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It doesn’t take much, does it? A bit of encouragement here, some boundary pushing there and Shane even believes it was his idea in the end.
Of course, it’s easy for an experienced farmer to say.
Year after year of record-breaking giant crops had led to most of the town warming up to the farmer. Long gone were the days of poking fun at the city slicker. Well, for most of them.
Shane was a stubborn hold-out.
Self-hating and misanthropic all around, he’d taken a particular dislike to the farmer’s advances. Not because he disliked them. No, the farmer could tell that Shane just wouldn’t let himself enjoy a good thing.
Ancient wisdom wasn’t hard to find in this valley if one knew where to look. Weak magic, less casting spells and more planting suggestions.
“Hi, Shane.” The farmer did their best to smile invitingly.
“What? What do you want? Go away.”
“Just wanted to stop by and ask how your day is going.”
“No, I don’t have time to chat with you.”
“How about a drink?”
“What do you want from me? Money? I’d give you a pot of gold to leave me alone!”
The farmer sighed and turned away just enough to shield their right hand slipping into their pocket. A seemingly common dried mushroom crumbled between their fingers as they concentrated on the suggestion they were trying to plant in Shane’s mind.
“I think you deserve another drink. I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Why are you bothering me? I want to be alone.”
The farmer nodded. “As you wish.”
They finished their round through the saloon, greeting everyone and chatting for a minute. On their way out, the farmer overheard Shane ordering another beer.
The next night however didn’t show much improvement.
As soon as the farmer approached Shane said, “you again? How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?”
The farmer was really trying, but Shane just couldn’t see it. For all of the farmer’s positive traits, patience was not one of them, but they tried their best for Shane.
Instead of running around the saloon, greeting everyone and leaving again, they asked, “is this seat taken?”
Shane grunted noncommittally, but he didn’t leave and kept quietly sipping beer after beer. At the end of a very long and quiet night filled with drink after drink after drink the farmer was rewarded.
“I’m surprised that you’re still trying to make friends with me. Haven’t I been rude enough to you yet?” Shane sighed.
Reinvigorated the farmer returned to the saloon the next evening.
“You’re really persistent. I guess I’m just surprised that anyone would be interested in talking to me.”
The farmer could swear Shane’s lips almost curled into a smile. A self-deprecating smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“Hey. Sorry if I came off as rude when we first met. It takes me a while to warm up to strangers.”
“Strangers” left a bitter taste in the farmer’s mouth. They’d been living here for close to three years now. They were an integral part of the community. They’d built this community.
“Of course,” the farmer forced a smile, “it takes time to trust someone.”
“Every time I try something new it goes horribly wrong. You learn to just stay in a shell.”
Shane shrugged helplessly. The farmer felt the sudden urge to hug him.
“You deserve to try new things.”
He smiled awkwardly, but the farmer was sure Shane appreciated their words. The rest of the night passed quietly, though the farmer didn’t wish to be anywhere but here for once.
Shane left earlier than usual that night though the farmer found him in Cindersap Forest when they headed home themselves. Drinking alone clearly wasn’t good for Shane as he described the dark thoughts he’s been having. The farmer desperately wanted to reach out though they knew it was still too early.
All they could do was try and defuse the situation. Chugging the drink felt like the quickest way to end the conversation.
Shane didn’t seem to mind.
“See you around.” He almost sounded hopeful.
The next night he came to the saloon like nothing had happened. They talked briefly, then drank together. The night ended as always.
As Shane was leaving he mumbled under his breath, “Hmm… it’s 12 am. Should I throw a frozen pizza in the microwave, or should I wait?”
The farmer passed him on the way out the door.
“You deserve a treat.”
On a rainy Tuesday morning the farmer headed to Marnie’s Ranch to pick up another chicken only to be met with an empty counter. Clattering sounds drew them to the kitchen. Maybe Marnie was there?
The farmer found Shane puttering around the kitchen. It smelled of old oil and burnt food.
“Oh, hey.” Shane seemed happy to see the farmer. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Marnie.” The farmer tried to catch a glimpse of what Shane was cooking.
“What are you burning?” they asked. Shane seemed to appreciate the humour.
“I’m trying to make breakfast. I think Marnie’s still in her bedroom. You should probably come back tomorrow.”
“Ok, then,” the farmer agreed, though they’d have preferred staying longer, “have a good day!”
“Thanks. Life isn’t so bad… at least I have frozen pizza and eggs.” Shane’s response warmed the farmer’s heart. Their plan was working.
Somehow drinking together quietly had turned into eating dinner together.
“Buh… Where’s the Joja Cola?”
The farmer had dutifully grabbed a can for Shane.
Everything was going well until Shane caught on to the physical changes of their nightly dinners at the saloon (of course, on the dime of the farmer).
