would complain but wouldn’t be able to turn the chance down. This was a chance to be a pop star and although it wasn’t the way that Ben would want to do it, it was at least an opportunity. It lacked artistic integrity , which he would hate, but he wouldn’t be able to say no. David turned out to be correct. The chance of success must have been less than one in a thousand but even one in a thousand was a chance to get Ben off his sofa.

 

The first round auditions for the new show took place at the Theatre Royal on a Sunday morning. There were no TV cameras or judges present. Ben was asked to perform a song, he chose, I Want to Break Free by Queen, and the sound only was recorded and sent off to the BBC, where a production team would listen to it and decide if you made the cut for the first round proper in front of the cameras. Ben was nervous but performed well. Three weeks later he got a letter to say that he had been selected and he was to go to London for filming at the end of the month. He was over the moon.

 

David attended with Ben. The new show to be broadcast on Saturday nights was called ‘I Can Sing Too’ and it followed a very familiar format but with a twist. Which performers would go through to the next round would initially be decided by four celebrity judges, who could not see the performers, only hear them. Nothing new so far. The twist was that the judges would never get to see the performers, voting them through on their singing ability alone every week, until the grand final that is, then they would be allowed to actually watch the acts. Public voting was of course involved and began at round three. Viewer and judge votes were equally weighted until the semi-final, at that stage it was seventy five percent public and twenty five percent judges. For the final the judges had no vote, only the viewers would get to decide the winner. Ben and David had yet to get to grips with the intricacies of the show, at this stage they had no idea that Ben would even get through round one.

 

He almost never made it on stage. The train to St. Pancras was badly delayed and then both being inexperienced with London they had gotten lost on the tube. When they arrived at the BBC they once more lost themselves in a maze of corridors looking for the right studio and set of dressing rooms. They had a strange conversation with a security guard who had eventually pointed them in the right direction after at first seeming to be very confused. Ben told him that he was to be on the new singing show, to which the guard said, “Oh you mean FPCS2.” Ben and David had no idea what the man was on about, “No, It’s called I Can Sing Too” Ben explained. “That’s kinda what I said” the guard had responded with a smirk, “I’m surprised you’re on that show. You’re really not so big.” “Er thanks,” Ben replied with growing uncertainty as to what was happening.

 

The guard did show them the correct way and Ben made it into make-up with less than five minutes to spare. There some nice scouse ladies powered his face, did his hair, and dressed him in a tight revealing translucent t-shirt that clung to the thin layer of podge that his stomach and chest had developed while he was on the cruise ship. He had protested and said he wanted to wear his own clothes but the scousers said that choice of clothing was contractually theirs and that it was just to keep the housewives happy at home. “You’re a good looking boy” they said “If you want them to vote for you in the later rounds then you need them to start liking you now.”

 

Ben sang ‘I’ll Make Love to You’ by Boyz ll Men and the judges voted him through in second place. He was ecstatic. Three contestants out of ten were taken forward to the next round the others were a fat old pensioner who crooned out a long forgotten Tony Bennett hit and a brother/sister combo who were so misshapen and ugly that it was hard to correctly gender assign them. All of the successful contestants were assigned a voice/career coach to help them train for the forthcoming rounds.

 

Ben’s coach was called Brian. He was a friendly but directly spoken thirty something with round rimmed glasses, a penchant for red wine, and his own house in Notting Hill. Not a couch in Nottingham. Brian had explained to Ben and David that they needed to find Ben a sad backstory, a sob-story to endear him to the housewives. “They need to feel sorry for you and sympathise with you at the same time as they want to fuck you.” Brian was nothing if not to the point. Ben hated the idea, he protested that he wanted to win based on his talent and nothing else. Brian laughed at him, “Gareth Gates had his speech impediment. Susan Boyle was as ugly as an arsehole with piles. You need to have something wrong with you. A weakness that is not your fault.” “Who’s Gareth Gates?” Ben had asked. “Oh, don’t worry about him, I’m pretty sure he’s dead now,” Brian replied.

 

After an hour or so of going round in circles with terrible ideas David finally chipped in with, “Didn’t your gran die from complications with her diabetes last year?” “Yeah but she was like eighty seven and I barely ever saw her.” “It’s a start,” said Brian jumping in on the faintest whiff of a workable idea. David was suddenly hit with the gift of inspiration, “And now you’ve been diagnosed with diabetes too!” “I have?” Brian purposefully misconstrued what Ben said. “That’s perfect! Having the same disease that killed your gran, your poor gran, who you loved so dearly and meant the world to you. Well that must be terrifying! That’s the sympathy card! That’s an ongoing problem and character development!” “I’m sure that lots of housewives have diabetes or know someone who does,” David chipped in. He was getting good at this. It was agreed. Ben had no say in it. He was now a young diabetic singer and needed to learn his place - if he wanted to be a pop star.

 

2.

The film crew came around to Ben’s parents house the next week. His own mother, a housewife of thirty two years, liked the attention but was bemused by the fact that the BBC were asking her so many questions about her own mother, a housewife of fifty four years. The VT was shown before his second performance and received a warm applause from the studio audience. The judges of course could only hear it. After he had sung ‘Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word’ by Blue and Elton John, the presenter, a twenty eight year old previous winner of some other talent show on another channel ,asked him how he felt when he was first diagnosed with diabetes. He mumbled something about shock and struggled to lift his eyes up from the floor. He felt so guilty but came across as a lost chubby puppy dog. Not that the judges could see that. They again voted him through in second place. His guilt temporarily disappeared in a cloud of joy.

 

Ben was now being put up in a second rate hotel around the corner from the studios. David was allowed to stay with him to keep him company and had taken it upon himself to start acting like his manager. When not practising Ben would either play computer games and eat snacks or prod at his now slightly protruding belly and complain that he was getting fat at exactly the wrong point in his life. He blamed it on the stress of the competition. David who was reading the entertainment section of a newspaper appeased him by telling him that he was the thinnest contestant still in the competition and that he was supposed to have diabetes. “Looking like a bit of a fatty only adds to your appeal. It makes your story more believable. It makes you relatable.” Ben didn’t really agree. He never liked the angle that had been chosen for him but he didn’t complain. It had worked so far.

 

By the time of the third show, when viewer voting first came into play, Ben was two stone heavier than before he started on the cruise ship. Despite this the scouse make-up ladies still insisted that he wear skin tight clothing. They put him in latex trousers that extenuated the curvature of his bubble butt. He wore a white frilly shirt half undone so that large sections of soft tanned skin was clearly on show. They shaved his stubble with the effect that his small double chin was now noticeable. Ben was unhappy with all of it but David and Brian told him that he looked great. “The housewives will love you!”

 

Ben sang ‘Said I Loved You…But I Lied' by Michael Bolton. He got great feedback from the judges and they voted him through in first place for the first and only time. The home audience had him third. So for the third show in a row he came in second place. He was thrilled beyond belief. But Brian and David were concerned that he hadn’t quite hit the right note with the housewives. “Your singing is great but you need to work on your appearence. I’m going to let David help you with that.”

 

Ben assumed that they were going to put him on a diet and make him work out every day before practice so he was very surprised the next day when he was allowed to sleep in till ten and received a massive full English breakfast from room service. While he was munching down his sausages and bacon David tried to explain the situation to him.

