m/m The Repository - (Complete Story, 10/15/21)

[MadDog]

Count me a member of the 400 lb+ club~

[TQuintA]

Part 5 – The Wedding and the Honeymoon

Chapter 2

            I took the pretzels away from Jason and joined him on the couch.

            “Is this really such a big deal?” I asked.

            “Big deal?  Big deal!”  Jason was reaching a critical meltdown.

            I had to find an in to calm him down.  “Gossip rags have lied about you before.  They said that your singing on the TV show was dubbed, remember?”

            “That’s me,” Jason said, snatching back his bag of pretzels.  “This is us.  They know better.  My private life is off limits.”  He grabbed a handful of pretzels while saying, “You’re off limits.”

            “This might have no traction,” I said, still trying to calm him down.

            He reached under the couch and pulled out five more magazines, all saying about the same thing.

            “This one,” he said, throwing the thickest one at me, hitting me squarely in the chest, “has details of who will be coming to our 250-guest all-star wedding.  I haven’t met half the people on their list.”  He threw another magazine at my chest—the third one in five minutes.  “This one claims to have your entire life story in it.  Did you know that you’re a descendant of Levi Strauss?”

            “Really?”  I opened the third magazine.  “I mean, he’s Bavarian; Uhler’s a Bavarian last name.  They’ve completely made it up, but they have one shred of coincidence to hang it on.”

            “You’re not Bavarian!” Jason shouted.

            “I know.  My family’s super Welsh.  Like, all-my-grandparents-live-in-Wales Welsh.”  I poured on the charm, trying to cheer him up.

            “It’s even worse online.  The celebrity gossip blogs have gone off the rails,” Jason said.  “They’re mostly anonymous and don’t have to worry about libel lawsuits, so they can say whatever the fudge they want.”

            Jason almost swore.  He was even angrier than I thought.

            Still trying to cheer him up, I said, “Do they think I’m Chinese?”

            Jason swatted the magazine out of my hand.  “Why isn’t this bothering you?”

            “If they think I’m Bavarian, they don’t even know my real name.”

            “If they’re researching you at all, they’ll figure it out eventually.  I feel so violated.  Why don’t you?”

            I took both of Jason’s hands in mine and looked him softly in the eyes.  “You’re right.  I should be taking this more seriously.”  I closed his hands in mine tighter.  “I’m sorry.  I’m still a little goofy from the party.”

            “That’s better,” Jason said.  He took his hands back, pat my forehead, and then finally tossed the pretzels aside.

            “What did Margaret say about this?” I asked.

            “Margaret’s gone AWOL!”  Wrong question.  Jason was switching gears from stressed to angry with only the slightest stop in calm and affable.  “She isn’t returning my calls.  Lacey says she’s been in a meeting with finance since noon.  That’s Lacey-code for ‘I don’t know where Margaret is.’”

            I’d almost had him calm.  I tried to backtrack.  “Should I try calling her?  Maybe she’d answer my call.”

            “Go for it,” Jason said, storming out of the room.

            “Where are you going?” I asked, trying to follow him and dial Margaret at the same time.

            “To my treadmill.  I’m angry, and I want to work off all the doughnuts.”

            “Is it a smart idea to do an intense workout on a full stomach?”

            “Probably not,” Jason growled, climbing up the stairs to his little exercise chamber in a hurry.

            I let him be.  It was better to let him work out the anger than confront him further. 

            Margaret ignored my first three phone calls.  I waited twenty minutes and called again.  This time, she answered.

            She didn’t even say hello.  Instead, she said, “I know, Miles.  I know.  I know.”  She paused slightly, and then repeated, “I know.”

            “What the hell, Margaret?  Jason really needs you, and you vanished.”

            “I know.  I know.  I didn’t want to call back until I had some answers.”

            “I take it that means you have some now?”

            “Maybe.  I hope so.  Is Jason there with you?”
            “He’s on his treadmill.  He has been for almost half an hour.  He’s trying to work of the stress eating he did.”

            “That’s no good.  Ribs?”

            “Doughnuts and pretzels.”

            “Both?  Oh, he must have been driving himself crazy, the poor dear.  Take me to him.  We’ll do this on speaker phone.”

            I walked up the stairs and knocked on the door to his workout cell.  I could hear the whir of the machine and his thundering footsteps.

            “Enter at your own risk,” he snarled.

            “I have Margaret on the phone.”

            He stopped running, and the machine powered down.  He came out of the room, sweat pouring from his body, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, and grabbed my phone from me.  “About time, Margaret.  What in Hades do I pay you for?”

            “To solve problems like this one.”

            Jason marched into our bedroom, and I followed behind him.  He crashed on the bed, and I sat next to him.  “How did this even happen?  Aren’t you supposed to stop stories like this?”

            “It didn’t come through you, Jason.  If it had come through you, I would’ve found out about it in time to nip it.”

            “What does that mean?” Jason asked.

            “It came through Miles.”

            That made my heart stop.  “If you’re trying to throw me under the bus to save yourself,” I started, but Margaret cut me off.

            “No one says you did anything wrong, darling.  But, is it true or is it not that you recently had a tuxedo custom made?”

            “Yes.”

            “Shafe made him his best man,” Jason explained.  “Who cares that he had a tux made?”

            “The tailor recognized you from the infamous red carpet kiss,” Margaret explained.  “Apparently, he’s a huge Jason Prentiss fan.  He assumed that the two of you were finally getting married.”

            “If he’s such a big fan of mine, he should’ve kept his mouth shut.”

            “He did,” Margaret said.  “His husband, however, immediately sold the story to a low-rent tabloid that started tailing Miles.”

            “Someone was following me?”

