Originally published January 4, 2016.
Contains: instant weight gain.
This was inspired by a post by tcbellygainer on Grommr, where he said, “I have a great role play idea.. the dad who doesn’t believe in santa, and so eats the cookies left by his kids for Santa.. and as his punishment, the cookies make him gain 200 pounds of belly fat over night.” He then added, “…maybe it involves a fat hairy elf. one of Santa’s emissaries for teaching a lesson to those who don’t believe and infringe on the others’ belief in Santa. Big hairy elf shows up.. puts a magic spell on the cookies that he knows the dad is going to eat…” The idea inspired me, and though I took some liberties with the details to make it more my own (he doesn’t quite gain 200 pounds), I had to write it. Enjoy!
Rod and Tom had just finished opening Christmas Eve presents with their daughter, Eva. The two had given each other their usual practical gifts–a new work shirt for Tom and a new cookbook for Rod–while Eva got to open a crystal growing kit, one Rod had to convince her to wait until the next day to try out. “You should be getting to bed, hun,” he told her. “It’s getting late.”
“But I wanna stay up and wait for Santa!” she protested.
“Mmm, maybe when you’re older, Eva,” Tom reassured her. “You don’t want to be sleeping through tomorrow with all your aunts and uncles and cousins visiting, do you?”
“Mmm, I guess not,” she said in the precocious sort of voice that she put on when she knew it was what she was supposed to say, even if she didn’t especially mean it.
“Come on, hun. Why don’t we go get the milk and cookies for Santa?” Rod asked.
Eva’s eye’s lit up. “Okay!” The little one bounded to the kitchen as Rod followed after her. Tom shook his head as he stayed behind to clean up the wrapping paper. Eva was seven years old, and he thought that was too old for her to keep believing in Santa. Though he’d never been keen on the idea of raising her to believe in Saint Nick in the first place, every year, Rod convinced him to keep letting her believe until she found out on her own. So once again, she brought the milk and cookies into the living room that Tom would eat after she’d gone to bed.
Rod had baked cookies fresh this year for the family gathering they were going to on Christmas Day. The ones he’d chosen for Eva to leave as a treat for Santa were some chocolate chip cookies almost as wide as one of Tom’s palms, with about a dozen laid out on the plate. Eva needed both hands to carry the cookies, which she brought in with Rod following behind her with the glass of milk. Tom looked at the plate before looking at Rod with raised eyebrows. Rod smiled and cocked his head like he was giggling before silently mouthing, “You’re welcome.”
Rod was a fantastic cook, and as a consequence of being married to him, Tom had put on a noticable amount of weight. Starting out only somewhat pudgy when they first met, Tom had grown a round belly the width of a beach ball that hung out over his belt. That was part of why Rod had gotten him new work clothes for Christmas: his old ones were getting tight.
Rod certainly didn’t seem to mind. He always found a way to put a positive spin on it: Tom’s belly was just token of appreciation for Rod’s cooking, he liked to say, and his rounded face gave his beard a better foundation. Tom had suspected Rod was overfeeding him intentionally, as he never shied away from embracing Tom’s squishier parts when they made love. But he didn’t mind; he loved Rod’s cooking too much to say no to his generous portions, and anything that made his husband happy made him happy too.
That was part of why he held his tongue as Rod kept telling Eva about Santa every Christmas. He knew it made him happy to share in some of the holiday magic with their daughter, and he wasn’t going to deny either of them that. But Tom couldn’t help but worry about the disappointment she’d feel when she’d find out. Some of Eva’s cousins had entered middle school, so Tom wondered if they’d let it slip at the family get-together tomorrow. Either way, he let his daughter and his husband have this little moment before he sent her off to brush her teeth.
Rod watched Eva turn the corner before turning around to smile at Tom. “Tomorrow will be fun, right?”
“I’m sure it will,” Tom replied, surprised Rod had any doubt about it.
“I’m just… worried about whether your family will like me.”
