Sexually Transmitted Fat - Part 6

“It’s been 2 years since the STO virus first appeared,” shouted the jowly maw of The General, his distended belly poking through both slacks and shirt far too small for him. It was difficult to find clothes that fit in the new world, and most people in The Resistance had stopped bothering to try. They wore their obese forms proudly, displaying their corpulence to the world as if daring them to do something about it.

The General continued, “And in that time the world has changed. Everyone, man, woman, and child, became something more. Something greater than they once were. All except an elite few who hide away from the rest of society.

“Actors. Politicians. CEOs. The corrupt remains of the old world are afraid of what we, the masses, can accomplish. They surround themselves with guards much like ourselves, but they never dare to come near anyone who isn’t like them. Lesser. Untouched by the STO.”

Murmurs began amongst the assembled crowd. Everyone’s circumference was so large that rather than standing elbow to elbow they stood hip to hip, often with their own flab shmushing into their neighbor’s.

“Tonight, we end it. Tonight, our agents who have infiltrated their ranks will perform the noblest deed of their lives. Tonight, everyone shall be equal,” The General shouted. “The old order will fall, and a new order shall rise!”

He raised a ham-fist in the air, causing the rest of him to wobble for several moments. A cheer erupted as raised fists all shot skyward. A momentous day was upon them, and soon, a new day would dawn.

Jack didn’t particularly like his job. It paid well and all, but the guy he was protecting was a total dick. He was some big shot Hollywood actor, Cruz or something, still svelte and muscular when the whole freakin’ world had long since gone to pot.

So when another guy came up to him and offered him a month of free meals at the local diner to spike the dude’s morning coffee, he accepted it on the spot. Food was pretty hard to come by in the new world, and despite the fact that nearly everyone was a super fatty, people still went hungry as the world’s food supply became ever more taxed by an enlarged population.

Jack bet that Mr. Cruz didn’t even eat second breakfast, the snob.

He was one of the few guys to even come close to Mr. Cruz. He was terrified of anyone already infected with the STO, and even though everyone knew that it was either passed down genetically to children or transferred via seminal fluid, Cruz didn’t care. He was “playing it safe”, as he liked to call it.

Just made him seem more like a tool.

Jack didn’t ask why this particular coffee was so special. He just wanted a meal he didn’t have to pay out the nose for, and fight through crowds as fat and sweaty as he was. So that morning he took the cup given to him by someone with a gut so big he didn’t even bother with a shirt and waddled his way back from the security gate to the Cruz estate.

He had to hike his pants up a few times to prevent them from falling down his enormous thighs, but Jack managed to get there without spilling a drop. He left the cup on the steps and then went back to his post. Waiting for him was a card that said “Free Meals For This Patriot,” and on the back in red: “The Resistance.”

Jack then coughed and as fast as he could ran back through the massive front yard of the Cruz estate. He’d never make it--not at his current size. Not the way he huffed and jiggled with every step. Not when he nearly collapsed after the first few steps. But he had to try. He really needed this job.

He didn’t make it.