A Change Could Do You Good, Part I: Storm Warning
by Flashpoint
Kevin had never liked going out to the bars. He had nothing against them personally, but he got nothing out of going out unless he was going out with someone he knew. He loved to dance, but he wasn't a big drinker, he didn't pick up people and didn't have anonymous sex, and every time he did go out, it seemed to be the same thing. The same guys sitting in the same stools drinking the same drinks and saying the same things over and over and over week after week after week. Kevin decided a long time ago that he would much rather have a life.
Kevin liked leather bars, though. Kevin, in a very few words, was killer in leather. His leather was "dress leather," however. When he took it off he neatly put it away and a crease never came into it. He had dabbled a little on the wild side a few times without getting seriously into it, but the heavier aspects had always fascinated him. He'd at least watched several SM "play parties" as a spectator, including flogging, fisting, piss, and a host of other things he was mesmerized by and would never do in a million years.
He knew he'd never change, either. He hadn't changed in years. In a lot of ways he hadn't changed since childhood. He was a nice guy and was fun to be around, but was rather uncaring about a lot of things, which unfortunately included his boyfriends. He'd never had a relationship last for more than a few weeks or months at most. It wasn't because he didn't like the guy. He just couldn't make himself care too much about them, no matter what he did. Several times he'd been accused of being cold, which was unfortunately closer to the truth than he liked to admit. He didn't know why, didn't even notice, really; he just assumed he hadn't met "the right guy" yet.
He didn't remember the reason why he was that way. He'd made sure of that at the time, without even intending to.
Aside from his dislike of the bars, Kevin's work obligations didn't help him have a social life either. Of course, his work obligations were enviable to a great many people: he was a very highly paid personal trainer, massage therapist, and aerobics instructor at a very upscale health club. As such, it was his duty to be on call practically 24/7 for stressed businessmen, retired investors, and yuppie wives with far too much money and far too little to do with their days. In reality, it was all a vain attempt to make them all believe that yes, exercise is more than just "the in thing." If the money hadn't been so good where he was, he would have gone somewhere else or even done something else. It was too disheartening.
Unfortunately for his standards, he got results more often than not with his clients. They in turn wrote long letters of praise to the gym saying how much they valued him, which earned him lots of respect and lots and lots of money, which he wisely socked away. Then they went back to their old bad habits again. He felt not unlike a whore, and a high-price one.
He sometimes felt the lack of something substantial in his life, something meaningful, like he'd gone down the wrong path at some point but couldn't think where or when. He liked what he did, he was good at it, but sometimes it seemed that it was pervasive fear, not love of his work, that propelled him forward and prevented him from seeking out alternatives, other dreams he had had.
The gym had not been so upscale originally. It had just been another local musclehead trap like so many other gyms, and Kevin had been struggling along trying to make ends meet. But then around four years ago the gym had been bought and turned into a very nice establishment catering to the richer people of the world. Kevin had been grateful, as it had increased his income by about fivefold, but sometimes he wished that it hadn't become so upscale. When the clientele had been poor, they had been more dedicated to their workouts, it seemed. But he could tolerate it.
Unfortunately, Kevin had a weakness. And that weakness led to him seeking out a bar he hadn't been to as yet, Dimensions. In truth, there were many bars in the city that he hadn't been to, so him not having heard of this one was really not that unusual, even if it had been there for two years already. He didn't really want to go out tonight, but in this case he had no choice.
Kevin hadn't been able to get a straight answer about what category of bar Dimensions fell into. The general consensus was that it was a leather bar, but "not exactly." Nobody had ever been there. They had all heard of a friend whose cousin's brother's lover had gone there, or something equally improbable. It was like a conspiracy of silence. Some guys said it was a cigar bar, or a dance club, or even a big men's club, but all the stories conflicted, and Kevin didn't believe them anyway. None of those types of bars had ever made money in the area when started up and had quickly folded, except for some of the dance clubs, and even those had chronic money issues.
