Originally published March 15, 2018.
Contains: accelerated weight gain, behind-the-scenes encouraging, personality transformation.
About a year ago, I posted a Saint Patrick’s Day themed story called The Bottomless Brew. In that story, a consistent problem customer at a bar ends up with his beer mug charmed by a real-life leprechaun, so it never runs out, never gets him drunk, and makes him fatter, without him knowing. This year, I wanted to write a story for Saint Patrick’s Day again, and I also wanted to write a story where a guy becomes more confident as he gains weight. The result is the return of that leprechaun to the same bar to help a different fellow with a different sort of problem.
Which I suppose technically makes this a sequel to The Bottomless Brew. Now, I’ve said before that sequels are something I don’t write. But to me, it’s less a sequel and more another story in that universe, the way Getting Fat on Conjured Food took place in the same universe as A Potion Fit for a Champion, but Getting Fat on Conjured Food is telling a different story from A Potion Fit for a Champion. As such, you can enjoy this story without reading the original The Bottomless Brew first, although you’ll miss the callbacks to the original.
Synopsis; Steve is a shy fellow who comes to the bar after work to drink a non-alcoholic beer and relax. One night, he arrives at the bar and spots an extremely handsome fellow, whom he doesn’t have nearly the courage to go up and talk to. Unbeknownst to him, the little man who sits next to him charms his beer to never run out, and to make him more confident (and fatter) as he drinks. And with the pounds piling on, talking to the apple of his eyes seems less and less daunting…
It was Tuesday night, and Steve had made his way to The Old Spot to try to decompress after another stressful day at work. He preferred the pub on its off nights, when there weren’t a whole lot of people to have to push through and there wasn’t a lot of noise to have to contend with. But it seemed that Tuesday had attracted a larger attendance than usual, and Steve found himself having to push his way through the crowd to get to the bar. With his lanky frame, people weren’t exactly inclined to move out of his way when they saw him coming.
But Steve felt a little more hopeful about that night when he got to the bar and saw not just one empty seat, but two next to each other. He took the one farther from the wall, trying to act like less of a recluse. Once he took his seat, he leaned over with his forearms on the bar, hunched his shoulders, and looked down, with only occasional upward glances to try to get the bartender’s attention.
Thankfully, after that many visits, Connor seemed to have gotten to know Steve well enough to know that he had to check in on him, rather than expecting him to call for attention. Steve smiled when he saw Connor walk over, straightening his back a bit to look the man in the eye.
“Hey, Steve. The usual?”
“The usual,” Steve repeated, referring to the non-alcoholic draft he always ordered to have something to sip on and try to fit in. Then again, he had a feeling he’d never fit with the bar crowd if he wasn’t willing to get at least a little drunk.
As Connor walked off to pour Steve’s drink, Steve let his eyes scan the crowd. It was usually made up of a pretty average group of people, with a decent variety of ages above the legal limit and folks who looked like they came from all walks of life. Steve often saw at least a few pieces of eye candy in The Old Spot, but rarely any that really blew him away. That night was one of those rare nights.
Standing just behind the folks seated across the bar was a man who immediately caught Steve’s eyes and wouldn’t let it go. He stood chatting casually with some of the other bar goers, his toothy smile, which stood out all the more against his dark skin, displaying an easygoing confidence that Steve found irresistibly attractive. A stripe of his coily hair going down the center of his head seemed to have been dyed pink, though it had now faded to a peach color. Looking down, Steve saw the defined, muscular arms of someone who spent a lot of time in the gym, or maybe had a job that required him to lift things. Gazing a bit farther down revealed a beach ball sized belly that his pink tank top could barely contain. And once the man turned a bit more in Steve’s direction, he could see that the tank top said, “Yes fats, yes femmes.”
Steve wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in that man’s burly arms, hugged from the back, so he could feel the man’s wondrous belly settle into the curve of his back. The very thought had him so enraptured that he completely ignored Connor bringing him his drink, not even taking a sip. Imagining what it would be like for that man to get his arms on him, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, and eventually plant his lips on Steve’s, was way more appealing.
“Ah, one seat available. Just my luck!” The words were carried to Steve’s ears on a thick Irish accent, and soon he saw a short man in a green sweatshirt and green knit cap take the seat next to him. The man’s beard was jet black, though Steve could see tufts of red hair sticking out from under his hat. “How’s it goin’, laddy?” the man asked.
Steve looked up and soon realized there was no one in front of them, and the woman to the short man’s right was probably not the “laddy” he was asking the question. “Y–you mean me?”
“O’ course I mean ye. What’s going on in yer world?”
