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James Ferrison threw his shirt off with a sigh of relief as the front door slammed shut behind him. With haste, the twenty-nine year old man threw himself onto his comfortable sofa with delight, grinning as he slumped face first onto the same pillow that his shirt had landed on. It had been a long day at work and he was awfully tired. The fact lingered on the scent of his shirt, the time on his watch, and the sweat glistening on his body. While his job wasn't the most physically demanding (though he liked to tell his friends that the constant back and forth movement in the kitchen was quite the workout), as a head chef, James was constantly slaving over a hot stove, or oven, or truly any kitchen appliance that could come to mind so long as it followed the singular constant of his job that applied to all but the freezer, intense heat. While normally, seeing that it was winter, he would have cooled down by now, the odd heat that had been hitting New York this season was not conducive to his wishes nor in line with his circadian rhythm; James' sweat was unnatural on two levels this winter, it was both caused by machine, and further induced by the strange weather. James could feel each droplet run down his forehead and slide down his cheek until it fell, just like the others had, right onto his shirt, which reeked of the stuff. However, he did not move his shirt away. Not yet. The stench, while not necessarily pleasant, did not concern him as much as his desire for rest did, but the lingering odor remained as a reminder to James that he had more work to do before he could call it a day, that is, if he wanted to follow what he tried to make his “normal routine". Today, the remains of his job would not rouse him as sleep quickly took his restful position as an opportunity to pour weight onto his eyelids until he had drifted off, clutching his pillow and shirt in his hands.

Only five minutes into his rest, the alarm clock on James' watch rang out with a shrill cry. The young man was jolted awake and was quick to silence his watch. It was 8:00 PM, time to do his daily workouts. James pushed himself upright on his couch and got up with a yawn, his eyes crawling dreadfully to the workout equipment on the floor in front of his windows. He sighed as he walked towards equipment, and took the chance to look outside, he had a great view of the city. James was not a poor man, in fact, he was quite the opposite with the weight of the glory and grandeur of his wealth only being surpassed by his pride in his well earned Michelin stars. With the money and fame came a splendid view of central park and the rest of the city's beautiful skyline. With such a view, James had decided from the moment he had purchased the penthouse to remove one of the living room walls and replace it with blacked out window panes, so that he might see out, but no one else could see in. While he had never expected to see another person when he looked out his windows at this height, there was one whom he could never evade: himself.

James sighed as he looked out of his wall of windows, just as he always had for the past three months. He hated to see the man who ceaselessly looked back at him, but every time he did he couldn't help but stare. James had been changing ever since his wife Jennifer had left him with their son, Randy. While he had hired someone to do the divorce paperwork, the stress of the situation had not failed to reach him, and with it came depression, self-pity, and horrendously for the chef, weight gain. James sighed as he saw his reflection in the window, feint as it was. Bypassing the workout equipment once more, James made his way to the bathroom to get a better look at himself, something he hadn't done in ages.

James' body had cooled now, the sweat leaving him somewhat sticky, something that could be easily remedied with a shower. In the body length mirror of his master bathroom, James' could see that while his perspiration had finally stopped, it had already done its work on his appearance. James' cheeks flushed in embarrassment when he studied himself in the mirror, first noticing that his dirty blonde hair, once slightly spiked with a small flip in the front, had been matted down in an unprofessional style. While he had to admit that he wasn't as young as he used to be, James also knew that he wasn't that old either, and thus his hair was something that helped him keep to the younger end instead of wavering in the middle of the spectrum. Moving further down his face, past his piercing blue eyes, James was rather happy with himself. Placing a hand on his right cheek, he noted that they seemed slightly more malleable, but not by much. The broadness of his jaw kept his face in order, and along with his dark, stubbly beard, made him look like, as his friends had once said, “quite the hunk." James smiled at the thought, his pearly white teeth reflecting in the mirror. Yes, he was happy with his face and considered that portion both handsome and manly, just the way he liked it. It was only as he moved down that he encountered his issues.

