Unfortunate Boy Becomes a Big Man
By Rider Vitalli - 2017-06-15 21:23
Man, I should have listened! I wouldn’t be in this mess had I followed the insistent orders to stay at home, do my homework and keep mow the lawn rather than I not sneaking into that party in the old abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods, just off Lake street.
I’d heard about it through some guys in my class, one of their older brother’s had mentioned the party offhandedly one night. Of course, I wasn’t invited to even go as a party crasher. I just figured I’d sneak in, have a drink or two and scram before the cops show up like they always did.
However, after lying to my parents about staying with my friend Jeremy, who I knew would vouch for me if need be and my parents trusted him as the “good influence” he is rumored to be, I took my bike up to the woods, hauling ass as fast as I could to catch up with the other crashers who’d sped by in an old beat up station wagon.
Once there, sweating a bit, I climbed the fence, hearing the loud obnoxious music pound away at the walls of the cabin, and snuck in through an open window in the back room. No one saw me enter, and no one paid any attention to me when I joined the fun. I immediately grabbed one of the cheap beers in one of many coolers around the kitchen, cracked the can and sipped. It was kind of gross to be honest, but I wanted to fit in, and so, I drank it, weaseling myself into the party where no one would notice me slinking between everyone dancing, pranking and what not.
I’d been there for what felt like an hour, had finished my first beer, and taken another, when I was noticed by the seniors who’d come to crash. “Hey dudes! Its Kenny! Fuck the little shit must’ve followed us all up here!” Devin shouted over the music, and from there I was hoisted around, teased, my shirt was ripped off, and they forced me to my knees, handing me a funnel thing as a few older guys came over with pitchers of beer.
“Little man thinks he’s cool enough to join the party! Well, here, FUNNEL TIME!” an older boy shouted, starting a chant as one of them shoved the end of the tube in my mouth, and another poured the first pitcher down the chute. I choked, as they all chanted “CHUG CHUG CHUG” The cold frothy swill going down my throat and into my grumbling stomach. I was full instantly while they poured a second half pitcher into the funnel and that too was packed into me now bubbling, distended belly.
It was at that moment we heard a gunshot from outside the front door. The music cut off, the lights turned out, and a gruff old voice hollered threats as he barged in, toting a shotgun and screaming at us all to, “Git the FUCK outta his house!”
Everyone scrambled and screamed, jumping out of windows and packing out the back and side door. Everyone except for me. I tried, I really did, but with a pitcher and a half of fizzy beer in my gut, the alcohol starting to hit me, and the panic, I had landed myself flat on my ass directly in front of the old man, who stunk of cigars and dirt and sweat. He grabbed me by my shaggy hair, raising me up to my feet inches from his face, and bellowed threats, the cops, a few shots from his gun. That is, until I involuntarily cut him off with a gut wrenching, deep, rumbling belch directly to his face.
He dropped me back on the floor, I tried to crawl toward the door, but he blocked me, giving my bloated belly a small kick, causing me to belch again. I was seeing double, begging in a slurred desperate voice to let me go.
“Oh no boy, you break into MY house, ruin MY things, think you’re man enough to drink and party like a man. No. Imma keep ya here, gonna show ya what its like ta be a man!”
And with that statement, I passed out with one last thunderous belch. Falling onto my belly as everything went black.
Apparently, from what I learned after I escaped that horrid cabin, I’d been missing for 4 months. Months in which none of the partiers squealed on each other and told anyone where I was, for fear of getting into trouble.
I spent months being forced to drink nasty beer, do heavy labor around the cabin, workout, watch stupid mind numbing sports on the TV with no cable, and repeat, day in and day out.
It was tough at first. I was in shape, but not nearly fit enough for the kinds of things he’d force me to do. And boy did I pay for it when I couldn’t complete a task. The first time I’d failed to chop all the fire wood in the pile of logs he’d trucked back from the woods, I was forced to sit at the kitchen table, wrists and ankles tied to a hard-wooden chair while he fed me. Fed me, continually, some kind of thick, chunky goop he’d made me watch as he made it. It was a grey bubbling mass of what looked like flour, powdered potatoes, a slew of different oats and grains, and some flavor packet he’d poured in last moment. It took 2hrs, but I was made to finish the entire pot, my gut gurgled and groaned, my belly button nearly popping out from the pressure behind it.