“…I think I might be gaining weight.”
Shane seemed to try and keep his tone deliberately neutral. As if he was waiting for the farmer’s response.
“You deserve to relax a bit.”
The farmer laid it on thick.
“You deserve to treat yourself.”
This was risky.
“You deserve to feel happy in your body.”
Shane’s expression softened. His eyes unfocused. The farmer had read about the suggestive state a subject could enter, but they hadn’t witnessed it before. Shane seemed wholly open so suggestion now.
“Don’t you want to grow big and strong? Don’t you want to eat?”
He nodded. Dazed.
“Aren’t you happy when you eat? Aren’t you happy when you drink?”
All those little suggestions seemed to snowball into a new life’s purpose before the farmer’s eyes. They’d read it was easier to fill a lack of purpose than replace a current one.
Shane was the perfect receptacle for their plan.
“Stop caring what anyone says. You deserve to eat and drink as much as your heart desires. You deserve to grow.”
The moment ended as quickly as it had come.
“Ughh… gurgle… I feel a little bloated… oof… too much Joja all-purpose dipping sauce.”
Shane wiped his hands on his jeans and grabbed his still half-full glass of beer. He chugged it in one go, then called Gus for another.
“And get me another plate of those pepper poppers. It’s my lucky day, you actually have them in stock today.”
The farmer surreptitiously checked their journal (not a normal one, but one imbued with the magic of the forest) Shane’s hearts had increased to eight. Enough to finally give him a bouquet.
Shane was too overwhelmed to speak at first. Then he said, “I’ll accept this. Thank you.”
He carried the bouquet home like a precious gift. Then broke into the freezer stash of pizza pockets and ate until his stomach hurt. It seemed like the right way to celebrate going steady with the farmer.
They hadn’t been dating for long when Shane finally sat the farmer down to talk about his… proclivities. He’d always been softer than he thought he should be. He’d always enjoyed this drink more than a morning jog. But with the farmer helping him overcome some of his self-destructive tendencies Shane had come to realize that eating and drinking hadn’t fallen entirely into that category.
He didn’t know how he’d missed it all these years but it was clearer now than ever: he wanted to be bigger. He wanted to… well, to put it plainly, he wanted to gain weight. As weird as it was. Somehow his size had become a central part of his life.
Shane loved the farmer. He really did. This felt like such a big part of his life that he would risk this new relationship just to tell them.
Of course, Shane shouldn’t have worried. The farmer graciously accepted Shane’s kink.
He had blushed at that. Bright red. And stuttered about how it wasn’t a… that. But the farmer’s deft hands had swiftly proven him otherwise.
“You deserve to fully enjoy this. Doesn’t it turn you on how big you are? How much you can eat? How full you are?”
Shane had melted into a mess of gasped “yes”es and promises to “honour his hunger”.
Just in time for the end of summer the farmer had met the Old Mariner on the east side of the beach to buy a mermaid’s pendant from.
And Shane moved in on Fall 1st, heavy with relationship weight and in anticipation of an even more accelerated gain.
“I want to help you gain,” the farmer had insisted. “Let the Forest provide you with the sustenance you need to gain. Let the Earth support you. Let—”
“Yoba…? Don’t you know I’m an atheist? Ugh…” Shane interrupted.
“Not Yoba. Me. I want you to eat these.”
The farmer held out a pumpkin seed. Regular looking apart from its size. It spanned almost their entire palm.
The seeds had been harvested from a giant pumpkin from the year before. It had grown to quite an impressive size with just Speed-Gro and regular watering.
“Don’t you want to provide a fertile breeding ground for my largest crop yet?”
Shane complied without a second thought.
He swallowed the seed whole and chased it with a heavy swig of the ever present beer can in his hand.
The trance of suggestion passed and Shane grabbed his belly.
“What’s going to happen?” The panic in his voice was audible.
“Nothing that won’t make you happy. Think about what you want to happen.”
“I- I want my belly to swell. Quicker than should be possible. But with no- without any pain.”
“No pain. You got it, big boy. What else?”
“I want to be able to eat continuously. The plant- the pumpkin would need it. More food. All the time.”
“Fertilizer.” The farmer nodded.
Shane groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“I want to grow fat because you nurture me. Feed, water, fertilize me.”
“Done.” The farmer smiled.
The first day didn’t seem to bring much change apart from an increased hunger and libido. The seed needed time to take root. Shane was living in sweat pants at this point anyway, so gaining 20 lbs wasn’t as obvious as it should have been.
A week had passed and Shane had developed a routine of waking, eating, drinking and sleeping that kept him planted in bed for most of the day. Despite his rapidly expanding middle he didn’t seem to actually notice it until the farmer pointed it out.