 

“It’s all about appearances, psychological tricks, meeting the audience's expectations, and keeping you in the media. Have you heard what they call the show in the papers?” Ben hadn’t. He never read the papers. “FPCS2! It’s what that security guard called it. That day of the first recording. Do you remember?” Ben did remember. But what did it stand for? “Fat People Can Sing Too,” David informed him, “It’s a nickname.” Ben protested that he wasn’t that fat. Why would they call the show that? “Because it’s kinda what it is. Whether it was the initial intention of the producers or not, I don’t know, but that’s what these shows do, they give people who don’t look like pop stars the chance to succeed in the entertainment industry. You’re by far the best looking guy on the show, that’s helped you get some housewife votes but at the end of the day it will probably go against you at the business end of the show. The sympathy vote is where it’s at.”

 

Ben wasn’t liking any of this and again protested that he wasn’t that fat and that he’d never been on board with the diabetes angle. “This is the problem. You need to be fatter.” Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Brian and I have agreed that you need to keep gaining weight in order to visualise the diabetes. It’s a psychological trick to keep the sympathy votes coming.” Ben complained that surely people would see through this and notice if he was clearly gaining weight every week. “That’s not just ok, it’s an essential part of the strategy. Once it’s picked up on by the audience or press we will go public with your binge eating disorder.” Ben vehemently pointed out that he didn’t have a binge eating disorder. “Not yet you don’t. You’re going to develop one as a coping mechanism for dealing with the loss of your gran and the stress of being on the show.” They were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was a bellboy bringing the room service that Ben hadn’t ordered. It was a greasy cheeseburger and chips.

 

Ben knew that he was being bullied into doing something that he didn’t want to do but he so wanted to win the contest. He wanted to be a real recording artist. He wanted to be famous. So despite all of his doubts he agreed to go along with it. He could always go on a diet after the show finished, right?

 

David was tasked with ensuring that Ben met his aims. He told Ben that he should gain around five pounds every week but that they would have to work extra hard before the fourth show as there were only four days to go. Ben would be weighed once a week on the morning of filming to ensure that he was on target. He told David that he didn’t want to know how much he weighed as it would just upset him. He was still a reluctant participant in their plan.

 

Ben was weighed in his hotel room so as to record his starting weight, fourteen stone and five pounds. Clearly overweight for his height of five foot ten. He didn’t look at the scale. He already felt fat after his meaty breakfast and lunch. He stood silently looking down at his protruding belly. He poked at it with his index finger and felt the soft flab. He pulled down his XL t-shirt and loosened the belt on his 36 inch jeans. “Time for a snack then,” David said with a cheeky grin on his face. Ben frowned.

 

The rest of that day David fed Ben, four mars bars, three packets of crisps, southern fried chicken with corn and coleslaw, a chocolate ice cream sundae, two litres of full fat coke, and a packet of jaffa cakes. He drank a pint of hot full fat milk before bed. He had never felt so full. He could feel his expanded stomach pushing out into his tightening t-shirt. He struggled to sleep due to the discomfort and sugar rush.

 

The next morning the bell boy brought him four chocolate croissants and a huge bacon and egg sandwich on thick white bread for breakfast. He was then given some relief as he had to go to singing practice with Brian for three hours. At lunch David took him to Burger King where he had two XL Big King Burgers, large curly fries, cola, and a side portion of onion rings. Dinner was back at the hotel and Ben was surprised to find himself feeling hungry as he waited for his starter in the restaurant with David. He had soup of the day, a sirloin steak, and a banana split. He felt like he was in the nineteen seventies but it all tasted good. After dinner him and David drank beer in the hotel room. He got pretty drunk. Had seven pints of lager and agreed to order in a doner kebab at around midnight. By one am he was fast asleep and bloated. He snored loudly while his stomach and intestines worked overtime to turn his feasting into new fatty tissue.

 

Day three went the same way and consisted of a continental breakfast buffet, tea and cake for elevenses, all you can eat Pizza Hut for lunch, chicken madras and five pints for dinner, and finally snack in front of a film back in his room. He had caramel popcorn, a large galaxy chocolate bar, and a bag of minstrels washed down with another two litres of coke. That night he lay stuffed and swollen in his bed masturbating. Just as he came an image of David’s face flashed across his mind. This was weird. He had fancied David for a while, back in school, but that had just been a short lived teenage crush. He hadn’t thought about his friend in that way for years.

 

The fourth day consisted of a long lie-in, followed by breakfast in bed. David came around at 11.30 and brought him a box of six ice-cream mars bars that he made Ben eat before lunch. Ben begrudgingly devoured them and tried to hide the semi that he got when he looked at David. Tortellini and cheesecake followed at lunch. The afternoon was spent practising with Brian. Ben expected Brian to congratulate him on his eating but instead was criticised for sounding flat and not “singing from his belly.” This irritated Ben who ate two extra large chicken burritos and half a chocolate cake for dinner in order to prove him wrong. This made him so overly full that he was forced to go to bed early in order to lie down and relieve the pain. He masturbated furiously and thought about David.

3.

It was now filming day and David turned up early in the morning to ensure that Ben ate both of his full English breakfasts and to weigh him. Ben stuck to his guns and refused to look down at the scale. David was very pleased, Ben was now fifteen stone and five pounds, exactly on target. Ben got dressed and was displeased to discover that he couldn’t button up his jeans. He yanked on a plain white t-shirt and desperately tried to pull it down over his distended belly. He couldn’t believe that he had already outgrown his clothes. As he struggled to make the tight garment fit David taunted him with a wolf-whistle. The housewives were going to love him.

 

At the studios Ben requested a new outfit from the scouse make-up girls. To his annoyance they refused him, telling him that he looked perfect as he was. How typical, he thought. Every week I want to wear my own clothes and they insist on dressing me. When I want a costume they make me wear this  ill-fitting crap! “It’s good to flash the housewives a bit of young skin," they told him.

 

For the first time on stage he really felt the heat from the lights. Small beads of sweat dripped from his hair down his forehead and onto his now chubby cheeks. Performing took more effort than it ever had before. His cute double chin wobbled as he sang ‘All or Nothing’ by O-Town. He attempted to dance around and perform the moves that he had practised with Brian but he kept feeling his t-shirt riding up. He felt a draft on his bulging left love handle that made him realise that it was hanging out. He pulled at his t-shirt in an attempt to cover his embarrassment but it only caused the right flabby love handle to bulge out with a plop. Just before singing the final note he took a deep breath. This caused his round belly to bloat up and out like a balloon. He was centre stage looking straight down the eye of camera one when his t-shirt rode up exposing his belly button and bloated under belly. A fat bead of sweat very visibly dribbled down his swollen happy trail. It appeared to have emerged from his deep round belly button, like mineral water flowing freely from a mountain gorge. It made its way south over the spherical landscape cooling the stretched skin that was straining to hold in three extra inches of fresh fat. It settled on the taught elastic strap at the top of his pink boxer shorts and began to soak into the moist nylon.The top button of his jeans, that he had worked so hard on doing up before he appeared on stage, burst open. The slats on either side of his flies were pushed down and apart from his sinking belly as he finished the final note. The last drops of the bead of sweat sank out of view as his vast overhang descended back down over the top of his boxers, the strap of which folded over under the weight and curvature of his rotund belly. The audience burst into wild applause. At home a teenage boy imagined sucking the moisture out of the top of Ben’s boxers before licking up the line of sweat. He started at the crotch and worked his tongue slowly and gently up Ben’s ballooned belly. He could feel the prickle of the hairs and the pressure from all the food inside pushing the beautiful fat boy's gut further out, he could feel it quiver. He tasted the delicious fat as he dug his tongue deep into Ben’s belly button. He smiled broadly and asked his Mum if he could use her phone to vote for Ben.