Tom chuckled and put his hands on Rod’s shoulders. In his comforting baritone, he reassured Rod, “I don’t think you have to worry about that. It was your idea to head out at 11:00 so you could help my mom cook. She already loves you for that, and if she likes you, the rest will follow suit.”
Rod’s worried eyes meandered to the side. “I sure hope so.”
“Hey.” Rod looked back at Tom. “It’ll be fine. Mom told me she conveniently forgot to invite anyone who won’t be okay with her son bringing a son-in-law around.”
Rod looked back with eyebrows raised in surprise, before smiling and putting his hands over Tom’s hands. “That’s a relief.”
Tom leaned in for a kiss, which Rod happily returned. “I’ll go take care of the dishes. You should go to bed too. You’ll want to be well-rested tomorrow if you’re going to keep up with my mom.”
Rod chuckled and smiled back with lowered eyelids. “I know how to hold my own in a frenzied kitchen… but you’re probably right.” he added before leaning in for one more kiss.
Tom sat on the chair by the Christmas tree and watched the crackling fire in the fireplace, listening for when Eva would go to bed. Rod had really outdone himself this year, making a dozen different kinds of cookies for the family gathering. If the cookies were as good as they looked, Tom couldn’t wait to try more the next day. He just had to wait for his daughter to go to bed before he could try the ones she’d left for Santa
Hearing the bathroom door open and Eva’s little footsteps making their way out, Tom reached for one of the cookies. They were still warm, for Rod had baked the chocolate chip cookies last. Tom smiled and nearly put the cookie in his mouth before he heard a little voice shout, “Daddy! Those are for Santa!”
Eva was standing by the entrance to the living room, her arms crossed defiantly. Her young face bore a mix of anger and disappointment.
“Well, Eva, dear, uh… well, you see–”
“Tom!” Rod’s voice called out from the other room, before he rounded the corner, still buttoning up his pajama shirt. “Don’t tell me you’re eating the cookies for Santa,” he said in a tone that left Tom unsure whether he was feigning his disappointment.
Tom looked from his husband back to his daughter before he nodded with pursed lips and put the cookie back down. “You’re right. Sorry, dear. I must have forgotten.”
“Well, don’t forget again!” Eva commanded before she turned back to her bedroom.
Rod watched her go before walking up to Tom. In a curt whisper, he said, “You could have at least waited until she went to bed.”
“I thought she had!” Tom whispered in his defense.
Rod nodded. Hearing Eva’s bedroom door close, he told Tom, “There’s your cue. I’ll go make sure she goes to sleep.”
“Hey, Rod,” Tom said before he could leave. “Do you… really think we should still be telling her about–” He lowered his voice to a whisper again. “–Santa and all that? I mean, she’s seven. Don’t you think the kids at school are going to make fun of her for it?”
Rod sighed and looked down before meeting Tom’s gaze again. “Look, I know it might seem silly to keep letting her think Saint Nick brings those presents, but my parents never even let me believe in Santa–”
“I know, I know,” Tom interrupted before Rod could finish the story he’d heard so many times before. “I’m sorry. I’ll…” He paused with a sigh. “I’ll wait until her lights are out before I eat any.”
That brought a smile to Rod’s face. “Thanks, Tom.” Rod turned back toward Eva’s bedroom as Tom followed him into the kitchen to do the dishes.
Ernest the elf slid down Rod and Tom’s chimney, deftly flipping over the fire so it didn’t singe his suit. As one of Santa’s emissaries, his job was to intervene in cases where someone was infringing on a child’s belief in Santa Claus. Looking around, he saw the milk and cookies laid out for Santa, as well a new shirt in a box left on the arm of the chair. He saw Tom in the kitchen doing dishes and hid behind the chair to watch.
Rod walked in behind Tom and hugged him from behind. “Eva’s asleep,” he whispered in his ear. “It’s safe for you to eat those cookies now.”
Tom chuckled before replying, “Finally.” He put the last dish in the dish rack before turning to give his husband a kiss goodnight. “Don’t want them to go to waste.”