At 5'10" and 195, with brown hair and lean and athletic, and not displeasing to the eye, Kevin was much in demand in bars, leather and otherwise, when he walked in. All sorts of people, actually both men and women, offered to buy him drinks no matter where he went, which he very politely declined, thank you very much. Kevin wasn't a vain person, but at the same time he knew he was a commodity. He learned very early to be selective sexually, and tonight was going to be no different, he thought as he walked into the dark smoky bar.
The air was heavy, but it was the musky erotic scent of cigar, and possibly a pipe or two, not cigarettes, that assailed him. He smiled. While as a personal trainer he disapproved of smoking in any form for health concerns, and didn't himself, he had a secret fetish for cigars, and even the odd pipe or two. There was something about it that made the man who smoked it seem "big and manly," more manly than him, in a way. He considered himself a man, but there was that too. (The smoke also made him start to precum just by itself, but that was neither here nor there.) He always admonished smokers to quit, but could only bring himself to encourage cigar smokers to "cut down." The curse of being a closet fetishist.
The second thing he noticed, after the scent in the air, was nothing. The bar was too dark for him to see anything. He knew that gay bars are supposed to be "dark and alluring" or whatever, but he always wished he could see his hand in front of his face whenever he went into one without enough light. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, he blindly groped his way forward, listening to a heavy dance beat and vaguely aware of men all around him, very tightly crowded it seemed. Then he walked headlong into a brick wall and rebounded onto the floor.
As is typical in such cases, his eyes adjusted a moment too late, and he got a perfectly clear view of stars and sparks as he recovered his wits. Then he heard the brick wall say, "You okay, little buddy?" Kevin looked up at the 'brick wall' he had run into and his mouth dried.
In front of him was the widest man he had ever seen in his life. For a moment he thought he was hallucinating - he hoped he was - but the image did not change. He was staring up at a man wearing jeans, boots, a leather vest, and had a gut that easily looked to be sticking out two feet in front of him. How the man managed to stay upright was beyond Kevin. "Uh.. I'm fine," he said weakly.
Kevin was a personal trainer. He didn't hate men that had a belly on them, but it was his business to eliminate them, and he couldn't help feeling a bit of revulsion at this enormous sight. He also felt a flash of mortal fear. He felt that sometimes around heavier men and women, and didn't know why. He'd had an uncle when he was a child that had weighed over 300 pounds and he didn't remember ever being uncomfortable around him. For that matter, he didn't remember much about him at all for some reason.
He thought he did a good job of keeping his feelings from his face, but obviously not good enough; the man had begun to offer a hand to help him up, but then his expression tightened into a grimace and he withdrew his hand. "Well, good," the man said, abruptly gruff. "You want to be careful in this bar, little man. You could get flattened." And with that he lumbered off. Little man?! There was no other word for that swinging of mass that he accomplished, bringing that enormous gut into play: he lumbered off. Kevin felt a little guilty for a moment, but then shrugged it off. It wasn't like he was the only guy in the bar, or that he'd ever see him again, really. Kevin got up and dusted himself off... and suddenly the man's words took on new meaning. His jaw dropped and he stood staring.
Every single man in the bar, almost without exception, had bellies of varying degrees similar to the man already out of sight. He couldn't see who was larger or smaller, except for some that were obviously larger, and some much larger. Lux Perpetua, what kind of bar did I come into?? he wondered. No wonder no one would talk about it. Why did he tell me to come here?? The only ones that were not in a state of extreme bloat were guys either thinner than or of similar build to himself, each one of them clinging to a man that could make up two (or more) of him. There was even one guy that he thought he recognized as a local bodybuilder at a different gym. The man had his shirt off and was flexing for a group of guys with bellies that probably outweighed him by themselves. When he was done, the bodybuilder did a truly astonishing thing: he dropped to his knees right there in the bar and been licking and worshipping each of their guts in turn! Now that Kevin could see, the look of worship he gave each of them in turn was obvious from across the bar. It probably would have been obvious from across the street.