“Oh, you know, just… relaxing after work… enjoying the view.” Steve could feel his voice slip into a disgustingly lovestruck timbre as he said it, but he didn’t care.
“Pink shirt and peach hair?” the short man asked.
“That’s the one,” Steve cooed.
“So go talk to him.”
At that suggestion, Steve froze, his eyes opening extra wide, not to better take in the image in front of him, but out of fear.
“Ah, okay, it’s like that,” the short man observed, sounding like he’d just solved a riddle.
“Like what?”
With a chuckle, the short man said, “Oh, I don’t have to explain yer own hesitations to ye, lad.”
At that, Steve could only look away from the man and stare straight ahead, where he saw Connor approaching them. Once he got close, he looked at the short man and said, “You!”
Connor hadn’t seen the magic man in months, not since he charmed Pete’s stout to turn Connor’s most consistent problem customer into a man who’s mountainous belly gave him so much body mass that he couldn’t get drunk enough to be a problem anymore. It had overall been a positive visit, but the uncertainty of dealing with a man who seemed genuinely magical still had him worried about what they might be in for that night. So it was only natural that he responded to the man’s presence with a surprised, “You!”
“Happy to see me again?” the man asked with a mischievous tone.
“Well, I know things will be interesting tonight.”
At that, Steve seemed to look visibly uncomfortable, and slinked away from his seat to use the restroom “Aww, ye scared the poor lad away.”
“He’ll be back. I didn’t think I’d say the same thing about you.”
“And why’s that?”
“Well, that first night you came was so surreal that I was sure I had to have half-imagined it. The last thing I expected was concrete evidence that I didn’t make it up.”
“Heh, my magic was that unbelievable for ye, eh?”
“Speaking of which, did you curse anyone’s drinks tonight?” “No, but I think our friend here could use a bit of help.” Before Connor could object, the familiar stream of golden sparks shot from the man’s fingers and wrapped around Steve’s beer, before settling down around the bottom and fading from sight.
“Hey, hey, what do you gotta do that for? Steve’s a good guy . What did he do to you?”
“Oh nothing. Seems sweet, just a bit shy.”
“So why are you punishing him like you did Pete?”
“Oh it’s not a punishment, lad! No, our friend here needs that exact opposite treatment that pushy Pete did. Pete needed something that would bring him down a notch, but he needs some of that liquid courage in a very literal way, without the drunkenness to make him make a fool of himself.”
“And that’s what your spell is going to give him?”
“Ay. That and a belly.”
“Does all of your magic make those affected fatter.”
“Nah, but isn’t it so much more fun that way?”
“What about his clothes?”
“Those’ll grow with him. Like I said, it’s not a punishment, lad.”
With a pensive look, Connor considered whether he could let the short man go ahead with transforming Steve. Pete was such a consistent problem that Connor was willing to look away as the man transformed him, but Steve didn’t deserve the same negligence. “What does he need the courage for?
“To talk to the apple o’ his eye.”
“And who’s that?”
“Peach fuzz over there.”
Looking behind himself, Connor quickly picked out the man the in question, and saw his hefty belly. If that was what Steve went for, maybe he wouldn’t mind being on the bigger side.
“Will his beer being non-alcoholic affect the magic?”
“That would explain why some of it didn’t seem ta take. But no, it shouldn’t.”
With a nod, Connor decided he was willing to let this play out and see what happened. “So how about for you? Irish coffee?”
“What, because o’ the accent?” the man asked angrily.
“No, because that’s what you got last time.”
“Oh… well, yes, that does sound good. You remember my order from last time?”
“Hard to forget someone who tips you in gold coins.”
“How’d those work for you? I’m afraid I don’t cary standard currency.”
“Well, after I traded them in for cash, it turned into more than enough to cover your bill, and leave a very generous tip for me. I used it to take my entire team out for a nice dinner.”
“There’s a good man. Spread the wealth.”
With a smile, Connor said, “I’ll go make that Irish coffee,” and walked off.
Once Steve returned from the bathroom, he could still see his heartthrob standing by the center of the bar. Keeping his eyes on the man, he started nervously chugging his non-alcoholic beer. He didn’t keep track of just how much he drank, but when he finally came up for air and looked down, he saw that he’d barely made a dent in it. Maybe his nerves had him thinking he’d drunk it for longer than he really had. Either way, he felt a little bit better, even though there wasn’t any alcohol in the drink to calm him down. Perhaps just the act of taking back a swig was all it took to make him feel better. It would certainly explain why he kept coming back to The Old Spot after those stressful days at work.