 

After his song the presenter asked Ben if he had felt more self-conscious during his performance. He shyly muttered something incomprehensible, smiled, and brushed his hair from his forehead. “You’re so cute,” the presenter told him, “I’m sure everybody at home just loves you.” He then caught Ben completely off guard by poking him in the side of his stomach and shouting, “I touched it!” straight down the camera lens. Ben turned bright red, pulled his t-shirt down again and exited stage right to generous laughter and applause.

 

Backstage David and Brian congratulated him on his best performance yet. He protested that although he thought he’d sang alright he had completely messed up the dance moves. “That makes you more human, more relatable,” Brian told him. Ben then switched track and protested that his clothes hadn’t fit him properly and that he felt completely embarrassed by his weight gain. “That was the plan,” David told him, “That’s the housewife sympathy vote. You wait till the results come in. I promise you it will work. How many Mummies and Grannies don’t enjoy feeding a tubby little boy? You’re going to absolutely kill it!”

 

David and Brian were right, of course. The judges had Ben in third place but in the public voting he came first. He later found out that he had received twenty thousand more votes than any other competitor. Once more he finished in second place overall. He was through to the next round. He was delighted.

 

To celebrate his progression Brian and David took Ben out to TGI Fridays. For a starter they ordered him nine Hoisin chicken wings (996 kcal) and cheese nachos to share (1225 kcal). He drank three pints of stella artois while he munched them down and waited for his mains. He had a Friday's Glazed Double Stack Burger (1150 kcal) with house fries (287 kcal). He also had Classic Ribs (1301 kcal) and a side of Garlic Ciabatta Bread (510 kcal). Both meals arrived at the same time. It was during this period of the evening that Ben was first noticed by a member of the public. A kind looking woman called Hayley and her fifteen year old son had come over to say hello. She told Ben just how great she thought he was and that she had voted for him and really hoped that he would win. Brian asked her what she did for a living. She said she was a housewife. Her son just smiled nervously at Ben. He was thin with soft blue eyes and held his right hand in that camp way that was so familiar to Ben. He stared at Ben’s bulging stomach, his lips parched with thirst. Due to Ben’s sitting position his gut was now sticking way out beyond the confines of his barbecue glaze stained once white t-shirt. His Mum nudged the boy in the shoulder to wake him from his trance. Before leaving she cheekily gave Ben a peck on his fat cheek, looked down at the plates of greasy meat in front of him and said, “I’m sure you’ll beat your demons soon son.” Brian and David wanted to hi-five each other but kept their composure. Once the fans were gone Brian waved the waitress over and ordered Ben another pint (227 kcal) and a Friday’s Five Desert Platter - best shared between three (1606 kcal). Ben had never felt so fat. As he struggled to stand up to leave his boxer shorts ripped all the way down the right hand side. They just couldn’t contain his thick thighs anymore. He didn’t care, he was too drunk.

 

The next morning Ben’s photo was on the front page of the Daily Mirror. He had been pictured staggering outside a TGI’s in Hackney. In the picture his flies were totally undone. The button was still wide open and the zipper had been forced all the way down by his expanding underbelly. His trousers were also hanging low, sagging below his now heavily swollen and soft bubble ass. His left butt cheek stuck out like he had shoved a football down the back of his pants. His underwear was torn from the strain of the football that they had never been made to contain, exposing a thick slice of young fresh fat ass to the world. His t-shirt was stained to hell with barbecue sauce, ice cream, beer, and mayonnaise. It was crumpled up above his belly. This gave the appearance that he was wearing a tight crop top in order to accentuate his swollen breasts. His belly was huge and round and distended. It looked hard at the top where his stomach had been stuffed full of 7983 kcal. His overhang was at least four inches out beyond the strap of his torn boxer shorts and hung low and heavy. His fat face was smiling like an imbecile. The headline read ‘Pop Wanna-Be Let’s It All Hang-Out After Gorging Himself In Public.’ Inside the editorial discussed whether he had a secret eating disorder or not. David chose not to show the day's papers to Ben.

 

4.

Ben had woken up with a terrible stomach pain. He felt like someone was trying to stab their way out of his swollen abdomen. When David turned up at ten he complained bitterly that last night had been too much and that he didn’t want to continue with this. David explained to him how he had won the audience vote by more than twenty thousand and that their meeting with the housewife was proof that their plan was working. As he eased Ben’s mind he started rubbing his belly in order to ease the pain. Ben didn’t notice at first. It was soothing but it was his semi that alerted him to the bodily contact. He smiled at David and told him how good it felt. They spent the next twenty minutes lying on the hotel bed with David alternating between massaging his still hard stomach, at the top of his bulge, and the left hand side of his lower belly where his digestive system was slowly turning the previous night’s feast into more lush fat. David stopped once his hand began to ache. He reached for the telephone beside the bed and dialled one for room service.

 

The next week passed pretty much in the same manner as the previous one. Ben would spend three to four hours practising his routine every other day, the rest of the time was spent eating or chilling or chilling and eating. David was now spending most of the waking day with Ben in order to ensure that he kept up his side of the bargain and kept consuming. How else was he to meet his aim of gaining five pounds a week? On Monday they went to Westfield at Shephard’s Bush to buy Ben new clothes. The 38 inch shorts felt too tight but David insisted that they looked perfect. As did the XXL tank top. They wanted Ben to look ‘summery’’ for the next round. They twice visited the food court. Beef chow mein and twelve sweet and sour chicken balls for lunch and the Argentinian steak house for a mid-afternoon snack. Ben was filling out nicely.

 

One of the ways to keep him eating was to keep him drunk. He was now drinking an average of eight to twelve pints a day. This loosened up his attitude to gaining and had the added benefit of swelling his belly out into a big round ball. The perfect shape to show off his gluttony. He was also developing stretch marks for the first time in his life. Fat red lines were appearing on his sides as his skin struggled to adapt to his thick frame. He now had a fat round muffin top that overhung his whole circumference. He could now grab a handful of love handles on both sides. He would subconsciously squeeze his new soft fat while eating his daily 2.15pm intake of twenty four dairylea cheese triangles (912 kcal). He also had proper man boobs, circular and plush, they sat proudly on top of his plump belly, clearly visible through his t-shirts. He was eating enough to feed four to five men everyday and it was showing all over.

 

There was now only one more round to get through before the semi-final. A couple of days before the show Ben started to get anxious. He drank even more beer to calm his nerves. David fed him more because he was often too drunk to realise. “No, this is the 24th cheese triangle,” he would say, while slipping the 48th one into Ben’s mouth.

 

When Ben stepped onto the scales on the morning of filming he broke his own rule and looked down to see how much he weighed. His belly obstructed the view of the read out. He badly wanted to know but didn’t dare ask. He was seventeen stone and three pounds. In the dressing room he complained that his underwear was too tight. In reality all of his clothes were too tight, but his boxers were painfully so. The scouse make-up ladies ‘found’ a white jock-strap that fit snuggly but without digging in too deep. One of them kindly made alterations to his new shorts so that they now hung loose and low, particularly at the back. His tank-top was skin tight around his bulbous belly and tits. It clung tightly to the new rolls of fat that had formed between his chest and armpits. The sleeveless seams dug into the soft fat at the top of his chunky arms, making them look even rounder and fatter than they were. He was ready for the stage. Brian presented the women with two bottles of fifteen year old single malt as a present for their hard work.

 

Ben sang ‘Hey Baby’ by DJ Otzi. This meant that he had backing singers for the first time. This group consisted of four pretty young multicultural men who danced behind him and went “Ohh, Ahh” at all the right times. Brian had instructed him to gyrate his hips like Elvis whenever they sang these lyrics. Housewives still loved Elvis.

