It had been three years since I first babysat Jack. I was sixteen; a junior in high school. He was only twelve, and excelled in his eighth-grade classes. Some of the other kids in my grade wondered why I walked to the middle school after class let out. They wondered why I walked home with the fat kid every day. 

The truth is, we did everything together.

***

He was old enough now that he didn't need a 'sitter any more, but I came over anyway. His parents didn't mind. They'd known me for years; I also happened to be Jack's only proper friend. Kids liked to make fun of him, and he didn't particularly like riding the bus. I walked with him instead. 

His parents didn't get out of work 'till late in the evening, so that left us time to watch t.v., play games, or whatever. He still ate an absurd amount of food, which didn't bother me any. I just sat on the couch in a t-shirt and boxers, and occasionally snuck a peak at him. He had grown into his initially alarming weight, and wore it well now; he was certainly more mobile than he once was. I wasn't entirely sure, but I comfortably assumed that he weighed around three hundred pounds. 

He wore massive shirts, which was a shame. I could only see hints of his love handles when he leaned to grab the remote or reached for a bag of chips. His boxers were a bit of a tight fit; they hugged firm against the engorged roll of fat that hid his tender bits. I caught a glimpse of his navel whenever his shirt slid up.

Now and then he'd go to the kitchen to get another soft drink. I lived for those moments when he'd lean forward to stand, and his boxers would slide down his backside a bit. I missed the days when that rump rested in my lap, when he'd let me feed him. That was ages ago. 

***

We went outside quite often, though wherever we went we got there slowly. On a particularly hot day, we went to the river. I watched him strip off his damp, sweaty shirt before he waddled into the water. Swimming wasn't much of an effort for him; he was rather buoyant, after all. 

Whenever we went swimmng, I'd usually be the last out of the water. I'd watch him walk out on shore, his black and white fur clung tight to his body. Everything seemed more defined when he was wet - the curves of his love handles and thighs more apparent, his shaggy belly massive and dripping. His soaked boxers sagged low over his soft, supple rump. 

That day, though, I climbed out of the water after him. He began to turn, to comment on my abrupt exit - I wrapped my arms around him and held him from behind. We stood in the warm autumn air for what seemed like ages. His face had gone red, and he stammered softly.

"Lu... Lucas?"

I wanted to say so much, but nothing would come. Insted I nuzzled aginst his soft, wrinkled cheek.

"Just a little longer."

As we slowly walked, dripping, back into town, his hand found its way into mine. Our fingers weaved together, and didn't separate until we were home.

***

We weren't officially dating, but it wouldn't have changed much if we were. We already did everything together, the only diffrence now was that we held hands while doing it - that, and I got to feel him up when nobody was looking. Between isles in the grocery store, on a bench in the park, in the water as we swam - his soft flesh was never safe from my wandering hands. Whenever his pants drooped as we walked home from school, I'd slide one down and gently squeeze his rump. His breathing would quicken, and his eyes would dart up at me. He'd wrap an arm around me, and come in close as we walked. Our hips touched this way, and he'd quietly pant as I kneaded a supple buttock.

His pants drooped so often that he eventually stopped pulling them back up; they'd sag 'till the point that I, with the last shred of decency I could manage, would pull them up for him. 

We had just rounded the corner of his street, and his pants had fallen a good six inches down his backside. I had been ceaselessly massaging his rump, and despite my best efforts, had started to get stiff. After a bit of an struggle, I decided that walking had become far too awkward, and I steered him off of the sidewalk.

We entered his house, and closed the door behind us. I dropped my satchel on the floor, and Jack lowered his book bag. While we hadn't done anything like this before (that he was aware of, anyway), he had noticed my plight. He was blushing, his pants still low, and he panted audibly. I took his hands in mine, pulled him close to me, then hugged him. I let him feel me, stiff and aching, against his belly. I breathed into the crook of his neck, and kissed him there. Then I turned him around, and gently pushed him against the door.

I took the hem of his pants and, as low as it was, gently slid it lower. I breathed down the back of his neck as I did the same with his underwear; he shook slightly. I lifted the bottom of his shirt so I could see the folds of his back. His love handles sagged delicately. His warm, soft fur was only inches away.... My trembling hands undid the zip in my jeans. In another moment I was free, and my hands found their way to his hips. I stepped closer to him, pressed my belly against the small of his back. He leaned forward,  his legs back, his arms and face pressed against the door. I slipped between his buttocks, pressed my face against the side of his, and stopped at the base of his tail. I slid his shirt up his belly, grabbed his love handles, and started shaking him.

I was gentle at first, and settled with jiggling his sides. But it wasn't enough. His panting quickened, then turned to soft gasps as his entire body wobbled in my hands. I pressed tight against him, ground against his quivering ass, and imagined pushing ever deeper. I imagined lowrering him to his knees, imagined the sounds he'd make as I'd relentlessly thrust into him. I nibbled at the folds of his neck, and he cried out my name. I came deep beneath the base of his tail, felt my seed trickle down between his cheeks. My scent filled the air. I cupped his breasts and suckled, hard, against his neck. He still panted heavily as I pulled his boxers back up. We took off our pants; I put my arm around his waist, and we went to the couch to watch television.

***

I was cruel to him that way. He loved it, I knew, but I used him at inopportune times - that afternoon, for example. We sat on the couch, and I held him close to me as we watched. I'd nuzzle his face, kiss his neck, but never did I let him up to clean himself. When his parents came home, I knew they could smell us, what we'd done.

In the next room before dinner, in an alley before school, I'd just slide his underwear back up and watch him blush as he walked away. I let him sit through classes like that, and sometimes I hated myself for it.  But I knew he forgave me. He'd walk slowly out of the building, bury his face in my chest and just wrap his arms around me. Then we'd walk home, my hand down the back of his pants, and as soon as the door shut behind us, bury myself in his sticky backside and do it again.