But perhaps he should have been cutting back. A deep belch caused Steve’s stomach to reverberate, make it bounce and reminding him that even beer without alcohol still had calories. All those nights at The Old Spot seemed to be adding up, and Steve’s body had grown a belly. For now, it jutted out from his otherwise skinny frame like a pillow stuffed under his shirt, but it was an unmistakable reminder that he could avoid getting drunk and still grow.
But as his growling stomach reminded him, he still had to eat. When Connor came around again, Steve asked for an order of chicken fingers, which Connor promised would be out soon. All the while, Steve did his best to subtly rub his belly, something he hadn’t considered much until that night. He liked a guy with a little meat on his bones, and he loved a guy with a lot, so he didn’t mind that he was putting on a bit of weight in theory. In practice, he just wished it could be as big and round as that of the Adonis he was admiring from across the bar.
Steve’s ruminations were soon interrupted by Connor bringing over not just a plate of chicken fingers, but also fries. “There was a mixup in the kitchen and they made more fries than we needed. Since they’re just going to go cold anyway if we don’t give them to someone, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I paired them with your chicken fingers.”
Though Steve had intended to have just a small bite, at the end of the day he’d had, he knew the salted and peppered and perfectly cut and crispy fries would hit the spot. “I’ll make sure they don’t go to waste,” Steve assured Connor with a smile, before taking a bite of one. They were just as good as he expected, but the chicken fingers were what he was really looking forward to. Picking out the perfect one, he took a bite, and was greeted by that wonderful taste he was waiting for. He didn’t know how The Old Spot did it, but their chicken fingers were the best in the area: crispy breading that wasn’t greasy or soggy, with chicken that was both juicy and greasy in perfect balance and cooked to perfection, never too chewy and with nary a gristle in sight.
Of course, Steve washed down his meal with his beer, as a meal that salty left him at least a little parched. By the time he finished the plate, he was surprised to see his mug still mostly full. But looking at the size of the glass mug Connor had given him, he supposed it wasn’t that unbelievable that had so much left.
But the beer wasn’t the only thing contributing to his expanding waistline, and looking down, Steve was given a stern reminder of that. All those beers and all that bar food were starting to accumulate on him in a way that went beyond the so-called “dad bod” and had turned into a real belly. On the one hand, it was exciting that he was getting bigger, becoming more like the men he admired. On the other hand, he wondered if fried food and beer were the healthiest way to become bigger.
But when Steve looked up and saw the man with the peach-colored hair, it didn’t matter. Sure, his belly wasn’t quite as big as that of his heartthrob’s, more the size and shape of an over-inflated soccer ball. But a shirt like “Yes fats, yes femmes” had to indicated an open mind. Maybe, Steve thought, maybe he just might have a chance with the guy.
But he wasn’t sure enough to give it a shot. With a sigh, he took a long swig of his beer and wished he were a braver man.
“You liked it?”
“Of course,” Steve confirmed. “How could I not? You make the best chicken fingers in the area.”
“Have ye tried the shepherd’s pie, lad?” the short man asked.
“Can’t say I have.”
“Oh!, ye ought ta. Talk about the best in the area. Takes me right back to home.”
“That good, huh?” Steve asked, looking to Connor.
“Well, not to brag, but I do use a recipe passed down from my grandmother to me, so it’s certainly above average. And we don’t skimp on the meat,” Connor said with a proud grin.
“Alright. Let’s give it a try.”
Connor gave Steve a nod and took the empty plate, making room for the delicacy that would soon take its place. It didn’t take as long as Steve expected, and soon he had a crock bowl covered with the mashed potato crust baked perfectly, the tips a nice golden brown as the rest looked a delectable white. Dipping his fork into the top first, Steve was surprised to find how delicious the mashed potatoes were. He could tell The Old Spot put plenty of butter in their recipe. And by the time he got down to the filling, it tasted more like meat with vegetables added for texture than it did like a medley of the two. In other words, Steve thought it was perfect, and wolfed it down as he kept nursing his beer.
By the time he was done with his pie, Steve still had about two thirds of the beer left. At least it looked liked two thirds at first; with most of the foam having settled and most of the volume that remained being taken up by beer, it looked like there was even more than that. After all, he was good at nursing a single beer for one night. He wondered why he didn’t try the alcoholic beers if he was going to drink that responsibly anyways. Then he caught a whiff of someone else’s draft and remembered exactly why he didn’t drink the hard stuff.
But he didn’t need to drink heavily to maintain his figure. Two whole meals into the night, it was pretty clear how he’d ended up with a belly the same size as that of the guy he’d been eyeing the whole night. His own beach-ball sized belly pushed his legs aside as he leaned over on the bar, eyeing the other patrons around him. But as he interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on them, supporting his head with his burly arms, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the “Yes fats, yes femmes” fellow. They were about the same size, and Steve thought that maybe he stood a chance. He just had to work up the nerve to talk to him.