James' arms were once large and powerful, but looking down at them now, they just seemed… large. That's not to say that he was not strong, but his biceps had certainly lost their definition over the past few months of overeating and blowing off workouts. His eyes slowly moved down his arm, hair picking back up at the forearm and trailing down. There was not much left to see, nothing much more had changed on that end, and as if on instinct, his eyes jutted back up to his chest. James was a broad man; his groomed chest was wide and strong, but he could tell that his pecs were slowly beginning to lose their edge along with the rest of them. As he moved his hands up, fingers slowly trailing through his chest hair, he could feel his slight softness. It evoked strange feelings from him, but at the moment, the most powerful one of them all was the sense of failure. This same feeling followed James as he moved further down once more to his stomach. This was where his indulgences had become the most evident. A small paunch had developed where his flat stomach would have once been. It was soft, at least to a point. As he pressed his hand into it he had noticed some slight resistance, a sign that he was still in the first stages of growth, not yet past the point of a rough return. He had taken solace in this resistance, and had constantly used it as an excuse not to exercise. It was becoming his habit to do so. James scratched absentmindedly at his gut, once more running his fingers through the hair that trailed down from his chest. His new softness crested slightly over his tight jeans, creating a small, yet nevertheless existent muffin top on the man.

Even further down James' treasure trail delved into his tight jeans, which displayed his only slightly thicker than average thighs, and hugged down his legs until his socks came into view. With a sigh, James glanced at the shower and undressed. He was an average man, if not slightly above so, and he was proud of it. The last thought had left him with a smile and an urge to give his balls a scratch before he hit the shower and tugged one out. He didn't realize that he was rubbing and squeezing his softening body as he did so, eliciting soft moans from his lips; James just closed his eyes and got to work. This was a daily ritual, and each time cum would cover his chest and belly, and he would wash it off with new found love for himself - his body - and relaxation.

---

James always felt a little awkward every time he went to work. In the mornings, he would deodorize, spike up his hair, put on some nice clothes, and spray on some cologne hoping to get results from some of his female coworkers. He wasn't looking for sex, not at all, just compliments to get his day going, but each day his routine seemed pointless as the only compliments he ever got were on his cooking skills and from one other coworker: his apprentice, Andrew. The man was young, younger than James by three years, and had worked hard to get where he was. Every day he would come in with his dark black hair in a flip and a smile on his face, the kind of optimistic smile that gets you motivated for the work day and pumped to do your best. He had come from a local cooking school, one that James always forgot the name of, and ever since he had applied to work at his restaurant as a mere bus boy, Andrew had clearly looked up to James. It didn't take long for Andrew to try (and succeed) to impress James with his own cooking skills, which had been good enough for James to take him under his wing as his own personal apprentice. To be honest, James had always wanted an apprentice of his own, and having Andrew by his side truly made his day, but he found his compliments somewhat off putting.

Each day Andrew would already be in the kitchen prepping for the day before James was even awake. And each day, when James would walk in, Andrew would be right at the door rambling on about how good his hair looked today, or how nice his shirt was, or wondering where he got his shoes. At first it seemed to James that Andrew was gay; his borderline flirtatious nature seemed to have made such assumptions abundantly reasonable, but James had decided to leave the thought alone. It would only be on Andrew's terms that he would talk about the subject, respecting Andrew's privacy and personality as well as he could. But this resolution did not make Andrew's remarks seem less flirtatious, and thus James would always become flustered whenever Andrew said such things. James was not gay, or at least he didn't think he was, but nevertheless, no matter how off putting the compliments seemed, James couldn't say that he didn't enjoy them, even in his embarrassed state.

With Andrew's inescapable attention to the details of James' body, James knew that it was only a matter of time before Andrew would recognize his change. He wasn't wrong. It was only but a week ago that James had caught Andrew sneaking glances at James' tight button down shirt (he had yet to find the time to buy larger clothes) and smiling ever so slightly. It was certainly odd, but James didn't address it, the topic would have been too awkward to deal with. Andrew's glances and stares became more and more frequent as the days went on, but James had decided to put it out of his mind.

James wondered what compliments Andrew had in store today for him as he unlocked the door to his restaurant, but was surprised when he found no Andrew - no anyone - to greet him at the door. The place was empty, and though the restaurant only served dinner, James knew that other staff were supposed to be here to prep for the service. Lights were on in the back, shining through the kitchen door, and just as James had begun to head for it, Andrew popped his head out of the door. “Sorry Mr. Ferrison!" Andrew called from the kitchen, “I'll be right out!"