Ernest didn’t have much time to hang around. Christmas Eve, ironically, was one of his busiest days. He was going to have to resort to teaching Tom a lesson about the power of Santa’s magic the hard way. With a wag of his finger, a stream of golden sparks shot from his hand towards the cookies, which glowed before quickly dimming down again. He dashed towards the fireplace and bounded back up the chimney before he could be caught. After he popped out on their roof, he teased, “Let’s see how that shirt fits you tomorrow,” before dashing off to where he was needed next.
Tom strolled back into the living room and sat back down to enjoy the cookies. He turned the lights off as he came in, wanting to watch the waning fire in the dark. He was careful to sit down quietly, lest Eva hear him again. He picked up one of the cookies and took a bite.
He would have let out an audible “Mmm” if he weren’t trying to be quiet. Rod had outdone himself this year, and the fact that they were still warm made them even better. They were moist and soft on the inside, while the outside provided a satisfying crunch as he bit into it. The chocolate chips were still gooey, and perfectly spaced out over the cookie. He chased the cookie with a sip of milk before eagerly reaching for another. He stayed up savoring each one, enjoying every bite, until they all disappeared into his mouth. The last one was followed by his last sip of milk from the glass, as the clock on the mantle struck midnight.
Merry Christmas, Tom thought as the second hand passed the 12. He leaned forward to get up, only for the lump in his stomach to push back against him. He fell back in his chair with a chuckle at how full all the cookies and milk had left him. Rod never skimped on the butter and sugar when making desserts. He strained again, this time successfully getting himself off the chair. As usual, he left the glass and plate on the table for Eva to find in the morning.
But as Tom walked toward the closet to get the presents off of the top shelf, he found himself rocking back and forth as he walked, his balance not quite what it should have been. I didn’t drink that much wine tonight, he thought to himself, having only had a glass with dinner and another as he did the dishes. Must just be a food coma or something. That was quite the full-flavored diner Rod made, and the cookies weren’t exactly light fare either. Tom had steadied his step by the time he reached the closet, pulling out the first few presents to put under the tree.
But with each trip, he found walking more difficult, his stuffed stomach seemingly putting up more resistance every time he tried to bend down to slip the presents under the tree. He didn’t give it much thought, as tired as he was. But by the time he brought the last few presents over, he could scarcely even bend over to put them down. Just wanting to go to bed, he leaned to the side to bring them down as close to the ground as he could before dropping them.
Tom stumbled to the bathroom to get ready for bed, feeling as if he’d stayed up hours later than he had. He swayed with every step, as if he couldn’t even move the weight of his own body. I’ll be glad when I can finally get to bed, he told himself, sure that he could sleep off whatever was ailing him.
Tom fumbled for the light switch in the dark and turned it on, rubbing his eyes before looking in the mirror as his sight came back into focus. And what a sight he was greeted with. His belly had swollen nearly a foot in all directions, giving him a gut the width of a yoga ball. His pajama pants had stretched with him, but his shirt, previously just a little snug, had now ridden up his belly and was bunched up on top of his gut. He looked like he’d put on over 100 pounds in the last few minutes alone.
Tom had to stare in the mirror for a minute to believe what he was seeing. After some dumbfounded gaping, he turned his abdomen back and forth, as if it was some optical illusion that would be revealed with a different angle. But the reflection of his stubborn stomach didn’t shrink. Tom finally looked down, only to confirm that what the mirror was showing him was accurate. He tried to pull his shirt down over his expanded belly, only to find it didn’t even come close to going around his midsection.
I definitely wasn’t this big when I sat down, Tom tried to reason with himself. Maybe it’s… bloating from the cookies? Or food poisoning? Tom stared confusedly in the mirror as his hands fell from the hem of his ill-fitting shirt to glide over his belly. He still could barely believe what his senses were telling him, that his gut was indeed that much bigger. How would that happen so quickly, though? And how did I not feel it before?