Kevin suppressed a shudder. Later, when Kevin became unable to dream, he reflected that if he'd just turned around and walked out of the bar at this point, he could have gone back to his boring life and routine and things wouldn't have done the abrupt turn that they did. But no, he had to stick around for just a few minutes so that it didn't look like he was disgusted. Even though he was. First he'd look around a little, then one beer, be very cool, and then he was gone and would never come back. Or so he thought at the time.
He tried to casually walk around the front area, but too many people had been witness to his unpleasant encounter and were either avoiding looking at him or were giving him dirty looks. To make matters worse, the man he'd collided with was now talking to the bartender, who had, to Kevin's experienced eye, a heavy powerlifter's build and belly to match. He caught Kevin's eye and nodded, smiling slightly. Whatever the other was telling him couldn't be about Kevin. He hoped.
He had to get out of the area and sauntered as quickly as he could toward the back, where they hadn't seen him yet. Things didn't improve for him, however. The bar, it turned out, was huge, and the men to match. The men got bigger the farther back he went. At one point he once again ran across the man he'd bumped into, who practically sneered at him while talking to another bartender, a younger guy who had to weigh at least 400 pounds. Then Kevin walked past a dark corner and saw a man the size of an elephant getting power-fucked by a guy whose build was nearly identical to Kevin's. He winked and gave Kevin a thumbs-up without missing a stroke. At this sight, Kevin decided he'd had enough and headed for the door with all undue haste.
On the way there, however, he was called over by the first bartender. "Hey, little guy," the man said - Kevin glanced at a round sphere similar to a beach ball on his muscular, hairy shirtless torso - "You didn't come get your first beer." Without the gut, he was rather good-looking, with a chiseled face, almost too handsome to be natural. He looked about Kevin's age too, around 32. But he wondered if that was the gut making him think that.. he could be 30.
"Excuse me?"
The man said, "First beer of the night's on the house, since you're without an escort. After that, they're half price."
Kevin blinked. "Just because I'm alone?"
The bartender laughed, and his gut rumbled, which made Kevin start. "Well, no, not really. The Boss saw you and likes your look, so he said to give you the house specialty. You should feel privileged; he must think you're special. He doesn't ever give away free drinks." His voice was perfectly neutral at the last. Kevin couldn't tell whether the man was pleased or angry that he was getting a free beer.
Before Kevin could say another word, the bartender placed a large round bottle in front of him. The bottle was a bit bigger than he expected, easily twice the width and half again as tall as a normal beer bottle. "I can't drink all that," he protested.
The bartender gave him an even look and did not smile. "You'd better try. The Boss is watching you even now. He likes you." There was something in the man's voice that caught Kevin's attention in that last sentence, something that Kevin couldn't identify that made his hackles rise, like an unspoken confrontation. Whatever it was, Kevin did not know, but he found himself picking up the bottle - with both hands - and pouring it into his mouth, as much as he could swallow on the first try. Then the bartender smiled. "Good boy. Come back after this one has taken effect." And he went off. Taken effect?
Kevin went off into the bar a little, keeping to himself. The patrons who had been looking at him askance seemed to have forgotten about the earlier incident, so he felt a bit more comfortable. He'd never heard of this brand, Kilo, before, and the simple black label with what looked like a picture of a one-ton weight under the name did not look familiar. Watching him even now? From where? But it was tasty enough... in fact, he found himself drinking more and more, much more than he expected to be able to take. He'd never had much capacity for alcohol, and this volume had seemed daunting at first, but it seemed to be flowing right into him with no problems.