James waited outside the kitchen door with a concerned frown morphing his brow and his foot tapping against the floor. There had to be something wrong, the restaurant was never this empty, this unprepared. Andrew brushed himself off as he entered the dining hall once more, though this time in full body. He was not in chef attire as he should have been, instead he wore a tight, maroon long sleeved shirt that hugged his lean, muscular chest and jeans that met perfectly with his thighs and legs, though seemed tight against his crotch. His dark black hair in a flip, as always. “What's going on here?" James asked innocently, partially concerned for the sake of his business, and partially focused on the envy he felt for Andrew's perfectly lightly muscled body.

“We're being closed for a week," Andrew said with a frown, “and before you ask, it was the Health Depar-"

“I know it's the Health Department, but why the hell didn't they call me? Who was the inspector? Why?" James asked furiously, banging his hand on the closest table. James huffed loudly and looked up at Andrew, who seemed frightened by his boss' outburst. “I'm sorry Andrew," James said calmly, as though he owed it to the boy, “but this is all very stressful."

“I know, but I've called and called again, they keep saying that there were frequent reports of illness and pests and well… everything… "

“And we have to shut down until they confirm it…" James sighed loudly and sat down in the nearest chair, “but there's nothing to confirm is there? It's all a lie, someone wants us out of business, at least for now…"

“Probably that italian place two blocks down, I heard they got a new chef, highly rated, wanted a big opening so they tried to cut us out of the equation…"

“We can't just let this happen."

“We have to, at least for today," Andrew said, placing an arm around James' shoulder, “come grab a beer with me, I've cancelled today's reservations, we'll figure it out over a drink."

“It's ten o'clock in the morning."

“It's five o'clock somewhere." Andrew squeezed James' shoulder.

---

Miraculously, only two blocks down a bar that was seemingly closed opened its doors for the pair, or rather, for Andrew and his guest. Andrew was quick to order two beers, downing his own quickly before James could even get through half of his first. “You're a quick drinker, be careful with that," James said with a laugh, patting Andrew on the back. It didn't take long for James' conversation with Andrew to veer into uncharted territory, his divorce, his son, his weight, the latter of them all also the shortest topic at hand, beginning and ending with a quick “I've been putting on some weight but I'll work it off." Andrew's eyes lit up at the words, and though James could not get a good reading on his apprentice in the darkness of the bar, Andrew was blushing hard as one of his hands adjusted his pants at the crotch. Within an hour James had let the stress of the restaurant's temporary closure get to him and had guzzled down five beers fairly quickly, each of which manifested in the bulging of his gut against his newly bought, now tight button down shirt. Andrew stole glances at the tightness, and admired what little skin he could see revealed in the gaps between the buttons. James was drunk, and he knew it. It didn't take long for him to pass out. Andrew smiled as James began to lose consciousness, planting a kiss on the man's cheek and rubbing his back soothingly. “Don't worry James, I'll take you home."

---

James woke up groggily from his drunken dream filled sleep. He didn't remember much, just that he got drinks with Andrew and that the restaurant was closed for a week. When he opened his eyes only one phrase came to his mind. “What… what the fuck?" James muttered softly. In front of him lay the full size mirror from his bathroom, he certainly was home, but everything was strange and distorted. To his right was the windows overlooking the city, to his left, the kitchen. In the mirror he could see himself sitting, completely naked and bound, to one of his living room chairs. The bondage aroused him slightly, causing him to blush. He still felt the buzz of the beers running through his mind. Examining his situation one more time, he noticed Andrew standing in the kitchen with a smile, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his pecs, abs, and the light body hair dusting both. In his hand was a costume, a brown bear suit to be exact. It seemed like it could fit either Andrew or James. “W-waazz goin o-on here?" James said, the liquor influencing his tongue even stronger than before. James couldn't have been more confused and aroused at the same time.

Andrew approached James slowly, unzipping the bear costume. “I'm glad you're awake." Andrew ran his hand through James' chest hair, along his chest, and up to his rough, stubbly cheek. James' eyes followed to the best of their ability. “Just know that through all of this, you'll always be safe, never be harmed, and I'll always love you…" Andrew kissed James on the nose and blushed softly. “You're gonna get big, Little Bear, very big..." Andrew placed a hand on James' belly, rubbing it softly. "You'll enjoy it in the end, too. I know you will."