Tom grew less shy about feeling his newly fattened self and starting caressing his belly over more curiously. Rather than feeling tight as a drum as a bloated belly would, his stomach felt soft and supple beneath his hands, as if it were all fat he’d put on over the course of several years, not some temporary state of intestinal distress forcing out his belly. He reached his arms under his gut, finding he couldn’t reach far enough for his hands to meet, and lifted it up. Though the weight of it was hard for him to move, it bounced as he pulled it up, rather than barely budging like it did on the nights when he’d overindulged. He might have believed looking like this on his golden anniversary, but not tonight.
Tom stepped back and took it all in. He saw that his arms had fleshed out too, watching how their new padding moved as he rubbed his gut. Though his chin was obscured by his beard, his cheeks had undeniably puffed out. Lifting his shirt up, he saw that his once burly chest had protruded forward like his gut, giving each pec it own bounce. As hard as it was to believe, this was all him. This was what he looked like now, and it wasn’t going to go away if he tried to sleep it off.
Tom gently patted the side of his gut, watching in the mirror as the ripple traveled across it. As he switched from patting to rubbing, a contented smile slowly spread across his face. This isn’t so bad, he thought, gently caressing the ample flesh beneath his hand. It was warm and soft, and he liked the way it moved in his grasp, the surface yielding to his touch while the mass of it refused to be moved. His beard had fluffed out over his rounded chin, making it look even fuller than before. Yeah, I could get used to this. I’m sure Rod will. I just hope there are clothing stores open tomorrow. I can’t show up to family dinner looking like this, he thought as he tried in vain to pull his shirt down again.
At that, Tom heard a noise come from above, sounding like sleigh bells on the roof. He wouldn’t have believed his ears on any other Christmas, but his new size had left him somewhat more open-minded to the unbelievable. When he heard the sleigh bells fly away, his curiousity got the best of him. He turned off the light in the bathroom and walked over to the living room. Now that he was cognizant of his new size, he could enjoy the way his girth moved as he walked. Each step sent a little ripple up his belly, giving it a nice bounce as he moved. His brawny arms swung beside him, moving more smoothly than they did before now that they had more to balance.
One Tom reached the living room, he turned on the lights. Nothing seemed off at first, until he realized the shirt he’d opened that night and the box it came in had both grown substantially. He walked over and picked it up to try it on, finding it buttoned over his ballooned belly just fine. Looking down at the tree, he saw that some of the presents Rod had gotten him and labeled as being “from Santa” were also bigger than they were before. They were all in the shape of boxes from a clothing store. The tags were written in a cursive handwriting more clean than Rod’s, and the paper was wrapped more nicely than he could usually manage.
Tom smiled and took off the shirt, folding it and putting it back in the box before he turned toward his and Rod’s bedroom, turning off the lights as he went. When he got in the bedroom, he tossed his old shirt in the laundry hamper, postponing deciding what to do with it until tomorrow. Rod was already asleep, facing away from where Tom slept. Tom lay on the bed, feeling it bend more than usual under his new heft. Rod must have felt it too, for when Tom lay down next to him, he sleepily turned over and put his arms around Tom.
Tom was nervous about what Rod would think if he realized something was off and woke up, but his dozing husband only let out a contented “Mmm” and kept sleeping, his arm settling in the crook between Tom’s chest and his belly. Looking down, Tom saw his belly bulge up into his view from behind Rod’s arm, which rose as fell with Tom’s breathing. But Rod didn’t seem to notice Tom’s new girth, sleeping soundly through it all. Relieved, Tom wrapped his beefy arms around Rod and settled in to sleep as well.
As he lay in bed, Tom considered his predicament. He knew he’d have to find a way to explain his sudden weight gain to Rod, his friends, and his coworkers. His family might be easier to placate; he came from an Italian family, where heft was never seen as a bad thing. None of them had seen him in a long time, since they’d spent last Christmas with Rod’s family and the past two Thanksgivings with friends, so he might be able to convince them he gained all that weight in a couple of years.
But he knew Eva would be the easiest to explain it too. All he’d have to say is that he and Rod were extra good this year, and Santa gave them exactly what they both wanted. At this point, Tom was willing to believe that only the part about him being good was stretching the truth.
3 thoughts on “The Cookies for Santa”