 

It was hotter than ever under the lights and the increased nerves meant that he was now sweating profusely. His fat skin glistened as he attempted to dance. His belly was clearly much much bigger than it had been the previous week. When he swung his hips forward it stuck out at least five inches in front of his shorts. It was perfectly round from all the beer, and food. A real monument to gluttony. But it wasn’t his belly that was catching everyone's attention. His shorts, expanded by a kind scouser, had slipped below his ass. His tank-top had ridden half-way up his momentous belly after the first ten seconds of the song. Not only was his jock-strap on show - but his whole backside. His massively expanded bubble-butt shone under the lights, the white skin of each bloated buttock glittered and glowed by comparison to his tanned face, arms and legs. A teenage boy at home imagined sitting on top of the now massive shelf, before diving in between the two perfectly spherical balls of fat. Ben’s gigantic ass wobbled and shook with every step and gyration. Sweat ran over both hugely chubby cheeks and tantalisingly disappeared into the gorge where they met. The balls of fat rubbed up against and bounced off each other. The cameras zoomed in and focused on his fabulously fat rear to the extent that it was on screen more than his face. As the song finished the back camera panned across the stage and a slow motion shot of his fat, wide, bloated booty lingered on millions of TV screens for posterior. He was definitely getting voted through again.

 

The judges placed him third, based on his voice, but the TV audience put him in first by a country mile with a whopping 486,000 votes. Brian and David’s tip-offs had worked a treat. Ben was elated.

 

The celebration party took place in the hotel bar. Brian had booked it for a private event and had arranged the world’s biggest buffet in anticipation of Ben totally stuffing his face with joy. All of the other competitors from the show were invited along with the press. Ben did eat a quite extraordinary amount of food; he had six full plates piled high with sandwiches, scotch eggs, vol-au-vents, cocktail sausages, cheeses, dips, chocolate fingers, coleslaws, chips, pork pies, salmon fillets, chicken skewers, cup cakes, cold meats, meatballs, and quiches. But it was not the eye-wateringly extortionate amount that Brian had hoped for. That was the beer. Ben was wasted. He lost count after pint number nine. The press reported figures between 15 and 22 but that was probably too extreme. By two in the morning Ben was fast asleep on a sofa in the corner of a bar in only his jock-strap. His cute fat stubbly face was buried deep in a cushion. He lay on his ginormous belly, the weight of which caused the sofa to sink in the middle. It spread out from his sides in pools of flab and overhung the seating area of the sofa. His mountainous ass was once more on full public view. Two huge perky balloons pointed up at the ceiling, milky smooth, and monstrously round and swollen. He looked like a horny animal on heat displaying himself in order to get the attention of the nearest alpha male. The paparazzi cameras whirred and all the reporters talked about how much he had drunk. “Does he have a drinking problem?” was the only question on their lips. This was a disaster. David was mortified. They wouldn’t be able to conceal this from Ben in the morning. All of the guests were briskly ushered away and the bar was closed. Soon there was only Brian left in the room with Ben.

 

He walked over to Ben and stared down at him, his eyes fixated on his bloated lower-middle half. He whispered, “Ben…Ben are you awake?” There was no response. He repeated himself a little louder and poked him in the face. Ben didn’t move. He took two steps to his left and was back directly looking at Ben’s huge ass. He prodded it with his left hand as his right hand ventured down the front of his own trousers. The fat felt so…so soft. Ben’s ass cheeks bounced and jiggled, but he didn’t stir. Brian licked his lips and slapped Ben’s right buttock with real force, it shook thunderously, smashing into its huge fat twin and neighbour. Brian looked at the deep red mark that he had left on the lush new fat, Ben didn’t wake. Brian climbed up onto the sofa over Ben’s thick fat thighs, he sat himself down on them. He bent forward, grabbed onto the rolls of fat that spilled out of the side of Ben’s belly and stuffed his head deep in between the massive blobs of sexy bubble-butt flab. He inhaled deeply through his nose and took in the smell of ass, sweat, and fat. He ran his hands down over the back-fat folds and onto Ben’s backside. He grabbed a huge handful, ass fat spilling out between his fingers, he dug in deep and pulled the bloated buttocks apart. They felt so fucking heavy. Drool ran from his mouth and he spat on Ben’s hole. As he entered Ben he felt the full weight of both buttocks on his dick as he let go of them and they smashed back together, “Oohhh!” He was much louder than he meant to be but Ben hadn’t even flinched. As he thrusted back and forwards Ben’s massive sexy ass, that he had made so beautifully fat, shook and wobbled against his balls and dick. He was in ecstasy. Brian bounced violently on top of the by far the biggest and best bum he had ever had. Ben’s whole body was so beautifully obese and heavy, he wanted more. After about ten minutes he came powerfully deep deep inside Ben’s ass. As he withdrew he wiped his sticky cock all over the inner and outer sides of the fat balls of lard. He couldn’t believe that he had been lucky enough to make them his own. He clambered off the sofa and looked down on his achievement, he was beaming. Then he thought about the mess. He walked over to the bar and fetched his bag that he had stashed there five hours previously, he reached in to grab the wet-wipes and a small labelless bottle fell onto the floor. He wiped Ben clean, picked up the bottle, and left the room.

5.

Ben had a roaring headache. A bell boy helped him up, gave him six ibuprofen, and walked with him to his room. “By the way, you should probably look at this morning's paper,” he said. Ben opened the door and David was already there sitting on the sofa, a pile of morning papers, tabloids and broadsheets, in front of him. Ben wondered if David had stayed in his room overnight but didn’t ask. “Brian will be here soon, we’ll start then,” was all he said. Ben felt sick, he thumped onto the bed with such force that David thought it might break. This reminded him, “While we wait for Brian I’ll order you breakfast, you must be starving with that hangover!”

 

David was right, hangovers did make Ben really hungry. He wolfed down the two English breakfasts and was working his way through fifteen syrup drenched pancakes when Brian arrived. “I’m glad to see that you’re still fixated on winning…,” he said, looking at Ben who was greedily gulping down the sugar intense breakfast treats, sticky tree syrup running down his big round double chin. “...But I fear it may be in vain. I think you blew it last night.” Ben was alarmed by Brian’s dour demeanour; he was normally so positive. Aggressive, but positive. He wondered what he could possibly have done so wrong to blow his own chances. He felt a small tear welling up in his left eye. He had been so close to being famous.

 

David showed Ben one of the red-top papers, “Ben Sherman is a fat lazy alcoholic!” The fat on Ben’s face crumpled up into a never before seen shape. What? He was so confused. He protested loudly that this was bullshit and that they needed to sue the paper, sue the reporter, sue anybody! He had never been an alcoholic, yes he liked to drink, but that wasn’t the same! Was it?

 

“Can’t we use this addiction for sympathy?” said David, hopefully. “Don’t be such a fucking moron!” Brian screamed at him. “No one feels fucking sorry for alcoholics! Everyone thinks it’s there own fucking fault!”. His face was bright red. He started to prance about the room; “How could someone do that to themselves?” “No wonder he can’t get a job!” He was putting on different women's voices and waving his arms about in an effeminate manner. “His liver will blow soon if he doesn’t stop.” “I don’t know why he doesn’t just stop?” “Just don’t drink so fucking much.” He stopped prancing and stared at Ben, who had stopped eating to watch him. “That’s what they’ll fucking say! They’ll blame you, say it’s your own fault. No one pities alcoholics. No one fucking likes them!” He put a woman's voice back on again, “Why doesn’t he just drink less?”