Maybe, Steve thought, some more food could calm his nerves. Looking over to Connor, Steve got his attention with a wave and beckoned him closer. “Say Connor, what are some other stand-outs on this menu that I’ve never tried before?”
“You know, everyone always tells me the pizza is better than they expected, not just great for bar pizza, but great period.”
Looking through the selection, Steve immediately gravitated to one in particular: “I’ll have the meat lover’s, with extra cheese.”
“Certainly,” Connor replied, heading off to put the order in.
As Steve waited for his food, he sipped pretty heavily from his drink as he kept eying the man with peach hair. He knew the only thing stopping him from going up and talking to him was himself. What’s the worst that could happen?, he tried asking himself. He doesn’t want to talk to you? Then you’ll be in the same exact position you’re in now, except without wondering “what if?” You have nothing to lose and, well, plenty to gain.. Objectively, Steve knew he was right. But it was a lot easier to get him to work up the nerve in theory than in practice. It was that challenge that had him drinking from his mug more heavily than ever.
Or so Steve thought. But as he saw his pizza coming from the kitchen, he took a look at his mug and saw that it was just over half full. It seemed he was doing a better than usual job at nursing his beer that night instead of gulping it down. After all, most nights he drank quite a lot of it. And his truck-tire-sized belly served as a reminder that the thing that made beer fattening–calories and carbonation stretching out the stomach–were not exclusive to the alcoholic kinds.
Not that Steve minded being such a big guy. He’d always found bigger guys attractive, and having a good amount of heft on himself just made him smile even more when he looked in the mirror. In fact, when he looked at the wall behind the bar and looked into the mirror that made the room seem bigger than it was, he could see himself staring back at him, and was pretty happy with what he saw. Though his arms had the brawny shape of someone who carried logs for a living and needed the extra padding provided by fat, his wide face made him look much more approachable.
Really, he was starting to wonder why he had any doubt that the man in the pink shirt would take a liking to him. Looking his way, Steve instinctively leaned over to put his left forearm on the bar and his right elbow in his left hand as his right hand held up his chin, supporting him as he gazed wistfully at the man across the bar. But before he could reach, his belly bumped into the bar, pushing him back well before his arms could come to a rest. The bounce left Steve a little surprised, before he wondered how his large, rounded belly hadn’t broken him of that habit already.
“One meat-lover’s pizza with extra cheese,” Connor said as he put the tray down. To Steve’s surprise, in spite of being listed in the appetizers section, the pizza was big enough feed at least two people, with the meat and extra cheese making it even more filling. But for a big guy like him, it was still a manageable size. Whether it was manageable after eating two other entrées remained to be seen, but it looked so delectable that Steve had no doubt he could finish the whole thing.
And once he took the first bite, that certainty was only confirmed. On top of a nice, crisp crust with a spicy sauce lay various kind of meat in all their greasy deliciousness, drenched by the deluge of melted cheese. It was exactly what Steve was hoping for, and the second slice disappeared almost as quickly as the first. All the while, Steve was chasing his bites of pizza with gulps of beer, sure that this time, he would finally run out and and have to ask for another.
And yet, by the time the last bite of the last slice slid its was down Steve’s greedy gullet, he still had well over a third of the brew left. Going easy on the beer must have been why he didn’t feel especially full, even after three meals, one of which was big enough for two people. Of course, for a man his size, eating that much wasn’t exactly out of character.
After all, Steve had a belly the size of a bean bag chair to fill. And even with all the food inside stretching the top taut as could be, the bottom still sunk between his legs, pushing even his massive thighs apart with its weight alone. They might have been strong enough to hold his belly up when he stood, but they weren’t strong enough to hold up against its weight sitting on top of them without splitting apart. And his thighs weren’t the only thing his belly was pushing around. With so much belly between Steve and the bar, he had to lean back on the stool to stay seated. Of course, leaning back like that only emphasized his monumental girth, as his gut jutted out into whatever space it could get.
As Steve leaned back with his head held high, he caught a glimpse of the “Yes fats, yes femmes” fellow and couldn’t figure out why he’d spent so much of the night admiring him from afar and not talking to him. It was time he do something about that. Beckoning Connor over, he asked for the check, which he quickly paid. He didn’t want anything to come between him and going home with that man if he should be so lucky.