            “Yes.  They saw you make reservations for 20 at a steak house and rent out a strip club.  Both establishments confirmed it was for a bachelor party.”

            “It was a straight strip club!” I said, trying to defend myself.  “Why would I throw my bachelor party at a place with naked women?”

            “People know next to nothing about you,” Margaret explained.  “A few think that you did it ironically because you’re a hip gay writer.  Most of the magazines assumed you’re bi and were saying goodbye to women.”

            “That’s why they think he’s bi?” Jason said.

            “They think I’m bi?” I asked.

            Jason snorted derisively.  “If you’d kept reading past Levi Strauss, you’d see everything that had to say about you.  They call you ‘old school macho,’ ‘traditionally masculine,’ ‘practically straight,’ and conclude by saying, ‘you’d never know he’s bi.’  They imply that if you weren’t the most masc in the land, you wouldn’t be worthy of my hand.”

            “That’s bullshit,” I spat.

            “We’re getting off track, gentlemen,” Margaret interjected.  “Once one parasite had the story, it spread everywhere.  It was online and in the stands before I knew what happened.”

            “Can’t we just deny it?” I asked.  “Release a statement saying that we’re not getting married?  Straight and to the point.  That’d kill the story, right?”

            “It would never work,” Jason and Margaret said at the same time.

            Margaret added, “A flat-out denial from a celebrity would just prolong the whole thing.”

            “So, what do we do?” Jason asked.  He sounded worried.

            Margaret’s tone was reassuring.  “The simplest thing would be to get married.”

            “Marry Miles to make a gossip story go away?  That’s a terrible reason to get married,” Jason scoffed.

            “I’ve heard of worse,” Margaret responded.  “Have a small, intimate wedding.  Leak a photo of you at the altar.  File the marriage certificate at the local courthouse.  Story goes away.  Right now, all that the viewers at home are getting is the coming attractions.  You get married, they know how the movie ends.”

            “What are my other options?” Jason asked.

            “You’re not even going to consider getting married?”  Margaret was practically dumbfounded.

            Jason sighed.  “We did.  A few weeks ago.”

            “But, two years ago, you had those rings made,” Margaret said.

            “Oh, fuck!  The rings!” I said.  “They’re going to find out about the rings.”

            “Forget the rings,” Margaret said.  “One crisis at a time.”

            “I had the rings made in case Miles wanted to get married.  If one of us wanted to get married, we’d be married by now.  Neither of us does, so I’m not going to get married just to make some second-rate journalists stop lying.”  After a pause, Jason repeated, “What are my other options?”

            “You could fake a wedding,” Margaret said, but her tone was no longer reassuring.  She clearly thought we’d have no objections to getting married.  “But if there’s no concrete evidence, like a marriage certificate, all it would do is make the wolves more bloodthirsty.  How do you feel about leaking a forged marriage certificate?”

            Jason was having none of that.  “I’m opposed to a wedding that’s fake but legal.  Why would I want a wedding that’s fake but fake?”

            “I’m running out of options here, Jason.”

            “That means you’re not entirely out yet, Margaret.” 

            Margaret sighed deeply.  “Well, a charm offensive never hurts.  Do some interviews where you explain that the wedding is for a close personal friend.  Maybe Mr. Shafer would even oblige us with an interview or two?  Meanwhile, we release some corrections about Miles Uhler.  Give some personal details, ones you two are comfortable releasing, so it doesn’t come across as a flat-out denial.  We can use those publicity photos I took two years ago before Miles doubled in size.  We’d spend a day or two reminding the audience why they love Jason Prentiss.”

            “Are there other options?” Jason asked.

            “Well, there is one more, but you’re going to absolutely hate it.”

            “I have to hear it,” Jason said.

            “Give the movie a different ending.”

            “What does that mean?” I asked.

            “Have a big, public break up.”

            “Fuck no,” I spat.

            Margaret continued.  “Live apart for a year.  Then, start dating in secret, hoping the press never catch wise.”

            “Charm offensive it is!” Jason said without even pausing to think.

            “I’ll call Shafe,” I chimed in.  “I’m sure he’ll do some interviews.”

            The next morning, Jason did every interview show that would have him.  He went on TV, online, radio, magazine—nineteen interviews in one morning.  And he dazzled in each one with a high gloss of charisma and movie star polish.  You’d have to be as intimate with him as I am to see when his smile was fake.  He made it clear that, yes, he and I were still together, and, no, we had no plans on getting married but we had discussed it, and, no, his private life was still something he wouldn’t share with the media.  Shafe did a few interviews too.  He was more than happy to, since not many runners-up at Olympia get a lot of media coverage.  He even stuck to the script.  He called me Miles, said he’d known me forever, and that the bachelor party was his, showing a few pictures of the party and Marietta as evidence.  Margaret released a press statement correcting some of the more egregious lies about me, somehow without providing my legal name. 

            The charm offensive stopped the tabloids from printing anything new, but the tabloids had only been one head of the Hydra.  Even with the most powerful head cut off, the beast was far from slain.  The very next morning (the day after the charm offensive), I got a phone call from Jonah.

            “Hey, buddy,” I said.  “I just woke up.  What’s the good word?”

            “Cole and I are driving down to see you and Jason,” he answered.

            “Great.  Are the kids with you?”

            “Fuck no.  They’re with Cole’s parents.  God, I miss swearing.  Fuck shit fuck.  Tonight, we’re taking the two of you out to dinner.  Our treat.  No buts.”

            “Okay.  Sure.  If you insist.  Why?”

            “Why?  What do you mean why?”  Jonah sounded exasperated.

            “It means ‘for what reason.’  For what reason do you insist on buying us dinner?”

            “Why didn’t you tell me you were bi?”