In a very short time, he was in a very relaxed mood and very much more open to being in this bar, even with men that were as wide as barn doors. The pleasant cigar aroma also helped put him into a very pleasant, slightly aroused mental state. He found himself staring at all the enormous guts - and butts - of some of these men, wondering how they managed it. Having that kind of weight always pulling must be limiting in the extreme. He felt the same odd stab of fear he always did, but it was blunted behind a slight alcohol haze at the moment. He unconsciously adjusted his pants, which seemed tight all of a sudden... natural under the circumstances, in this environment, that he'd be very self-conscious about his waist. He adjusted his jeans a bit lower and went back to the bar for another Kilo without even really thinking about it.
The bartender - who mentioned in passing that his name was Jake - already had his next one ready and waiting for him. A few of the patrons on the bar around him, overflowing the stools they were in, were watching him with undisguised amusement. He felt self-conscious and conspicuous in a bar full of men much larger than himself and went off alone again. He pulled his shirt down a little - it had ridden up - and readjusted his jeans again. They weren't comfortable now for some reason. He was glad that he'd decided to leave the leathers at home and just go for black jeans, boots and pullover shirt.
The second Kilo led to a third, and a fourth. It wasn't until he was picking up the fourth one that he realized that Jake hadn't asked for any money. "Taken care of," he simply said, and went back to his duties. The elusive boss again? He wondered where the man was and how he was watching. He pulled his shirt down for the fifteenth time and struggled to get his jeans to sit right on him, but they firmly refused, even though he'd spent the money to have them tailored. He was getting annoyed.
That's when it started, or in Kevin's mind it started, anyway; it really started the moment he started drinking the Kilo. The top button on his jeans suddenly gave way and popped open. "What gives?!" he yelped to himself.. and looked down at what he'd failed to really look at, what he'd been slightly too buzzed to notice. His belly, instead of being smooth and flat, was rounding out in a perfect arc, almost before his very eyes. His shirt had been riding up since it was for a much less well-rounded man - which he'd been only a few minutes before. His formerly 32-inch waist was easily over 40 inches now, and getting bigger.
Kevin looked in horror at himself and around to see if anyone else could verify what he was seeing. Unfortunately, as he discovered as he looked up, he was the last in the bar to see his transformation, not the first. Every eye in the area, including Jake the bartender and the nameless brick wall, was watching him transform into a human beach ball and no one looked either surprised or displeased with the sight. His face abruptly turning red, Kevin jumped up from his barstool and discovered that the change was not just cosmetic; he was heavier too by a good margin. His new gut did not allow him to move as quickly as he had before and his new center of gravity threw him off balance, nearly sending him to the floor face first. He found that in order to even stand upright, he had to throw his shoulders back, making his enormity all the more obvious.
His face burning with shame and confusion, not helped by the laughter and rude comments coming from his audience, he turned his new bulk and ran as best he could for the men's room, his now 45-inch balloon belly.. no, 48-inch... jostling in front of him the whole way. He was glad he had strong legs from lifting weights; he thought that he'd be pinned to the floor by this point.
Once in the (now relatively) small room, shut away from the sight of his detractors, he surveyed the damage and nearly moaned in horror. His belly/gut/balloon/perfect spheroid, whatever it now was, had apparently stopped growing on the way to the john, but it was still bigger than he wanted it to be, by a factor of about 10. His entire physique, what he could see of it, hadn't softened exactly, but it looked distinctly like it had a new layer of fat that had spontaneously formed over the muscle, and his stomach... He ran a hand over it... what he could reach of it. It jutted out a good foot in front of him, it seemed, and was firm, like he'd been this way for a long time. He couldn't believe it. He also knew that his employers would never believe it either, and toss him out on his ear if he didn't lose it by the next day. Gary, the head personal trainer that he continually butted heads with, would kill him. His thoughts whirled. The next day? How can I lose this by... but I gained it all in under a half hour! I *gained* it in under a half HOUR?? Somebody knock on the door and tell me I'm having a nightmare!
Obediently, there was a knock on the door.