 

“Because, he’s got a binge eating disorder,” said David. Brian looked at him and smiled. “No, I fucking don’t,” said Ben through a mouthful of pancakes. “That’s the first smart thing you’ve said today,” said Brian. Ben was confused. He hadn’t realised that Brian had aimed his comment at David.

 

Ben had never liked the binge eating disorder angle. It was disingenuous. Lying about being diabetic had been bad enough, now they wanted him to double down on the dishonesty. He believed that making up such lies only took advantage of people who really had to deal with such issues. He put this point to David later that afternoon but David had won the argument by saying that he did have a binge eating disorder. Ben vehemently argued that he didn’t and that the whole weight gain idea had been against his initial wishes. David countered by pointing out that Ben had eaten three large battered cods, a large portion of chips, two tubs of mushy peas, and four jumbo sausages for lunch. And that anyone who could do that whilst proclaiming that they didn’t have a binge eating disorder was clearly delusional, hence proving that they did in fact have a disorder. Ben had no comeback to this so he just sat sulking on his bed in a depressive manner for over an hour until David brought him two tubs of Phish Food. This cheered him up immensely.

 

The first part of Brian’s plan was to issue the denials. It was important that even if no one believed them - yet, that they at least made it clear that the reports were wrong. Two days later he arranged a press conference for Ben to explain in his own words what had happened. Ben explained that the stress of the competition had really been getting to him and that he eats when he is stressed. Yes he also likes a drink at times, but not normally to excess, and certainly not everyday. He admitted to having ‘self-control’ issues since his Grandma had passed and that this made the effects of his diabetes worse at times. The combination of too much food, stress, and yes alcohol, on this occasion, had caused him to have an attack and collapse. This was due to his diabetic condition and it was totally irresponsible of the press to jump to false conclusions about alcoholism when in reality he had a disease that was in no way his own fault. The housewives of Facebook and X (formerly known as Twitter) ate it up.

 

The next day the Daily Mirror and four other papers printed redactions and apologies in an attempt to save face in front of the reader backlash. They had besmirched the housewives hero and were forced to repent. “That’s at least 300,000 more sympathy votes,” Brian had said.

 

The second part of the plan was to finally admit to the binge eating disorder live on air after Ben had won the semi-final. It was to be the key component of his victory interview in order to garner more votes in the grand final. To make the whole story believable it was now imperative that Ben continued to gain weight. As much as was humanly possible. David was relishing the challenge. They had three days.

 

Ben ate masses of McDonalds, buckets of Burger King, and colossal amounts of KFC. He had Wagamama’s once, Nando’s twice, and a ton of Taco Bell thrice. His belly kept swelling and he felt constantly full. But he kept overeating anyway. He had Pizza Hut, Dominoes, and Papa Johns. He drank coca-cola, pepsi-cola, tango, and Dr Pepper. But no more beer. He ate piles of pasta with mountains of mushrooms, and loads of lingonberry jam with his meatballs. He gulped down generous portions of profiteroles, pavlovas, and pasties. His hunger grew with his girth. It was now a must to eat more macaroni, mackerel, and macaroons. He needed to have more nuggets, nutella, and noodles. He gobbled it all down into his ballooning belly. His gluttony knew no bounds. His thighs grew thicker. His ass grew wider. His breasts grew broader. He bloated his belly bigger and bigger and bigger. David bought him new clothes, again. While he stayed in and ate apple pies and ice cream, baked alaskas with extra cream, and milkshakes with full fat cream. God, how he now loved cream! He crammed it all into his mouth, he couldn’t wait to feel it all in his belly. His stomach strained and heaved. It was so heavy. He was so heavy. 

6.

On the day of the semi-final he begged David to tell him how much he weighed. He tried to hide his disappointment upon hearing that he was 21 stone. He felt fatter. Brian and David were very pleased.

 

When he entered the stage to sing ‘The Noisy Eater’ by The Avalanches there was an audible gasp from the studio audience. The song was a bad choice for his voice but Brian had insisted that it worked lyrically. Ben struggled through it and tried to shuffle about the stage making rap star-like movements with his hands. Even his hands were fat now. His palms were swollen and his fingers porky. He was back to wearing a plain white tee and blue jeans, XXXL and 42 inch respectively. They were of course too tight. His belly was now truly beach ball sized and bounced up and down as he bent his knees to the beat. His sexy ass, that had caused such a reaction the previous week, was this time kept safely in his pants, however, it was clearly several inches wider, hung lower, and filled out further. It was just massively bigger. Millions of housewives commented on it to their husbands. One, a nice lady called Hayley, did so only to distract herself from the massive boner that she had noticed her teenage son was rocking. Ben sang, “In my stomach, I heard a voice. It said, Please feed me, my tank is on empty. I’m seeing things so please don’t tempt me.” As he sang he subconsciously rubbed the top of his swollen rounded out stomach and it rumbled loudly with greed. His microphone picked this up, but he had no idea, he just kept singing about all the delicious foods he wanted to consume. His performance was met with mild applause and he left the stage feeling concerned.

 

David was waiting for him in the green room, he gave Ben a hug and a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray. Ben whinged that the song was a bad choice and that it had been by far his worst performance. David didn’t seem worried at all, “We’re after the sympathy vote, you won’t get enough of them if you’re too good. I promise you it’s gonna be fine.” Ben was absentmindedly eating the chocolates that David had given him when Brian entered. “That was fucking perfect!” he said and gave Ben a pat on the back that caused his flab to jiggle. Ben explained that he thought he had sucked terribly. “You still don’t fucking get it, do you?” Brian furrowed his brow and launched into a rant, “We were after the fucking sympathy vote Ben! Yes, it’s a bad choice of song, that’s why it was so fucking perfect! A huge sad fat diabetic with a binge eating disorder singing about how he can’t stop eating. It will make perfect sense when you admit your disorder on stage. You better fucking let the tears flow!” Ben felt like he already wanted to cry. Part of him also really wanted to tell Brian what he thought of him and that he wasn’t a sad fat diabetic because he didn’t fucking have diabetes and he didn’t have a binge eating disorder! He didn’t have the energy though. He just couldn’t be bothered anymore. He ate seven more chocolates before mumbling something about just wanting to be famous.

 

He was called on stage with the other five contestants. The judges gave their feedback and said that it had been his worst vocal performance. The studio audience booed. At least they still seem to like me, he thought. The judges voted him into fifth place. Only the strength of his previous performances had prevented them from placing him last. It was now definitely up to the housewives of England to save him and save him they did. He received 852,000 public votes. He was astounded. Maybe Brian had been right all along?

 

The presenter asked him, “How has it been coping with all the extra media pressure this week?” This was a euphemism for ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you keep getting so disgustingly fat and drunk in public?’ And, ‘How the fuck can you keep putting on so much weight?’ Ben gave the exact answer that Brian had prepared for him. He clarified again that he didn’t have an alcohol problem but that he had been struggling since the death of his darling gran and that he had turned to food as a comfort. He then preemptively apologised if anything he said before had misled anyone but that he was only just managing to admit it to himself, let alone the general public. He had now though come to the realisation that he did have a binge eating disorder and that it was only perpetuating his unhappiness. He begged everybodies forgiveness as tears ran down his massive round cheeks. The presenter hugged him, told him how brave he was and that he was an inspiration to millions of overweight people. He got a standing ovation. He had somehow managed to lie perfectly. The tears were of happiness. He was totally fucking elated.