            “For crying out loud,” I said.

            “Who the fuck better than me to talk to?  You’re bi.  I’m bi.  You’re marrying a dude.  I married a dude.  We have so much to talk about.”  I heard some murmuring in the background.  “Cole wants to know if Tommy can be the ring bearer.”

            “I’m not bi, Jonah.  If I were bi, I would’ve told you by now.  And I’m not getting married.  The magazines got it wrong.”

            With a laugh in his voice, Jonah said, “But, can Tommy still be the ring bearer?”

            I laughed too.

            “Now then, why aren’t you getting married?”

            I did not want to have this conversation.  “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road?”

            Dismissively, Jonah said, “Cole’s driving.”  I heard a horn honk lightly and quickly in the background.

            “Tell Cole I say hi too.”

            “Gerry heard the beeps and says hi,” Jonah said to his husband.  “Now, why aren’t you getting married?  Is it Jason?  Is he bad in bed?”

            “What?  No.  Why would I stay with him if he’s bad in bed?”

            To Cole, Jonah said, “Hear that, babe?  Jason’s a lousy fuck.  Lays there like a corpse.  You can pick someone else for your hall pass.”

            I guess Jonah had never warmed to his husband’s celebrity crush on my boyfriend.

            “Put me on speaker,” I said.  Jonah obliged.  “Cole, Jason will never have sex with you.  He thinks you’re a great guy, but he’d never cheat on me.”

            Cole, with a note of disdain in his voice, said, “I’m down for a threesome.”  Then, I swear I heard the car swerve as Cole said, “Ow!”

            Jonah took me off speaker and said, “I’ll call you back when we’re closer to your house.”

            While I’d been on the phone, Jason had woken up.  He was sitting in bed next to me, so I told him, “Jonah and Cole are coming to visit tonight.”

            “Excellent.  I needed some good news,” Jason said.

            “They’re taking us to dinner to celebrate our engagement.”

            Jason flopped back down into bed.

            “I corrected them, don’t worry.”

            “Good.”

            “And Cole only hit on you a little.”

            “Still?  He’s still hitting on me?  We’ve met a dozen times.  I can’t have celebrity mystique if I’ve helped your sons to the potty or if you’ve seen me sneeze while drinking red wine.”

            “What can I say?  He thinks you’re the sexiest man alive.  Because you are.”

            “Shut up,” Jason said, but I saw a blush come to his face as he buried it under a blanket.

            “Will I still make you blush when we’re married?” I asked.

            He hit me with a pillow.

[TQuintA]

Part 5 – The Wedding and the Honeymoon

Chapter 3

            Neither of us had much to do that day, especially since Jason had gone on the charm offensive the day before, so we planned on just puttering around the house, but that plan fell through right away.  Jason couldn’t sit still, so he spent most of the morning working out like a fiend, still mad at himself about the stress eating two days prior.  I couldn’t relax much either.  I got a gazillion texts from our local friends congratulating us.  Jason probably did too, but he was hiding his phone in the freezer so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.  The important calls and texts would get bounced to Lacey; the rest could be ignored indefinitely.  It was just a morning of texts for me.  Everyone congratulated us; about half wanted to know if they made the cut to be on the guest list.  Because I knew Jason didn’t have the bandwidth to handle it, I spent the morning responding to each and every text I got, letting everyone know we were not getting married. 

            Even though I still intermittently found it kind of funny, by the afternoon, I was reaching my breaking point too.  Somewhere around the sixtieth text in a two-hour period (things got busier during everyone’s lunch breaks), I was about to put my phone in the freezer with Jason’s.  Then, I got an actual phone call.

            “Don’t people know it’s more polite to text?”  I said to the empty room.  Resigned, I answered the phone without looking at the name.  “You’ve got the bridal suite,” I said.

            “Muscles?” a familiar voice asked.

            “Puck?”

            “The one and only.  It’s been forever, Muscles.”

            “Puck?  Why call now?”

            “To see if it’s true.  To see if you’re about to marry Jason Prentiss.”

            “Well, I am with Jason Prentiss.  But, that’s old news.  He and I have been together for two years.”

            “Really?  How did I not know that?”

            “I don’t know.  It made a bit of a sizable splash when we got together.”

            “Everything you do is sizable,” he said lasciviously.

            I rolled my eyes.  “Always the flatterer.”

            “I wasn’t living under a rock or anything.  I’m just not much of a Jason Prentiss fan.  His new show is terrible.”

            “Practically unwatchable,” I agreed enthusiastically.  Gleefully, I added, “I’ve seen every episode four times.  I absolutely love it.”

            “You would be the type to get a kick out of it,” he replied.  “The internet is wrong, then?  You’re not getting married?”

            “Nope.  Shafe is, though.”

            “Hell’s bells!  I haven’t thought about Shafe in years.  How is that scrumptious man muffin?”
            “About to get married,” I repeated.

            “Wow.  Shafe’s walking the aisle?  What’s the bride-to-be like?”

            “It’s like he’s marrying a female version of himself.”

            “A woman would have to be exactly like Shafe to lock him down.”

            “Marietta’s awesome.  I’m just teasing.”  After a pause, I added, “Mostly.”

            “Maybe I should send a present.  That is what’s done.  Where are they registered?”

            “Shafe’s rich, and you haven’t seen each other in seven years.  Send a card, if that.”

            “Got it.  Now, back to the scandal at hand.  You land a famous dreamboat like Jason Prentiss...”

            I interrupted with, “I thought you weren’t a fan?”
            “I’m not a fan, but I still have eyes.  The man’s gorgeous.  And those abs!”

            “Right, sorry.”

            “As I was saying, you land a dreamboat like Jason Prentiss, and you’re not getting married.”