Kevin jumped at the echo of his thoughts. This *is* a nightmare, he thought, and here's where I wake up and take a shower and run my hands over my abs and jerk off. Well, he'd seen it in a porn film once and it had worked then. Taking a deep breath that expanded his midsection like the balloon it now resembled, he counted to three and whipped the door open, expecting to see a witch, George W. Bush, or any other kind of ogre he could imagine that would scare him into waking up. Anything at all except what he saw.
Jake the bartender stood there, his own larger belly mirroring Kevin's new growth. He stroked his chin and looked Kevin up and down appreciatively... like a wolf. From the man's expression, Kevin expected him to be salivating. "Well, now, that took a lot shorter time to affect you than I thought it would. But I can't argue with the results. Sexy gut, boy. You blew up beautifully. Most don't, the first time. But then the gym bod must've helped somewhat. Slow metabolism, right?" He was correct, but Kevin did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it right at that moment.
I'm having a nightmare. I'm having a nightmare! It was no use; he wasn't waking up. "What have you done to me?" he yelped at the bartender, half angry and half terrified. The fear of death (death?) Kevin had so deeply ingrained was returning with a vengeance.
The bartender moved forward into the bathroom, his amusement gone, the look on his face accepting no nonsense. The room was not quite big enough for the two of them with the guts they were sporting, although four thin men could have stood in this bathroom with room to spare. The bartender's furry belly pressed into Kevin's, and it was much firmer. Kevin was pushed back into the wall, startled and a little frightened.
"I told you before," he said, and the look in his eye made Kevin feel very small despite the new belly, "that The Boss took a liking to you. And He gets what He wants. More to the point, however, you insulted one of the best customers this bar has ever had when you walked in. Nobody makes Little Tony feel second-rate like you did." Kevin vaguely remembered Brick Wall - he shook his head, Little Tony indeed!- talking to both bartenders, but hadn't expected it to lead to this. Who would?
Kevin was brought back to the present by a firm push back into the wall, which made his gut bow inward uncomfortably despite its firmness, unable to resist the outside pressure of Jake's mass. "Pay attention, boy. Listen very carefully. I know you gym rats, always looking down at a man of mass, holding your noses up like you smell something bad and trying to shave pounds off us. I've been around enough weightlifters to know what you're like. Well, some of us like it this way. I've had this gut for the past two years and I'm proud of it, and build it up bigger whenever I can. It makes the Boss happy. I like serving the Boss and making Him happy. You got it so far?" Kevin, too frightened to speak, nodded. I'm having a nightmare. It didn't sound at all convincing. "I thought you'd be sexier with a gut, and I'm glad to be proved right, but it was a pleasure making you as the big as the men that make you sick. And if I had the chance, I'd do more." Kevin was repulsed by the man's words, and frightened, but strangely pleased to hear that he was sexier this way. Ridiculous. I wonder what I look like. No! I'm having a nightmare!!
He found himself repeating to himself, "I'm having a nightmare, I'm having a nightmare" over and over, his eyes tightly shut. He knew when he opened them, he'd be in bed and probably late to the gym. He breathed in and opened his eyes.
Jake smiled at him. "Sorry, boy. You're not waking up from this one."
Kevin started babbling, frantic. "Please.. I'll do anything. I didn't mean.. I mean, I don't want to be like this. That is, this isn't what I choose. This is non-consensual! Doesn't that count? I'm sorry! I'll apologize on my hands and knees in front of the whole bar.." If there'd been room for him to get on his hands and knees right then to beg, he would have, but Jake still had him pinned. Oddly, part of him wondered why he was protesting. After all, Ted had proved more than once that he liked someone else to take control, hadn't he? He shrugged that off, but his displeasure with Ted stayed. Why had Kevin been practically ordered to come here?