“You’re coming along nicely.”
The farmer let their hands roam the full swell of his belly. From the tight upper part to the soft, flattened lower belly spilling between Shane’s thighs.
“I’m huge.”
“You will be giant,” the farmer promised.
Every passing day seemed to accelerate Shane’s growth. His sweat pants ripped along the sides. His shirt crept up to barely cover his chest before ripping too. His belly had taken on a soft orange sheen that was particularly visible at the end of the day.
The glazed look in his eyes appeared more and more frequently. Whenever the farmer pushed him too far past the point of pain it seemed to kick in. Almost on auto pilot Shane would keep eating and drinking with no real awareness of the world around him.
After a few hours of sleep he would wake. His eyes alert and panicked.
“I feel heavier.” Always the same words after waking.
The gain was obvious. The farmer could almost see him expanding. Packing on ten, twenty pounds in just a day. Any time his gain flagged the farmer came up with new way to feed their pumpkin.
Hand feeding it past the point of pain, caffeine to keep it awake longer to eat, more alcohol to keep it from quitting due to the pain, funnel feeding to overwhelm it before it would stop the onslaught of fertilizer. Infrequent bouts of funnel feeding quickly became the norm.
When the pumpkin wasn’t eating, it was chugging beer, when it couldn’t swallow anymore the farmer fit a funnel down it’s throat and passively let it fill up with more fertilizer.
Moving became difficult and then impossible without help. Thankfully, waste elimination quickly became unnecessary, the pumpkin needed every calorie to grow.
As fall drew to a close and the competition date closer the farmer decided to finally move their pumpkin to its final location. A fertile patch of land just outside the farm house. The soil had been tilled for weeks now as the farmer was waiting for the pumpkin to grow big enough to be ready for competition.
By now it had grown so big that it couldn’t keep its shape under its own weight. Shane’s once round beer belly has flattened out. The lower belly fat acted almost as support for the pumpkin growing inside.
“Shane,” the farmer spoke softly to pull him out of his trance slowly. Just enough to get him up and transported outside.
“Shane, look at me.” The farmer pulled out the funnel though Shane kept swallowing another dozen times before he realized the constant influx of liquid had stopped.
“Buh… ?”
“You want to go outside. Pumpkins grow in the field not in a bed.”
“Want. Outside.” Shane nodded, almost to himself. The thick ring of fat around his neck bunched up and inhibited his breathing for a moment.
The farmer hoped they hadn’t waited too long.
Shane’s legs had plumped up with an impressive amount of fat, thick rolls under tight skin. It forced his legs wide. His belly rested in between. Inch by inch the farmer helped Shane move to the edge of the bed. It creaked loudly with every movement.
Even this little movement left Shane panting and out of breath. The pumpkin inside him was calling for sustenance now. It wasn’t used to this long a break between feedings. The farmer complied.
Eating sitting up had become unfamiliar to Shane, he struggled to stay seated upright. Only the weight of the pumpkin kept him there. A counter weight pulling forward towards the floor.
A light feeding only lasting about an hour sated the pumpkin long enough for the farmer to start thinking about how they would get Shane to his feet.
His belly shouldn’t be big enough yet to rest on the floor, though it would be close.
Years of adventuring, combat and mining as well as the Forest had blessed the farmer with great strength. Even then it was a struggle to pull Shane to a stand. The farmer could tell that Shane was trying to help, but spending almost an entire season immobile and letting what little muscle he still had waste, had taken its toll.
“Come on,” the farmer called. Equally encouraging Shane and the Forest to move.
Eventually Shane reached a tipping point. Panting and red-faced he was finally standing on his own two feet. Before any pain could register the farmer tilted a bottle of clear liquor to his lips. The alcohol combined with the powerful suggestions dulled Shane’s mind.
It was almost too easy to get Shane outside. The farmer was already readjusting their plans for next years harvest. They could probably squeeze another two or three days of growth out of Shane.
In anticipation of their plan the farmer had already widened the door way, though they found with delight that the sides of their pumpkin were still brushing it.
The two steps down the porch proved to be the biggest obstacle. Shane could barely walk in a straight line. More a shuffle than a walk really as his feet dragged across the floor and his fat thighs tried to squeeze past each other.
It was almost impossible to step down a single step with how rusty and unwieldy Shane’s limbs had become. He had to lean heavily on the farmer.
They managed the first step alright, but the second one was too much. Shane collapsed in front of the porch, finally too exhausted to keep going.
He was splayed out almost the exact same way he was in bed. Mostly reclined with his head just high enough to eat.
They’d have to improve their mode of transport to actually get it to the fair but this really was shaping up to be a record breaking pumpkin in the making.