            “Nope.  We’re not.”

            “Pray tell why not?”

            That question again.  Evasion time.  “That’s boring, Puck.  Don’t bore me.  What’ve you been up to these past seven years?”

            “Now that’s been boring,” Puck said.  “Teaching ballet.  Growing a full head of hair.  Raising kids.  I’m a damned cliché.”

            “You have kids?”

            “Three.”

            “Damn.  Adopted?”

            “All three.”

            “Any of them want to follow in your slippered footsteps?”

            “My youngest, Avery.  He wants to be a ballet dancer.”

            “You must be a proud papa.”

            “You know it.”  With a melody in his voice I instantly recognized, he added, “So’s my husband.”

            He was trying to get me back on topic.  Abort!

            “Did you marry Stefano?”

            “What?  No.  His name is Nathan.  We met at the school.  He’s a fellow teacher.”

            “How do you like teaching?”

            “Quit changing the subject, Muscles.  The relationship that you and I had died because I didn’t want something serious, and you did.  Here, you have a man that most gay men would give their right nut for.  He’s so enraptured by you that he’ll stay with you for two years without a ring.  You’re not going to make it nice and proper?”

            “Who cares if we’re married?”

            “From what I’ve seen online, every magazine that has a ‘celebrity nip slip’ section.”

            “I’m more than happy to catch up, Puck, but if you’re just calling to pressure me into marriage, I have wallpaper I could be staring at.”

            “Sharp words, Muscles.  They belie deeper meaning.”

            “Goodbye, Puck.”

            “When you get married, send me lots of pictures.”

            I hung up.

            “Who was that?” Jason asked, walking through the room.  He was shirtless and sweaty from yet another workout, so he was wiping moisture from his chest.

            “Puck.”

            “That dancer you dated?”

            “Stripper,” I corrected.

            “Yeah, but he’s a dancer now.”

            “Dance teacher.  He’s married now, too.”

            That got Jason’s attention.  “No!  Your stripper ex is married?”

            “With three kids.”

            “How bizarre.  But, why did he call?”

            “To pressure me into marrying you.”

            “You have the weirdest exes,” Jason said, leaving the living room on his way to take a shower.

            No sooner had Jason taken two steps, but my phone rang again.

            “Don’t answer it,” Jason implored from the stairs.

            I answered it anyway.  “Thank you for calling Rent-A-Groom.  How may I direct your call?”

            “Sorry, I must have the wrong number.”  I knew that voice.

            “No, Gregg.  You don’t.  It’s Gerry.”

            Upon hearing the name of my high school boyfriend, Jason lost all patience and continued his journey to the shower.

            “Gerry,” Gregg said, cocky as I remembered him.  “Are you taking Jason’s last name?  Will you be Mrs. Gerry Prentiss?”

            “Jason and I aren’t getting married.”

            “Why not?  Being married is awesome.”

            “You got married?”

            “Twice.  The government even acknowledges one of my marriages as legal.”

            That made no sense.  He lives in Illinois.  Gay marriage is legal.  If he’d gotten divorced and remarried, both marriages would be legal.  Why would only one of his marriages have been legal?  Then, it hit me.  “Wait, do you have two husbands?”

            “High school me would be so proud.”

            “Seriously.  You’re currently married to two men at the same time?”

            “I was the last time we spoke.”

            “The last time we spoke, you wouldn’t let me ask about your personal life.  Now, I’m owed details.”

            “I married Haris right out of college as soon as my shoulder healed from surgery.  Haris is drop-dead gorgeous, Gerry.  You’d approve.  He’s a Greek God.  And I mean that literally; he’s from Greece.  He’s got those Mediterranean features, a lithe muscular body, and a thick and sexy…”

            “Gregg!” I interrupted.

            “Accent, Gerry.  He has a thick and sexy accent.”  He laughed at me and added, “His cock’s nice too.  Anyways, he’s so hot, he makes me look like a foot, and I’m beautiful.”

            “You didn’t marry him because he’s hot, though.  Right?”

            “No.  I married him because I love him.  He’s an absolute sweetheart, a great cook, and a blast to be around.  He throws the best parties.”

            “Good.”

            “Yeah.  One of our favorite couple’s activities is to scope out guys to fuck together.”

            It was my turn to laugh.  “He sounds like your soul mate.”

            “He is.  Haris and I met Brock at our local gym two years after we got married.  Brock’s a total meathead, your typical Iowa farm boy, and the best sex I’ve ever had.  He dethroned you, Gerry, he’s that good of a fuck.  The three of us started fucking around regularly, we got along great.  Brock might look like a bull, but he’s a big goofball.  Dangerous on April Fool’s Day, but otherwise the life of the party.  Brock moved in after a few months, and now all of us are married to each other.  In our hearts if not on tax forms.”

            “Glad to hear, Gregg, but if you just called me to congratulate me on my wedding, well, it was a waste of a call.”

            “Nonsense.  We get to hear about each other’s lives this time.  For instance, I can ask if you’re really Miles Uhler.”

            “Yep.  Indeed I am.”

            “Brock is a fan.  But he thinks the movie was garbage and the sixth book is terrible.”

            “The move was garbage, and sixth book is terrible.  But if Brock had better taste, he’d also know the eighth book is terrible.”

            “Ooh, I’ll tell him you said that; that’s his favorite one.  Better yet, you can tell him yourself, face to face.  Ever since Brock found out I dated Miles Uhler in high school, he’s been begging to get you into our marital bed.  He’ll pay the airfare.”

            “Never gonna happen.  Jason and I are monogamous.”

            “I told him that, but I would’ve been a bad husband not to ask.”

            “I should get going.”

            “That’s right. You have a wedding to prepare.”