Jake's expression, strangely, softened. He looked... not sympathetic, but... Kevin couldn't place it, but at least he wasn't angry now. "You want to give this up?" Jake patted both sides of Kevin's belly sphere, making it react visibly. And Kevin got a jolt he hadn't expected: it felt good. No! I don't like this! But he did. "Most do, at first, but quite often they grow into it." He laughed at his own joke, and his rumbling mass made Kevin shake too. Kevin shook his head no, mouthing the word over and over. He had a flash of a memory of his uncle, one he had misplaced, and that thought made him very, very afraid. Not yet, came a passing voice in his head. Then it was gone.
Jake's expression turned serious. "You're upset, and you should be. This was done without your knowledge or permission. I don't like nonconsensual scenes either, ever since that bastard..." He stopped entirely. Kevin's eyes narrowed. Had something happened to him at some point? He seemed angry at something, but it wasn't Kevin. "Never mind about him," he finished. Something *had* happened to him. "The point is, it was, as you said, nonconsensual. I don't like that either, but it was what The Boss wanted, and what The Boss wants, The Boss gets. Always." His tone did not reveal what he thought of that.
Kevin was collected. Not calm, but collected. "What exactly happened to me?" Collected. He focused on collected. The fear was still there, though.
Jake looked at him and glanced down at his gut pressing the man into the wall. Then, he backed away, letting Kevin breathe a little easier. His belly recoiled outward, however, and the wobble as it readjusted made him stagger forward involuntarily.
Jake steadied him with a hand, and then stood there looking at him, his expression looking like he was judging what to say, or whether to say anything at all. Finally, though, he said, "The beer you had isn't what your average bar serves. Obviously. We also don't normally serve it to our customers unless they specifically request it. Or on 'Gainer Night.' " Kevin blinked at that - Gainer? - but Jake pressed on without hesitating. "It isn't magic, kid, it's highly focused science. The chemical composition does more than just give you alcohol. There's actually very little alcohol in it." It was true; Kevin had had four of the large bottles but now felt no alcohol effect. It had dissipated rapidly. "What you had stimulates cellular growth, specifically geared toward activating and dividing fat cells in your body at an incredibly hyperaccelerated rate. There are other formulae too, that do other things, but that's what the Kilo is designed to do. The submolecular tag enters the target cell on the most available receptor site to change it in whatever specified manner the formula is structured. The Kilo is based on that principle. It causes fat cells in the body to divide as specified. In your case, it went directly into your belly. The Kilo isn't specifically designed for that; it affects everyone differently. It's a general formula. I have more specific ones that will cause that effect, or any effect, in anyone. The Kilo is a big seller around here, for a few temporary gain types or for serious gainers."
Kevin was shocked. He had a career in the health industry, and while not as knowledgeable about physiology and medicine as a doctor, he knew a few things. He hadn't realized that bioengineering had progressed so far. Moreover, he was surprised at what was a highly technical explanation. This man's vocabulary was a little wider than he had expected to hear. Absently, he stroked his gut - what he could reach - and stopped when he realized he was doing it. Jake raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. "You used that word before," Kevin said, in an effort to divert his attention. "Gainer. What is that? And how is it you're so well educated if you're a bartender? No offense," he added hastily.
Jake gave him a wry look. "None taken. You really are out of your league here, aren't you, boy, if you don't know what a gainer is. And I am well educated. Before I started here, I was..." and he trailed off. Kevin looked at curiously. Jake looked confused, like he wasn't sure how or why he was there. "I was... a junior in college, studying... no, that's not right. That was earlier. It's how I know how to make the formula..." He looked even more confused, and sounded it as well. "I was right about hyperspace. Mom was disappointed. The Boss helped me, took me in. She wore a blue and grey dress. Dr. Ting died. I graduated young..." He sounded completely disconnected, his sentences disjoint.
Kevin looked at him wide-eyed, appalled at what he was hearing, doubting the man's sanity. Then, as suddenly as it started, Jake suddenly seemed to click back into place. "None taken," he said, as though he hadn't said it a moment earlier. Kevin jumped slightly. Jake didn't seem to remember what had just happened. "You really are out of your league here, aren't you, boy, if you don't know what a gainer is. And I am well educated. I graduated from college a long time ago. That's all past now." He paused and smiled. "Guess how old I am."