With a grunt, Steve pushed himself off of his stool to stand on his thick legs. It took him a moment to regain his balance, as if he weren’t used to his own weight. But Steve was a seasoned giant, and he knew how to walk with such a massive belly and flabby frame: back arched, arms wide and swinging, legs taking shorter steps than average. And that’s how he walked across the pub that night, his brawny arms swinging wider than they had to to give him an air of control over himself. Though his belly remained steadfast as he walked, his ample chest was more free, bouncing just a bit as his heavy feet hit the ground. And his warm, confident expression was framed by two pillowy cheeks, from which hung a ring of fat on his chin that was framed by his closely trimmed beard. He was a catch, and he knew it.
And it was just his luck that as he approached the handsome man with the peach hair, the “Yes fats, yes femmes” shirt, and the cute ball belly, he happened to be on his own instead of talking with some other bar goers. Standing behind those seated at the bar, he stood with a bottle in hand as his eyes scanned the room. His modest smile conveyed that he seemed comfortable in his solitude, but it wasn’t quite wide enough to indicate that he enjoyed not having anyone to talk to. His eyelids drooped ever so slightly, befitting of someone who was starting to grow weary of the festivities and was ready to go home.
That was until the crowd parted enough for him to see Steve. Then the man’s gaze was immediately drawn to Steve, his eyes tilting down at Steve’s gargantuan gut. There they stayed locked, unable to look away until his mouth was sufficiently agape. Once the man could look up, Steve was looking back at him with a smile on his face. “I might not be very femme, but maybe you’ll say yes to me anyway?”
Looking down with his mouth cracked open, the man let out a deep chuckle, before he raised his head to look at Steve with his neck tilted to the side. “A big guy like you?” he asked with a deep, self-assured voice. “How could I not?” Extending his hand, he finally greeted Steve: “I’m Marcus.”
“Marcus,” Steve repeated as he extended a flabby hand in greeting, sticking his brawny arm out as far as he could over his gargantuan belly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Steve.”
“Likewise, Steve. Now the question is, how have I not noticed you before now? I’ve been eying this crowd for handsome man like yourself the whole night, but somehow I missed you.”
“Mmm, that’s a good question.” After looking out over all the folks standing around The Old Spot, Steve turned back to Marcus and remarked, “I suppose it’s easy for someone to get lost in a crowd like this, even a guy like me.” With his last remark, Steve grabbed his belly with one hand and tried lifting it, before soon finding he needed the strength of both arms to heave it up. Instead, he arched his back to give his gut some extra girth and patted it with his hand.
Marcus’s eyes opened even wider than they had when he first spotted Steve, but his mouth was confidently contorted in an open-mouth smirk. “I suppose the crowd really can swallow any of us. Maybe we could go somewhere a bit less crowded,” Steve suggested coyly, keeping his smile inviting but appropriate, lest he overstep his bounds.
“Somewhere like your place?”
With eyebrows raised and a toothy smile of genuine surprise, Steve remarked, “You’re bold.” Coming in closer, until his gut was mere inches away from Marcus’s bely, he continued, “I like it.”
With a laugh somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle, Marcus leaned in close until their round bellies touched. At that feeling, even Steve couldn’t keep up his coy demeanor anymore, letting out a gruff and delighted “Mmmm” through a smirk of his own.
After putting his hand on the side of Steve’s belly, Marcus looked up and told him, “Just let me take care of my tab, and we’ll see what else you like, big guy.”
Connor took care of the bill for the man with the peach-colored hair as the newly expanded Steve stood by, grinning eagerly. Once the bill was settled, the man turned back to Steve and gave him a rather unsubtle belly rub, before the two put their arms over each other’s shoulders and walked out. With the two giants moving together, the crowd parted seamlessly to make room for the two, until they reached the door and were out of sight. Whatever they had planned for that night, Connor just hoped one of them had a reinforced bed.
After walking toward the small man in green, Connor leaned down with his forearm on the bar. “Well, it looks like your little spell did it’s job. I just watched our friend Steve walk out of here with the apple of his eye.”
“Aye. I’m proud of him.”
Tilting his head back with furrowed brows, Connor asked, “What do you mean? You gave him the confidence to do it.”
“Aye, but no amount of confidence makes approaching a handsome lad easy. That was his battle to fight, and now, it’s his victory that he can feel proud of.”
With a nod, Connor pushed himself up before asking, “You staying a bit longer, or are you heading out too?”
“Aye, I should.”
“I’ll go get your bill.”
Connor collected the man’s dirty dishes and went to print out his receipt, but by the time he returned, the man was already gone, leaving the same kind of small satin bag he’d left the last time. With a chuckle, Connor scooped the bag up and looked inside, counting 14 gold coins, even though the man had racked up a smaller tab than he did previously. With a smile, Connor pocketed the bag to exchange later. For now, he had a bar to keep.
The Plot Thickens 