            “I’m not getting married!”

            “I meant Gil Shafer’s wedding, but you should look into that reaction, Gerry.  Married life would calm you down.”

            “Goodbye, Gregg,” I said, while hanging up.

            By that point, Jason was out of the shower and sat next to me on the couch in nothing but a bathrobe, still drying his hair.

            “Let me guess,” he said, “Gregg’s married with two kids.”

            “Gregg’s married with two husbands,” I corrected.

            “Of course, he is,” Jason said, increasing his drying speed.  “None of your exes could just be normal people.”

            “If I only date weird people, Jason, what does that say about you?”

            He smiled, showing off his gorgeous dimple.  The first genuine smile I’d seen from him since the bachelor party.

            “Can we invite Paula and H. K. to the dinner tonight?  It sounds like I might need a buffer from Cole.”

            “Of course.  I’m surprised H. K. didn’t already call us with congratulations.”

            “He sent a giant floral arrangement and two bottles of Dom Perignon,” Jason said querulously.  “Lacey intercepted them and explained the miscommunication.”

            “We could’ve kept the bubbly.”

            Jason put down the towel and leaned against me.  “You’re being amazing through this, you know.”

            “Only because you’re amazing.”  Jason moved to kiss me, but then my phone buzzed again.  “I’ll put it in the freezer.”

[TQuintA]

Part 5 – The Wedding and the Honeymoon

Chapter 4

            Dinner was a breath of fresh air—it felt like just a normal night, especially since every person at the table accepted that we weren’t actually going to get married.  H. K. was disappointed, Paula was convinced we weren’t getting married because we were already married, Jonah was just happy to have a night away from his kids so he could drink with abandon, and Cole thought he still had a chance with Jason (and maybe me?).  It might sound like a recipe for disaster, but it had been our usual dynamic, so it felt comfortably familiar.

            After dinner, H. K. and Paula went home.  Jonah and Cole had planned on crashing at our place, but, as happy as Jonah had been in his freedom, when he called Max and Tommy to wish them goodnight, he started feeling something fierce, heartbroken over how much he missed his kids.  Cole, who’d expected this exact scenario, hadn’t had anything to drink at dinner.

            “Come on, honey,” he said, corralling his drunk husband into their car, “I’ll drive us home.  We’ll be there in time to wish them good morning.”

            “Thank you,” Jonah said.  “Jason, Gerry, it was great to see you.  Next time, we’ll bring the kids so we can stay longer.”

            Cole just waved goodbye, smiling cryptically.  I couldn’t tell if he was upset with Jonah, ineffectively flirting with Jason, pleased they were going home, or some weird combination of all three.

             I drove Jason home.  He was in a much better mood, but he’d had too much to drink, forgetting how much lower his tolerance was at 185 pounds.  If I could give him back his deposit without ruining his clothes, the extra mass might have soaked up the booze, but then I would have had to contend with a naked Jason.  And if it didn’t work, I didn’t want to deal with a drunk, naked Jason. 

            When we got back to our house, Jason snuggled up next to me as we walked from the car to the front door.  Being drunk always made him incredibly frisky, and he nuzzled my neck and held me close as we walked to the pathway.  Then, impishly, he turned to me and said, “Race you to the bedroom,” and tore inside the house.  He was through the front door before I’d even processed we were racing.

            After a second, Jason came running back out.  “There’s someone inside the house!” he scream-whispered.

            “You saw a burglar?” I asked for clarity.

            “I didn’t see him, but I could just tell that someone was in there.  Stuff was knocked over, and I think I heard footsteps.”

            “I’ll go in and check.”

            “No!  What if they have a gun or something?  Let’s call for help.”

            “Our phones are in the freezer,” I reminded him.

            Jason looked around panicky, then acquiesced.  “Fine, but if you’re going in there, you’re borrowing 30 pounds of muscle.”

            Jason diminished to a size I’d only seem him at once or twice for some extreme vacation sex, but I blew up to an impossible 400 pounds, my chest jutting out so quickly that I popped the top two buttons off my shirt.  My hairy chest enjoyed being kissed by the chill of the night air.  My arms and shoulders were so wide that I was going to have to twist and turn to get through our front door, and I felt so thick and heavy that any chance of stealth was out the window.

            I half-expected I wouldn’t make it past the foyer before the burglar showed up to see my behemoth monstrosity and scream bloody murder.

            However, when I wedged myself through the front door, I was alone in the foyer.  It was eerily quiet, but Jason was right; something was wrong.  The photographs in our foyer were askew, and the carpet was crooked.  One picture even looked like it had been knocked off the wall and inexpertly hung back up: a photo Jason had taken of the two of us curled up in the same armchair.

            Suddenly, I felt a man behind me, so I turned around, ready to strike.

            Before I struck, I realized who it was.  “Jesus, Jason!”

            “It’s just me.  I didn’t want to be left out there alone.”

            There was a sound from within the house, and I instinctively shielded Jason’s body with my excessive mass.

            “You’re right, Jason.  I think there’s someone in our house.”

            He pointed to our security system.  “Why didn’t this go off?”

            “Stay here,” I said.  I grabbed an umbrella (a bright blue one) from the umbrella stand and left Jason in the foyer as I searched the house. 

            I kept my ears pricked up to hear any sound as I crept through the house, brandishing my umbrella like a sword before me.  Even if I looked like an overstuffed sausage wielding a blue banana, I felt like a warrior in Viking times. 

            I went immediately to our living room.  That’s where our entertainment system was, the stuff they’d be most likely to steal.  Not only that, but the living room had some of the awards Jason and I had won, some of which (Jason’s in particular) might fetch a fair price on the black market, especially if the thief knew whose house he’d broken into. 