Kevin looked askance at him slightly, his fear over his weight increase overridden by his fear of what this man might do unexpectedly. What had just happened? He had seemed like he was having some sort of psychotic episode or something. Kevin had very little formal training in psychology, but he had a lot of homegrown knowledge and instinct, bred from his dealing with the public for several years in his career. Jake had not faked what had just happened. "I... really couldn't say," he said carefully. Treat him gently, Kevin, he thought to himself. Don't trigger another episode like that one. Except he didn't know what had triggered it in the first place. "Maybe... thirty. Thirty-two."
Jake gave a look like he had a secret. "Close, boy, but no cigar. I'm twenty-four."
Kevin sputtered involuntarily, "You're twenty-four??" Now he really did doubt the man's sanity, even though he seemed stable now. He looked older, both in body and face. It had to be the gut. His face looked much more mature, more handsome, than any 24 year old he'd ever met. Kevin almost thought he'd had plastic surgery, but people who had plastic surgery had it to look younger, not older. At least, among his clientele they did. And it usually took much longer to build musculature such as what he sported.
"I get that all the time. Guys think I'm older, and I have to admit it doesn't hurt getting me dates with some of these guys. It also helps when The Boss sends me out to service His clients that like them big and strong but with a sloppy hole."
Kevin reacted to that information - he really didn't want to know how tight the man's hole was, or wasn't, but Jake went right on again. "A gainer is someone who deliberately puts on weight, specifically fat, in order to be bigger. It's a very popular pastime."
Hearing this, and already off-center due to Jake's episode, Kevin's mouth promptly disengaged from his brain. "Why would anyone want to..." he began, and then trailed off. Now was not the time to bring up his opinion of big-gutted men, but it was already out of his mouth.
Jake's mouth turned down again. "Here I am trying to help you, and you bring that up again. Whatever your views are, keep them to yourself until they change for the better." Kevin didn't know what that meant, but didn't have a chance to ask. "Now. I know you want out of this, and to go back to life as it was before. I could help you, but I'm not going to." Kevin's look was one of abject horror, but Jake continued. "But there's a way out, if you want it." Kevin sagged with relief. "I'm not trying to scare you, but you should be scared anyway." Kevin was already scared in several different ways, but refrained from mentioning that.
"I have said, The Boss likes you. He sometimes watches the bar from the monitors in his office. He saw what happened with Little Tony. I know He liked watching you change." Kevin was not pleased that he had been that much of a spectacle, but he hadn't been pleased with the bar watching live either. "You'll have the chance to get your old bod back. This isn't permanent, at least not yet. It can be arranged, if that's what you want." Kevin was appalled at even the suggestion and it must have showed in his face too, judging from the look that Jake gave him.
"There have been a few here and there who wanted to get so fat that they became immobile," he added in a deliberate tone. He seemed to be taunting Kevin. "And two who didn't want it," he added in an undertone to himself, so softly that Kevin thought he had imagined it. He returned to a normal voice. "The Boss usually helps them afterward. But they're happy fatboys, anyway." He smiled a slightly sardonic smile. Help? Kevin did not want to ask, though. The less I know, he thought... but then chided himself for thinking that. Look where ignorance got me in the first place. He frowned at the roundness in front of him and shifted his shoulders back to better balance himself. He'd been right; it was a chore keeping a gut. "Don't worry, Kevin, there's a way to reverse the process."
Kevin jerked even more violently than before. "How did you know my name?" he said, stunned. He hadn't mentioned it even once.
Jake looked irked with himself. He'd said too much. "In order to do it," he said, avoiding the question, "You have to see The Man himself." The capital was obvious in his voice. "The Boss likes you, boy. He wants to see you upstairs. Now."