 

There was only a small private party that night in Ben’s room. For the first few hours it was Ben, David, and Brian but then Brian had suddenly left after an argument with David in the bathroom. Ben had gotten drunk for the first time since the previous week's party and negative headlines. His head had been a little too fuzzy to fully listen in and understand what it was about. He mostly just heard Brian swearing a lot but David had clearly mentioned finding something in Brian’s bag. Ben tried to question him about this once Brian had slammed the door and stomped off down the corridor but David wasn’t interested in answering him, instead he completely shocked Ben by giving him a slow sensitive kiss on the cheek while fingering a Mr Kipling’s Bakewell Tart into his mouth.

 

David was still on shift and ensured that Ben ate an absolute shit ton. Now was the best time to attack the food front as Ben was drunk and extremely happy. In total he ate three boxes of bakewell tarts, two tubes of pringles, cajun chicken and chips, four mango sorbets, garlic mushrooms, a double pepperoni pizza, a second box of milk tray, a litre of strawberry yoghurt, and three double cheeseburgers. This took about six hours in total along with the nine or ten pints of beer. He lay on his bed feeling giddy, horny, and bloated as fuck. His beach ball belly had expanded yet again, its huge round shape held together perfectly as he relaxed on his back. This mountain of fat moved gently up and down as he breathed in and out. It blocked the view of his feet. Ben felt so big and so stuffed. His aching stomach was packed far too tight, he could feel the digestive pain deep inside him, a sensation he was growing to like. David came over to him to say goodbye. Ben looked him in the eye and very softly asked if he would kiss him again. David thought about it for a few seconds before leaning forward and kissing Ben on his full fat lips. He held the kiss longer than he had intended to, allowing Ben time to put his tongue in. It felt better than he had expected. Ben grabbed him with his fat heavy arms and pulled him up on top of his mountainous frame. Ben was so comfortable, like a human mattress, with a huge pile of soft pillows placed in the middle of it. They kept kissing and David felt his dick harden. As it grew it began to stick into Ben’s belly fat. It felt so smooth and sensual. A strange mixture of heavy pressure and squeezy softness enveloped his cock and he instinctively began to dry hump it. Both men moaned with pleasure. David’s hands started feeling their way around Ben’s plump upper torso. Although slightly disgusted by it David couldn’t help but keep fingering and stroking the roll of fat that seemed to hang off of Ben’s sidemoobs. It was gross but engrossing. He squirmed on top of Ben for several minutes with Ben running his chubby hands over his hair and upper back. Ben asked David to fuck him and was kinda suprised when he said, “No, you fuck me.” To the best of Ben’s knowledge David had always been a top and when he said so David just softly replied, “Normally yes, but not with you. With you, you need to fuck me!”

 

It took real effort but Ben rolled onto his side. David fell off him and into the soft bedspread with a kerplumpfff. He lay on his front, buried his face in a pillow, pushed his ass tantalising up into the air and arched in his back. Ben heaved his ample frame around and over David. He wanted to bend down to lick his friend's asshole but his round bulbous belly was in the way and it hurt when he applied any pressure to it by bending forward. He spat at David’s ass and rather unceremoniously forced three round fat fingers straight up into it. David screamed in pain and bit down hard on his pillow, eyes tightly shut. Ben moved his fingers in and out and the pain began to ease. He pulled his fingers out and pushed his dick in with a surprising amount of dexterity for his now almost ridiculous size. Thrusting was a real effort so he did it slow and smooth. He couldn’t believe that he was really making love to his friend. Holding his own body weight up with his arms proved to be impossible after only thirty seconds or so. He could feel the weakened upper-arm muscles, buried deep under inches of fat, shaking with agony. David was lucky that Ben managed to lower himself into a lying position on top of him rather than just suddenly collapsing. Even so Ben was heavy as fuck. Over twenty stone of him pinned David’s skinny ass down to the bed. David felt like he was being buried alive. His chest hurt as he struggled to breath from the pressure that Ben’s mass inflicted on his ribcage. Ben’s massive beach ball belly pushed down in the small of his back with such force that he felt like he was being contorted into a V shape. With each thrust the monstrous belly heaved forward, placing yet more pressure onto his own thin abdomen. Ben’s fat rolled over his sides, it encompassed and enveloped him. David imagined himself being sucked into his friend's gut by its gravitational force, slowly turning him into even more belly fat. Ben felt fucking huge as he crushed his friend. His rarely used asshole felt so tight and good. The pressure on his massively stuffed belly was immense. Its hard centre was strained full of thousands of calories, packed tight and expanding like an overinflated tyre ready to pop. Ben could feel all of his new fat tingling. He couldn’t believe how sensitive his skin had become to even the slightest touch. He squeezed his own beautifully swollen breast and sighed loudly. His heart thumped heavily in his chest and he felt it starting to pick up pace. When he released, with his final thrust forward, it felt like his entire ten gallon belly was emptying of cum. David sank even further into the mattress and let out a muffled cry. Ben rolled his huge round body off his flattened friend and lay on his side next to him. David’s face was bright red, he was sweating profusely, and wore an expression that somehow put across a feeling of equal pain, pleasure and relief. “I love you, you’ve made my dreams come true,” Ben said to him before they fell asleep.

7.

In the morning both of them felt awkward, conversation between them was stilted, and David left immediately after ordering Ben a measly fifteen waffles for breakfast. Ben spent the rest of the day doing voice training with Brian who was being weirdly nice to him. “You’re sounding fucking great today. Tomorrow we will pick you a song that will really allow you to demonstrate your range and give you the best chance of winning.”

 

David returned on Tuesday morning. Nothing was said about their night together. His focus was now firmly on helping Ben to win the final that Saturday, nothing else mattered. David resumed his duties with admirable dedication and doubled down on feeding Ben up to be the biggest star that he could possibly be.

 

Ben was placed on a strict diet of twelve thousand calories a day. He was once more banned from consuming alcohol as this could be bad for his voice and reputation, the focus was now simply on high fat foods, carbs, and sugars. David had designed a menu that consisted of three very round meals a day plus snacks. Tuesday's breakfast included cereals, a fry up, a continental buffet, and pancakes - a shit ton of pancakes. So many that Ben had consumed four thousand calories before midday. Lunch started with sliders, continued with burgers, and concluded with a whole cheesecake. The afternoon was spent practising with Brian, the exertion of which made Ben super hungry for dinner. Three plates of pasta carbonara with extra cheese, thirty chicken tenders with honey mustard sauce, and a whole sticky toffee pudding slid easily down his gluttonous gullet. The pasta and pudding were super thick and heavy. He could feel the pounds of extra weight sitting in his ever expanding stomach. It gave him a feeling of complete contentment. He needed more.

 

Him and David spent the early evening watching a film and snacking on chips, cookies, and cola. Ben greedily munched and glugged his way through two tubes of pringles, three packets of jaffa cakes and four litres of full fat coke. When David left at ten pm he ordered himself three double quarter pounders with cheese, twenty seven chicken nuggets and six chocolate donuts. He hadn’t wanted to appear to be a pig in front of his friend. He could feel his stomach stretching and straining as he ate, he grabbed his thick love handles and rubbed the swollen underside of his expanding gut. It felt so good to be so fat. It satiated him. As he continued to fill his boots he continued to play with his soft luxurious fat. He squeezed his bulbous breasts and stroked his thick inner thighs. His dick was as hard as his stomach as he loaded more heavy calories into his upper digestive system. The cheesy burger patties melted in his mouth, the mayo smothered nuggets were swallowed whole. He consumed all of them with a frenzied intensity that made him feel light headed. His overblown body sank into the couch too fatigued to do anything except eat more. He savoured each sweet sugar rich donut as the abdominal pain intensified. As he munched and swallowed each one he stroked his dick as his brain sank into utopic bliss. The room began to spin. He was thirstier than he’d ever been but only had three large cokes left. He glugged them down with enthusiasm as his vision began to blur. His whole belly shook as he burped. He was a total food balloon. His podgy feet began to tingle as the room began to spin. He savoured the chocolatey flavour of the final donut as his greedy tongue licked his fat lips. He was still hungry when he passed out. He woke up in the hospital.