            I scanned the living room in one slow circle, the umbrella pointed in front of me.  There room was clear, but it did look like someone had rooted through our stuff.  Undaunted, I headed up to our bedroom. 

            When you live with a celebrity, stalkers are a real threat.  If Jason had a stalker, he’d be pissed off that Jason and I were supposedly getting married.  If we were lucky, a stalker might just want a lock of hair or a piece of clothing.  If we were really unlucky, he’d want to kill Jason while we slept.

            I tiptoed up the stairs, now holding the umbrella like a baseball bat.  My width blocked the entire staircase, so if there was a robber or a stalker upstairs, he wasn’t getting downstairs.

            When I got to the bedroom, the door was ajar.  I normally kept it closed when we have guests (as we’d expected Jonah and Cole to be), but Jason just might have forgotten to close it.

            Pushing the door open with the umbrella, I turned sideways so I could fit through and eased my way into the bedroom.  As I looked around the room, I heard a noise coming from downstairs.

            “Hurry!” Jason called nervously from the foyer.

            I had tensed into attack mode at the noise, but there was no one in the bedroom, but I could tell that all of our personal things had been rifled through.

            The only other places that might attract a burglar were my office for the computer equipment, the kitchen for our fancy appliances, and Jason’s study for his collectibles.  All of that was on the first floor.

            I came back down the stairs, making sure that my massive weight was as silent as I could be at my mammoth size.  Jason was standing in the living room, nervously tapping his foot, trying to reassure himself.  “If someone had broken in, the alarm would have gone off,” he repeated.  “Right?  We’re jumping at shadows.  Right?”

            I pressed my finger to my lips, and walked in to my office.  I had never been in my office at this increased bulk, so everything looked comically smaller.  After I got my bearings, I reassessed, and everything was where it was supposed to be; nothing had been disturbed.  At least, that’s what I thought until I noticed that “Krixby #1,” the photo I’d taken of Jason years ago and which now hung with pride in my office, also looked like it had been knocked off the wall and inexpertly hung back up.

            Still moving quietly as possible, I went into the kitchen.  Nothing had been disturbed.  Everything was in its place.  I grabbed our phones out of the freezer.  Those hadn’t been stolen either.

            On my way from the kitchen to the study, I tossed Jason his phone, just in case.

            When I got to the study, the light was on—I could see it through the gap between the door and the carpeted hallway.  It lit up a small trapezoidal patch of floor.  This by itself didn’t mean anything.  Jason often left his study light on, and I hadn’t checked before we left.  In the current context, though, it was unnerving.

            I slowly opened the door and sidled through. 

            There was a man in the study.

            He stood there, looking through the books, his back to me.  He was in a big, black trench coat that obscured his shape and made him look like a living shadow.

            I took a big breath, gripped the umbrella tightly in both hands, and then bellowed, “Freeze, fucker, or I will fucking end you.”

            The man turned around, grabbing his chest, while saying, “Christ, Vaughn.  You’ll give a man a heart attack.”

            When I saw the intruder’s face, I deflated and let the umbrella dangle by my side, its handle permanently deformed from my overtight grip.

            “Flynn?” I said.

            “Who else?” he said, still holding his chest.

            It was Flynn alright.  He was more expensively coiffed than I’d ever seen him, there was grey at his temples, some lines at the corner of his eyes, but I’d know that face anywhere.  He was still a rectangle of a man, seemingly even more muscular than the 250-pound brick who’d dumped me and run off to New York.  It was hard to tell exactly because the trench coat draped on him unflatteringly.  He looked good—I hate to admit it—but he did look good.

            Jason came running to the study, poised to dial 911.

            “False alarm,” I told him.  “It’s just Flynn.”

            “Flynn?” Jason said.  “Flynn your ex-boyfriend Flynn?”

            “The very same,” Flynn said, noticeably relaxing.

            “You scared the shit out of us,” I said, relief flooding my voice and body.

            “I scared you?”  Flynn laughed.  “Vaughn, you’re a fucking massive brute.  I thought you were going to murder me.”

            “I was planning to,” I assured him.

            “How’d you get in here?” Jason asked, now more confused than scared.

            Flynn was about to answer, but I cut him off.  “There is no answer he can give that will satisfy you.  This is just a thing he does.”

            “He breaks into people’s houses?” Jason asked dubiously.

            “Yeah,” I said honestly.

            “I thought he was a millionaire business tycoon.”

            “Multi-millionaire,” Flynn corrected.  “My net worth just keeps going up.  Haven’t broken into a house in years.  Thought it’d be fun.  Like old times.  You should be proud.  You’ve got a secure set-up.”

            “Not secure enough if you broke in,” Jason said.

            “Plenty secure.”

            “Don’t act so blasé,” I said to Flynn as I poked him in the chest with the tip of the umbrella.  “We live in a gated community.  You got past the security guard, through our personal locked gate, and our locked front door.  That’s not possible, even for…”  I stopped dead when the reality hit me.  I turned to Jason and said, “He bribed someone to let him in.”

            “Come on, Vaughn,” Flynn groaned in disappointment.  “That was my big reveal.”

            “Who did you bribe?” Jason asked.

            “The person I bribed has already been fired.  Very fired.  Fired by a woman named Lacey Schreiberg.”

            “Damn straight they have,” Jason said.  “Lacey’s getting a bonus.”

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Prentiss.”  Flynn held out his hand, in full schmooze mode.

            “Jason,” Jason said, shaking Flynn’s hand.  “People that break into my house call me by my first name.”