I hiccuped, begging to be done, when he brought in a can of beer, cracked it open, and demanded I wash the slop down. With my nose pinched shut, he forced me to chug it down, I heard the harsh, “POP” as my navel distended, and that was it. He left me sitting there, belching deeply for a few hours while he finished the chores I was unable to. He came back, freed my restraints, and it was off to the recliner in the living room to watch yet another football game. I was totally out of it, listing to my belly churn, the sounds of the cheering and whistles and plays in the TV, until I passed out. I learned then to never disobey, and to always finish my chores, watching almost daily as my body changed through heavy labor.
My regular dinners weren’t the nasty tasteless goop, but the man fed me hefty portions of heavy foods, meats, breads, everything that left me stuffed to bursting, groaning on the couch as another sports event was on TV, belching until I’d pass out. I noticed I was starting to get a thick layer of padding along with the beefiness he’d constantly poke and prod, judging me like a prized hog.
He even made me smoke his nasty cigars, until my body craved them despite me resilience. Waking up, I had to eat, smoke a cigar, drink a mandatory half pitcher of beer, and get to my workout, then chores. I was to smoke while I worked, and the one time he caught me without a cigar in my maw, he’d slapped a few nicotine patches on my beefy back, and tell me in a menacing tone that no one could fight that kind of dosage. He was right. I was hooked within a week, and smoking down a few nasty thick cigars a day to stave off the cravings.
He dictated what I wore, always something masculine. Wife beaters, gyms shirts, torn jeans, boxers or jockstraps, and heavy work boots or battered sneakers depending on what I was doing. Over the months, I was going through several sizes, and he was proud, calling me his big bull. I hated it, I’d always valued my size, lithe and toned, fast, and aesthetic. Now, I was a chunk of prime beef layered in a soft padding of fat.
He didn’t allow me to shower often. Maybe twice a week IF I was good. It was a reward for going above and beyond in my workouts, in my “diet” and my chores. I constantly reeked like a gym locker room, but he didn’t mind. He himself smelled of sweat, dirt, and cigar smoke. After a while, I’d gotten used to being a sweaty, smelly animal, even to the point where instead of bothering me, it turned me on. He shaved my shaggy “pretty boy” head down to stubble, growling about how there’s too many girly boys out there. I’d lost what he called my, “pansy ass body” and “pretty boy looks” replaced by a heavy, fat covered mountain of muscle, my gut slightly rounded underneath heavy pecs. Arms large, but slightly soft from all of the fattening, thick foods and the ever-present beer, which was the only thing he’d allow me to drink.
Finally, I managed to escape! He’d just finished having me eat a massive lunch, chugging my mandatory half gallon of nasty beer, when he left to do some hunting. At first, I sat on the couch, rubbing my gut, burping while another football game rambled on, before I realized this was the first time he’d left me really alone in the house.
I went straight for the back door, and, with my now brutish build bulk, I broke it open, and hauled ass as quickly as I could, gut gurgling the whole way, until I got back to town. I was sweating like a hog when I got to my parents’ house, wearing a stained tanktop, dirty gym shorts and sneakers. Of course, they didn’t believe it was me at first, until I told them all kinds of things only I’d know.
I tried to report everything, the cops took down my story, promising to follow up on the details. Apparently, they searched the woods and the cabin, found no trace of the old man, and everyone I’d ratted on from the original party stuck to their story, pretending it didn’t happen.
As for me now, I’m still hopelessly addicted to these shitty cigars, and, despite trying to stop, I can’t help but enjoy an ice cold beer with every meal. I never managed to lose the hefty poundage that old man had packed onto me, I still smell like a brute even with more showers, but hey, I was now the biggest senior in my class, and I’ll play a mean Linebacker since the state college offered me a full ride to pummel the opposition on the field after graduation!