 

A handsome young doctor with thick brown hair and piercing green eyes was talking to him, “Mr Sherman, you’ve suffered a diabetic attack due to your pancreas not producing enough insulin. I can see from your file that you’ve not previously been diagnosed with diabetes, however, it’s quite obvious to me that you have developed type two diabetes most likely due to your obesity. You have a very unhealthy BMI Mr Sherman. You will be discharged today but only after a nurse has explained everything to you. You are going to need regular insulin injections. I am also recommending you for a weight loss programme.” Ben was listening but he wasn’t taking any of it in. All he could think about was the final show in a few days time, how he had to keep gaining, and just how badly he wanted this doctor to fuck him.

 

Brian and David were waiting for him when he got back to the hotel. “Where the fuck have you been?” Brian barked at him, “You’ve missed two meals and today's practice!” Ben lied and just said that he had something important to do. “Well we’ve got just the thing to ensure that belly of yours is as round and swollen as possible,” David said as he pulled a funnel and pipe out of his bag. Ben’s eyes lit up with delight. Brian was right, he had missed two meals, and he was really fucking hungry.

 

The sensation was as good as sex, no better! Ben had never known such pleasure. The cold smooth mix of melted ice cream, double cream, raspberry sauce, jam, and protein powder fell down his gullet. His greedy lips and tongue barely got to taste the sweet milkshake as gravity sent it directly down his oesophagus and into his already swollen and expanded stomach bag. Over those few days David sent tens of thousands of calories straight into Ben’s humongous belly. He had never felt so full. He had never felt so fat. He continued to bloat and grow beautifully. He never got dressed and never left his hotel room. He wore only an XXXL dressing gown that he could no longer do up over his extensive and extending beach ball belly. He added layers of fat to his belly, tits, ass, and thighs. He was now as round as he was tall. His hands and feet looked like they’d been injected with pudge. His arms and legs were so round and flabby that they could have been made out of chocolate cheesecake. His face was wide and swollen with puffed out chipmunk cheeks and a thick heavy double chin. He wore an almost constant smile as he filled himself with every sweet treat and desert known to man. He was going to be a pop star. He was going to be famous. He was going to win.

8.

The morning of the final show arrived and Ben was weighed one final time. 24 stone and two pounds. He had gained over three stone in a week! He was now almost ten stone heavier than when David had first weighed him. He was so proud of himself. David and Brian congratulated him and told him that he was going to win, but that there was no room for complacency and that now was not the time to rest. “When you go on stage you need to look as bloated as possible. We gotta get that fabulous gut of yours looking like a hot air balloon. The housewives need to see that you’ve been on a binge directly before competing. That’s how we’ll increase the sympathy vote,” Brian explained with a grin.

 

David had fixed Ben’s pre-show routine for him. Directly after the weigh in he had three extra large pizzas for breakfast followed by three litres of funnel fed shake mix. At midday he ate a large lunch in his room of four extra large pizzas followed by three litres of funnel fed shake mix. His belly ached so wonderfully. He was then driven to the studio in a disabled access taxi and left to chill with snacks in the green room. He ate eight Mars bars, ten packets of Walkers crisps, a two litre tub of neapolitan ice cream, and all of his remaining pre-show nerves. His belly pushed further out than ever in front of him. He felt so good, he felt so big. He completed his rehearsal and was escorted to his dressing room. He had to wait an hour for the scouse ladies to arrive and dress him in his now patented ill-fitting blue jeans and plain white tee. While he waited David fed him three more extra large pizzas. Pizza was his favourite. He sucked in his massive ball of fat flesh as he tried and failed to do the new 46 inch jeans up. He squeezed the XXXL t-shirt over his fat head. It clung to his tits and upper arm fat. He pulled at it and stretched it out. It still barely covered his cavernously deep belly button. Inches and inches of round smooth belly fat stuck out for all the world to see. His stretch marks were a thick deep red that ran up the front of his heaving belly in line with his wispy hair. They also grew wildly up his love handles and around his muffin top. His jeans button was clearly open and it was decided that braces were required to keep them up and prevent another wardrobe malfunction. The braces were black and tight, stretched to their limit, and only serving to accentuate his massively round bloated stomach. He thought he looked perfect. Brian and David told him that he did. Twenty minutes before showtime David brought out the funnel. He placed it in Ben’s gaping gob and poured in four more litres of thick, heavy, creamy, gainer shake. He watched with delight as Ben’s belly grew visibly bigger under the strain. Ben sighed with delight as the delicious calories rushed into his already overpacked gut. He was so wonderfully fat. How could anyone not vote for him?

 

On stage he felt too big to move. He swung his fat hips from side to side causing his thick round love handles to jiggle and sway. He couldn’t dance. His belly heaved up and down as he took deep breaths in between lines. He sang deep from within his distended obese stomach. He belted out ‘I knew I Loved You’ by Savage Garden and his belly heaved in and out. It was so big, so round, and so swollen. The braces dug into his fat and accentuated his massive gut. He was by far the fattest of all the performers who had been on Fat People Can Sing Too and he was proud as punch when he received a standing ovation from the audience. The criticism from the judges though was scathing.

 

For the first time the four celebrity judges had been watching his performance. This was the first time that they had seen him. A forty year old Geordie lass who had had three top ten hits in the nineties told him that he didn’t have the required range to be a star and that his inability to dance was a huge problem. A fifty year old comedian of uncertain sexual orientation, that led to constant online rumours about impropriety, told him that he lacked star power. The sixty year old wife of a famous rocker told him that he seemed like a lovely guy but that he just didn’t have ‘it’. Worst of all was the attack that he received from the show's creator Steven Bowel. Bowel was a large chested man with transplanted black hair, a turtle neck sweater and a habit of handing out verbal lashings to contestants, “You can’t sing well enough. You look like a bloated gopher about to pop and you clearly have mental issues that are negatively affecting your health. You need help and are clearly not pop-star material.” The audience booed loudly. How dare Bowel attack their brave heroe? Ben felt deflated. His belly hung heavy and low as he trudged off the stage. The audience cheered passionately for him, but he didn’t notice as he stared at the floor, tears rolling from his eyes.

 

Brian and David were overjoyed. “That was fucking perfect! Fucking Steven just played straight into our fucking hands!” Brian hugged Ben’s mammoth belly and rested his head on top of it until David pushed him off. “You did so well!” David beamed. Ben wiped the tears from his eyes, he was confused. He protested that he had just received the harshest criticism of any contestant at any point on the show. Brian admonished him, “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes. I can’t believe you still don’t fucking get how this fucking works. It’s about the sympathy vote. Sympathy. S-Y-M-P-A-T-H-Y. Bowel fucking knows that. He knows what he’s doing. He wants you to win! He created that fucking reaction for you!

Ben complained that the judges were going to vote him into last place. “Oh for fucks sake!” Brian shouted, “They don’t have a fucking vote in the final. It’s all on a public vote now! Is your fat fucking head so full of cream cakes that you’ve even fucking forgotten that!”

 

Ben wasn’t convinced but the mention of cream cakes had made him hungry so he retreated to his dressing room to eat his nerves while he waited for the voting to take place. When he returned to the stage for the results show, along with the other contestants, he was four pounds heavier than he had been earlier thanks to the constant flow of fifty pastries that he had used to appease his emotions.