            “Still a pleasure,” Flynn responded.  “If I may say, Jason, you look smaller in person.  Less buff.  Is it for a part?” Then he looked back at me.  “And Vaughn, you look huge.  Huger than your press.”  Now it was Flynn’s turn to stop dead.  “He knows you’re The Repository.”

            Jason nodded.

            “You can have your deposit back,” I said.  I thought I was just returning the 30 extra pounds Jason had lent me to fight the burglar, but when I felt my clothes billow around me and heard Jason’s shirt split down the back, I realized I’d given back everything.

            Flynn smiled.  “Now Jason looks beyond buff.  And Vaughn…”  Flynn thought through his word choice.  “Well, he doesn’t look small.  Smaller?  Smaller than his press photos.  But that’s still huge.”  I could see the lightbulb go of in Flynn’s head.  “You’re trading 50 or so pounds back and forth.  So the press don’t know how big Jason’s got.  Clever scam.  I like it.  I’m proud.”

            “It’s not a scam,” Jason said.  “It’s an arrangement.”

            Flynn shrugged.  His shoulders and chest pulled at the fabric of the trench coat.  He’d definitely gotten bigger since college.  “An arrangement makes sense.  Since you’re getting married.”

            “We’re not getting married,” Jason moaned in frustration.  “Oh my god.  We did all that work, and even trespassers still think we’re getting married.”  Jason kissed me on the cheek.  “I’m going to put on clothes that fit me.  And while I’m at it, I’ll check our messages, call Lacey, get ready for bed, paint the ceilings…  Anything to get out of this room.  Don’t join me until you’ve gotten rid of…” he pointed distastefully at Flynn, “that.  If you have to murder him, don’t get any blood on my books.”  With an antagonistic grunt, Jason went upstairs.

            “I don’t think your fiancé likes me.”

            “He’s not my fiancé.  And why would he like you?  You broke into our house!”

            Flynn sat on the leather couch and invited me to join him.  “Theatrics.  Wanted to see your house unobserved.”

            “Why’d you move the photographs?” I did not join Flynn on the couch.

            “To look at them up close.  Who shot those photos?”

            “Jason shot all of them, except for the one of him in my office.”

            “Talented and handsome.  See why you like him.”

             “I love him, Flynn.”

            “Then why aren’t you marrying him?”

            “Is that really any business of yours?”

            “Fine.  I won’t ask about Jason.  Sit down and join me.  We haven’t seen each other in forever.  I’m sure you miss me.”

            Grudgingly, I sat down next to him. 

            Once I’d sat, he pointed to the twisted umbrella.  “What’s with this?”

            “I thought you were a burglar or a stalker or worse.  I needed a weapon.”

            “Vaughn, you are a weapon.”

            I rolled my eyes.

            “Why grab a bright blue one?”

            “It was the first one I found.”

            “And why aren’t you marrying Jason?”
            I stood up, griping, “You said you wouldn’t ask.”

            Flynn stood up at the same speed I did, saying, “I lied.  I lie.  You must remember that.  I’m a liar.  Lie all the time.  Comes in handy as a CEO.”

            “Well, the magazines lied too.  It’s not me getting married.  It’s Shafe getting married.  I just planned his bachelor party.”

            “Shafe?  You still hang out with Shafe?”  Flynn looked completely confused.

            “Regularly.  I’m his best man.”

            “I haven’t seen Shafe since…”

            I interrupted him, “Since you dumped me and ran away to New York.  Yeah.  By the by, Shafe thinks you’re an asshole now.”

            Flynn shrugged.  “He thought I was an asshole then.  I am an asshole.  A lovable asshole.”

            “I doubt he’d say ‘lovable.’”

            “Oh, and for the record, Vaughn.  You dumped me.”  He tapped my exposed, hairy chest with his thick index finger.

            “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”

            “You wouldn’t come to New York with me.  That was dumping me.”

            “Okay, did you just come here to piss everyone off?”

            “Sorry.  Let me try again.  I get a little edgy when I remember the day we broke up.  It was the worst day of my life.  I’ve had two bad marriages trying to get over you.”

            “Your divorces are my fault now?”  That was the height of absurdity.

            “That’s not what I meant.  They’re my fault.  The first guy I married was exactly like me.  Thought he’d help me get ahead in business.  I was still heartbroken over you.  Tried to marry with my head.  Not my heart.  We weren’t a good fit.  Divorced amicably.  Husband #2 was a dumb, hung trophy husband.  I only married him because he looked like you.  Well, a pliable version of you.  With a bigger cock.  He left me after five years.  The fucking bastard.  Took me to the cleaners.  Still paying alimony.”

            “You’re still a multi-millionaire.”

            “I should have stayed with you for one last year at Crocker.”

            “I agree.  I’m glad to hear it.”  After a few seconds of silence, I added, “Is that why you came here?  To tell me you regret breaking up with me?”

            “You broke up with me.”  Flynn shook his head, stopping himself from bickering with me.  “I came to check Jason out.  Make sure he was worthy of you.”

            “Overly protective for a man I haven’t seen in forever.”

            “I want you happy.”

            “I’m happy.”

            “Good.  ‘Cause Jason’s perfect for you.  I did my research before I came.  I’d show you everything my detectives dug up.  But I know you wouldn’t read it.  You’d throw it in the trash unread.  Everything in it would make you love him more.  Promise.  Then, I snooped around here.  The photographs sealed it.  He loves you.  He loves you so much.  You can see it in the photos.”

            “I know he loves me.”

            “I should confess.  I had another reason for coming.”  He took off his coat, draping it on the couch.  I could see for the first time just how jacked he was.  He was huge.

            “I’ve spent every day since my last divorce getting big.  And a lot of money.  For you.”

            “Seriously?  Seriously Flynn?”

