The second part of an art and story weight gain commission for https://twitter.com/DolbyVixen!
This was finished a while ago but I'm only just getting around to posting it.
Truck stops were familiar haunts for Dolby, and this one on the road to Calgary was one at which he had parked up many times before. Along with the usual combination of gas pumps and parking spaces fit for eighteen-wheelers, this particular place had a store where many a trucker stocked up on the basics for the journey ahead – there was a second forecourt on the other side serving as a regular gas station.
The pink fox plodded the few aisles the store sported, filling his basket with his necessities: donuts, chips, soda, candy, energy drinks; the usual suspects. These were hardly unusual choices for the runners of the big rigs that passed through, nor were the quantities he was purchasing, but that didn’t stop the meerkat behind the register giving Dolby a few awkward, astonished glances as she rang him up.
Though the label on his shirt was prefixed with several X’s, it’s days of adequacy had long since passed. An expanse of pale belly, at least a foot long and three times as much wide, hung below its overstretched hem, in motion so often that it was rare to see it dangling in its natural position down towards his knees. The buttons, those which hadn’t yet been untethered from the front of the garment, clung on by the tips of their metaphorical fingers as the fabric they attempted to hold closed was stretched taut across the expanse of vulpine, though a great deal more white fur showed through the many gaps their fallen brethren had left – it was a wonder, in fact, that his fumbling fatty fingers had been able to fasten any buttons at all.
“Here you are, sir,” the meerkat said, pushing the brown paper bag into which she had packed all of Dolby’s purchases across the counter towards him.
“Thanks,” he wheezed, taking the bag and shuffling out the door, back towards his truck.
It was only a dozen or so metres across the forecourt to reach his trusty chariot, yet Dolby was out of breath, sweating and panting before he had even left the airconditioned interior of the store. Every step was laboured, his immense, sagging thighs fighting against the tide of belly fat that washed down upon them every time they moved. His mouth hung agape, gasping for every scrap of air he could find.
By the time he’d reached his destination, the little old lady behind him in the queue had overtaken him, got into her car, checked her hair, and driven away. All of this went unnoticed by Dolby, for he was looking up at the door before him in minor horror.
Why did it have to be so high up?
Pulling the door open, he seized the handle just inside to help him climb. The moment he lifted his leg and set a heavily-laden foot upon the step, the sound of ripping fabric cracked through the still air: another tear, this time in the seat of his pants, had joined those already adorning most of the seams in his outfit that would have been a squeeze two hundred pounds ago.
The cab tilted heavily towards the driver’s side as the fox hauled himself up and plopped down onto the seat. The bag of sustenance was tossed onto the passenger seat – which also bore a portion of his rump - to join the seething mass of wrappers and packets, the debris of what he had already consumed this journey. He would need to stop again before journey’s end, of course; in fact, there wasn’t a gas station store that hadn’t received his custom on this delivery.
“Next stop, Horton’s,” Dolby muttered to himself cramming a fistful of chips into his mouth as he pulled back onto the highway.
Art by https://www.furaffinity.net/user/cursoryexploration