 

The results were read in reverse order with massively long gaps between them in order to build suspense. Four of the six finalists left the stage to warm applause and to Ben’s surprise he was in the final two. The other contestant was a chubby fifty six year old woman with a gammy leg and crooked teeth. Ben really was an idiot for doubting that the housewives would vote for her over him. He won comfortably by over 350,000 votes. As he was announced as the winner the house lights went down and a spotlight pointed directly at him. He cheered and raised his fat arms into the air causing his XXXXL white t-shirt to ride up over the top of his massively ballooned belly. Fifteen inches of perfectly spherical fat stuck proudly out over his busted trousers. His happy trail glistened with sweat as his underbelly lifted upwards towards the camera that was slowly zooming in. His stretch marks were proudly on view, his belly button invisibly buried deep into the layers of fat. The whole belly looked like a giant full blood moon brightly illuminated by the reflected rays of the sun. It was monstrously beautiful. The sexy glutton had won. At home a fifteen year old tried to hide the fact that he had creamed his pants from his Mum by holding a cushion over his crotch.

 

At the aftershow party Ben went wild, he drank twenty pints of lager, and ate enough to feed a school. He didn’t care about the press and paparazzi present and publicly glutted himself like never before. David expressed concern about this behaviour being all over the papers the next day but Brian oddly told him that, “It no longer fucking mattered. Let the fat cunt enjoy himself.” And enjoy himself he did. Ben snorted up cupcakes like they were cocaine. He pigged out on puddings as he digested donuts and drumsticks. He felt his belly continue to swell and swell and it made him feel so fucking hot! He was sexy and famous and fat as fuck! Life couldn’t be any better.

 

Ben had badly wanted David to fuck him that night but as the party died out he couldn’t find him anywhere. He drunkenly waddled back to his room by himself where he masturbated furiously till he soaked his monstrous moon belly in warm sticky cum.

 

The next morning David and Ben took a taxi together to the production offices. A meeting had been arranged between the winner, his representatives, and the production team in order to talk about the plan going forwards. Ben was still overjoyed and couldn’t believe that he was about to receive a recording contract. His picture was on the front of every paper. He was famous and so very happy.

 

Him and David talked all the way there; “Where did you go last night? I was really hoping that we could celebrate together?” David picked up on the insinuation. “I was tired and just needed to go home,” he lied. “Well, that’s a shame but I guess we’ll get plenty more chances.” Ben went to touch David’s hand but David pulled it away. Ben continued unphased, “I can’t wait for us to be together again.” “Look, Ben, I don’t want to upset you on your big day and I don’t want to ruin our friendship so can we please drop this?” Ben was shocked. “But, you said you loved me? Don’t you want to be the boyfriend of a pop star?” “I never said that. You did.” Ben felt his heavy arse sink deeper into his seat. “I thought that you wanted me? You even let me fuck you?” “Ben, please don’t make me say this. Not today. “Say what? Just fucking tell me.” “Oh God, Ben, I let you fuck me so that I didn’t have to look at you.” Ben started to cry. “What? You think I’m u-u-ugly?” he sniffled. “No, of course not. You’re just so… so erm fat. It’s disgusting. I couldn’t fuck that.” “What?” Ben sobbed loudly. “But, you’re the one who wanted me to get fat. You’re the one who made me this way!” “That was to win the show and it worked. I didn’t do it for any sexual thrills. I’m not a feeder. I’m not a pervert. That’s Brian.” “W-w-what d--do you mean by that?” “Getting you fat was Brian’s idea. It’s not my fault that you liked it so much that you've turned into a human whale. You and him are the one’s getting off on it.” “What? I don’t like Brian like that and he’s never shown any interest in me.” “That’s what you think. God, you’re so fucking gullible sometimes.” Ben fell silent for a few moments and then burst once more into tears. “Look, Ben. I never wanted to hurt you. You’re my best friend. I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be your lover. Please, can we drop this? Let’s focus on the positives. This is a great day for you. You’re in every paper and are about to get your first recording contract. This is everything you’ve ever wanted. Please focus on that. As a pop-star you will be able to get anyone you want. Fat or not.” “B-but I want you.” “Oh Ben!”

 

At the production offices Ben wiped the water from his eyes and calmed himself with treats from a vending machine. Him and David sat in silence while they waited to be called into the boardroom.

 

Steven Bowel, Brian, and three other executives were sitting at a large oval oak table. They warmly welcomed Ben and David who were shown a sofa to sit on. The sofa had been brought in that morning as Steven had not wanted to risk letting Ben sit on his antique mahogany chairs. It was probably a good idea. Ben had weighed himself that morning and had been pleased to discover that he was exactly twenty five stone.

 

Bowel started the meeting; “Firstly we would like to congratulate you on your well deserved win. You captured the imagination of the nation. Your story of adversity and the way that you have handled yourself in the face of such negative press has been nothing short of astonishing.” Brian chipped in, “You received the most votes in British TV talent contest history.” Ben smiled like a goon, but David had spotted the look on Brian’s face that told him that there was a but coming. Bowel continued, “Your popularity on the show has indeed been phenomenal considering your limited talent. You have been especially popular amongst the female 30 -45 unemployed demographic. The problem is this demographic doesn't buy records or pay for single downloads. As a company they are just not our target audience.”

 

Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked pleadingly at Brian for help but received no support, “You see Ben…” his coach and rapist continued, “...we need young people to buy and stream your songs and they just won’t engage with an artist who is er… well so fucking fat.” Ben was utterly confused in his distress but David had worked it out. He knew what Ben would never know; the rapist was in line to receive a half a million pound bonus for coaching the winning act. He had no financial interest in aftershow sales.

 

Ben’s heart was sinking lower and lower into his bloated abdomen. He managed to mumble a complaint about the winner being guaranteed a contract. “That’s not quite right,” Bowel explained, “We have to supply a contract to a contestant and have decided that will be Danni Tyler.” Danni Tyler was a nineteen year old chubby cockney femboy with long blonde hair, a fat pear shaped ass, and blue eyes that teenage boys and girls would want to swim in. She had come in fourth place. “He’s much more marketable. Isn’t grossly obese, and her coming out video already has eight million views on YouTube.”

 

Ben was now weeping openly once more. “Please Ben, don’t be too despondent. You’ve had your moment in the limelight and you’re still entitled to your winners prize of £30,000 minus expenses incurred.” Bowel was interrupted by Brian who cruelly pointed out that, “You have though already blown a lot of that money. We need to deduct all of your accommodation, travel, and food costs. And as your such a gross fat fuck you’ve eaten your way through £18,765 worth of food. That belly has to be paid for.”

 

Steven Bowel stuck in the final knife, “It’s not just your ridiculous size Ben, you're also just not talented enough. Your voice is ok but it lacks range, distinctiveness, and breadth. I’m sure that you can have a career as a singer but just not at this level. Given the exposure that you’ve had from being on the show I’m sure that you could get a good job on a cruise ship.”

 

Ben spent the rest of the day crying alone in his hotel room. His last night in the hotel room, that tomorrow he would have to pay for, leaving him with only £3,852 to show for his victory. He would have to move back in with his parents. He bawled his eyes out for hours until the tears eventually ran out at around ten pm. Only then did he notice the hollow pain in his stomach. His depression had caused him to forget to eat. He ordered twelve tubs of Ben and Jerry’s on UberEats. He injected himself in his huge round love handle and began to feel better as he finished off the ninth tub and placed an order for seven more.

 

When he died alone in his childhood bedroom in Nottingham three years later, at thirty eight stone, the press and housewives were in agreement that morbid obesity was caused by a personal lack of self-control. His parents were relieved.