            “You’re looking at 280 pounds of Trevor Flynn.”  He flexed his biceps, and they stretched the sleeves of his long-sleeve silk shirt, taunting them.  His pecs swept out beautifully, impressively, distorting the line of the buttons.  His legs were crammed into his expensive, tailored pants.

            Then, he continued.  “If Jason wasn’t perfect.  And I mean perfect.  If you weren’t happy.  And I mean happy.”  Flynn pulled a small box out of his coat pocket.  “I was going to propose to you like I should have fifteen years ago.”

            “Oh my god,” I said, suppressing a chuckle.  “Get out now.”

            “That’s what I thought.”  He sighed.  “But I’m still glad I came.  Think I can finally move on.  Knowing you’re happy.”

            “Go, Flynn.”

            He moved to leave, but as he reached the study door, he turned to me and said, “Marry him, Vaughn.  He’s the ideal man for you.”

            “Out,” I said.

            “One last thing before I go,” he said.

            “What?”
            “You can borrow 30 pounds.”  As he walked out the door, he added, “Consider it a wedding present.”

            Present?  Did he call them a present?  I felt myself swell 30 pounds larger, my chest prouder and thicker, my arms sturdier and denser, my legs wider and brawnier, my ass heavier and beefier.  In a flash, I was 330 pounds.  Permanently.  That means 330 was my new baseline normal.

            Confused at the upshot but happy the confrontation was over, I jogged upstairs and found Jason in bed.  He was mindlessly scrolling through the messages that Lacey had forwarded to him.

            Without lifting his head, Jason asked, “You kicked him out, right?”

            “As soon as I could.”

            Jason smiled, his eyes still glued to the screen.  “That’s my Miles.”

            “Any good messages?” I asked, hoping to get his attention.

            “My parents congratulated me on the engagement.  Your parents congratulated me on the engagement.  My co-stars from the show congratulated me.  The show runner congratulated me.  I’m pretty sure this last one’s from Disney.  Not the person running Disney.  Not even the reanimated corpse of Walt Disney.  I think the studio itself gained sentience and texted me congratulations.”

            “With the night I’m having, that doesn’t surprise me.”

            Jason kept scrolling.

            Hoping to goad him into looking at me, I said, “Before he left, Flynn insisted on telling me why he came.”

            “Let me guess,” Jason said, still not looking up from his screen.  “Flynn’s happily married with two kids and is so excited for us to get married that he wants to pay for the whole ceremony, and that’s why he broke into our house.”

            “Wrong on all fronts.  He’s twice divorced, one of them bitterly.  He wanted to see if you met his standards.”

            Jason kept scrolling, but he grunted again.

            “You more than met his standards, if you care.” 

            “Not in the least.”

            I kept expecting Jason to notice my extra mass, but he didn’t.  He was too absorbed in his phone.   I didn’t want to play dirty, but I knew what would get his attention.  “And if you didn’t meet his standards, he was going to propose to me.”

            Jason dropped his phone to glower at me.  Then, he did a double take.  If he hadn’t already dropped his phone, he would have dropped it again.  “Are you bigger?”

            “He gave me 30 pounds as a wedding present.”  I took off my shirt and pants, strutting around in my underwear for Jason’s benefit, showing off my new permanent 330 pound mass.  I was quite flexible at this size, spending a lot of my days at 370.  But 330 is significantly larger than 300, and the sinews, bulges, and thickness showed.

            “A present?  He called it a present?  That means…”

            I flexed my pecs and then my thighs, showing Jason how mighty I was.  “With your standard deposit, I will now be vacillating between 330 and 400, yes.  Can’t get smaller than 330 if I tried.”

            “Well, if he insisted on giving a wedding present, this beats a blender,” Jason said.  “I, frankly, love this.  How about you?”

            “Suits me fine,” I said, getting into bed with him.  “Life’s not that different at 400 than it is at 370.”

            Jason reached up and started caressing my pec, initiating a rousing night of sex, but then his phone chimed five times in rapid succession, indicating five new text messages.

            His hand fell from my chest, and I could tell from the look on Jason’s face that he really wanted to check his phone, so I handed it to him.

            “The charm offensive didn’t work?” I asked.

            “Doesn’t look like it,” he said, quickly reading the texts.  “Two of those were from Margaret.”

            “Our choices, then, are ride this wave for as long as it takes for this story to die, or get married to kill it faster.”

            “Those would be our choices,” Jason agreed.

            “Food for thought for tomorrow,” I said, turning off Jason’s phone and putting his hand back on my pec.  “Tonight, though, let’s not worry about it.”

[arpeejay]

Queue Etta James...

At laaaaaast...

[TQuintA]

Just now, arpeejay said:

At laaaaaast.

When the group of you were insisting Vaughn get into the 400-range, I was on my side of the screen resisting the urge to reply "Patience~" to each and every one of you. 

[arpeejay]

20 minutes ago, TQuintA said:

When the group of you were insisting Vaughn get into the 400-range, I was on my side of the screen resisting the urge to reply "Patience~" to each and every one of you. 

I knew you would come through! But my job is to encourage the incorrigible! 

[actorsarecool]

50 minutes ago, TQuintA said:

When the group of you were insisting Vaughn get into the 400-range, I was on my side of the screen resisting the urge to reply "Patience~" to each and every one of you. 

Now to make him 8 feet tall… excellent writing as always!

[ChronoSeth]

What other extra stuff can be deposited? Height seems to be the majorly requested. What about hair follicles, or someone that made surgery to have another testicle. What about mentality stuff like extra boldness or drive? 

[ploder4]

Let's see alphonse deposit another 5 inches of cock and balls to see how another roid induced rage affects Vaughn now.

Maybe add in a feat of strength or two which gets picked up by the tabloid.