Pacing around his room did little to calm Edwin down. For one, every step he took with his big feet made his hefty body jiggle and shake, making him hyper-aware of all the new bulk he now possessed. Just walking felt different. His thighs were so thick and beefy, he needed to push them around each other just to simply walk. The insides of his thighs rubbed together so much, he was sure that his slacks were going to wear out quickly in that area. His belly, which loomed in front of him like a great ball of fat, stretched his dress shirt to the point where he could see the buttons near the apex of his gut puckering, starting to part between each button, but not yet revealing anything underneath. The black suspenders handsomely framed his august frame, bowing out around his blubber.
The belly up front made his balance different than when he was skinny. He had to lean back a bit or he was afraid he might topple over. In a way, he felt lucky that his ass was also so prominent behind him, as it formed a sort of counterbalance, although its size almost made it difficult to fully cover with the seat of his pants. Every step caused a ripple to go through his belly, his soft moobs that he could feel sitting on top of his spherical monument to gluttony, his planetoidal ass cheeks jiggling behind him, even the flab on his arms shifted from the movement.
The other thing that made pacing around his room not as relaxing an endeavor as he hoped it would be was the fact that as he began to pay less attention to his utterly transformed physique, he realized with a cold chill running down his spine that his room no longer looked like his room. It was larger, for one thing. Formerly it had been the typical size of a room one would give to a teenaged boy; larger than his little sister Dawn's, but certainly not as spacious as the master bedroom. Now it looked like it could rival the master bedroom, if not be the master bedroom itself. His bed was no longer the simple full-size mattress but was now a king-size bed on a four-post bed frame made of wood, giving it a sophisticated, refined look. The decor of the room seemed to have changed along with the bed, evoking the taste of a dignified gentleman rather than a snot-nosed adolescent. There was the desk where he composed letters to friends and loved ones (a lost art, if he said so himself), there was the library nook where he kept his many books and would sometimes fall asleep in the overstuffed leather chair, there was his walk-in closet where he kept his many fine clothes for when he wanted to dress up, his master bathroom complete with walk-in bathtub he'd had installed last year after a scare where he twisted his ankle getting out of his old tub...
Edwin had to stop himself. What were these thoughts in his head, these memories? This wasn't his room... but it also seemed so familiar. It was completely foreign to him, yet he also clearly had memories of many years in this room, sleeping, bathing, picking out what to wear in the morning, reading a favorite book in his chair, smoking a pipe on the balcony that overlooked the backyard. He'd somehow lived a life, he knew this, but it was fuzzy like it was someone else's that he could faintly recollect. He caught himself stroking his thick, hairy-knuckled fingers through his salt-and-pepper beard that was long enough to tickle the top of his hairy chest, exposed due to the first few buttons of his dress shirt being undone. He quickly moved his hand away from his beard, as if it had bitten him, and furrowed his thick-furred brow in confusion. He was acting like he'd had this body his whole life, but it still felt strange and new! His erection hadn't died down, either, poking a tent in the front of his dark slacks.
He grunted in his deeper, rougher voice and sat down at his computer desk, which was separate from his writing desk, which had a nice, refined leather swivel chair in front of it, his girth spilling out a little over the sides. Being fat was bringing all sorts of new sensations and wrinkles, he thought to himself, although he still hadn't seen himself in the mirror to realize just how apt the term "wrinkle" was to his situation. He squinted at the computer screen, trying to make out what it was saying, but his eyes saw words that were just a bit too blurred to make out. Acting from muscle memory, he deftly reached a big bearish paw up to the front pocket of his shirt where a pair of half-moon reading glasses had been folded and quickly folded out the sides and placed the glasses on his face, the nosepiece resting on his prominent schnozz. It was only after the action, with the words suddenly appearing clear as day when he looked at them through the spectacles, that he realized what he'd done. "I'm old!" he griped, sounding more like the rumble of a grumpy bear.
He searched the screen looking for some sort of loophole or way to cancel what he'd been through. Erection be damned, a not-insignificant part of him didn't want to be a fat old geezer and wanted to return to his normal life and body, post-haste. He tried mashing the "void transformation" button again, hoping that maybe it didn't work last time because he'd been mid-transformation, but it still produced no effect. He examined the page carefully and saw that "reality shift" had been a box that had defaulted to checked, which explained why his room had changed along with some of his memories. The brain pattern being set to 50% is probably what he had to thank for feeling like he had someone else in his head, along with the rampant erection. Weren't old guys supposed to be impotent? he asked himself. There's certainly enough boner pill commercials out there to suggest that it shouldn't be this easy to get a stiffy at whatever age he was currently at. The 50% of him that was this fat old bear was still foggy enough that he couldn't recall much with certainty, only vague ideas.
He decided to go through the support material for the Chronivac, hoping it held some sort of answer to his predicament. As he clicked through the program, he could feel his belly sitting heavily in his lap, taking up space. It was an oddly... comforting feeling. He surprised himself when he found the hand that wasn't on the mouse was drawn to that abdomen of adipose, the hand making comforting circular strokes along its clothed side, resulting in a deep, relieved sigh escaping his lips, making his whiskers rustle. Why did being fat feel... nice? It was like he was wearing one of those sumo suits that one of his friends had rented for a birthday party, except it was all him.
As he explored the program, he saw that there were no support materials, no help section, no instructions. Just a "void transformation" button that was non-functioning and a transformation that had been keyed to last 1 year with no apparent way of reversing it. Seemed that he'd have to just suffer through living life as a plump old man for the next 365 days before getting the chance to revert things. Great!
He went to lift himself out of the chair and grunted as he realized how difficult that was now that he was an obese senior citizen. His joints ached and he had a lot of weight to put on them, which only made them wear down faster. He wondered if he was going to have to get knee replacement surgery one of these days at this rate. He folded his reading glasses back into his front pocket and looked around until he saw what he was searching for. He waddled over to his nightstand by the bed and took his now-leather wallet into his beefy hands. He opened it up and was surprised at the difference. His wallet when he was a teenager was just something to carry his driver's license around in; he didn't have any money to speak of. Now, his wallet not only had his license but several credit cards and about $140 in twenty-dollar bills! Maybe there were some good things to being an established adult!
He took out his license and used his reading glasses again to glean what details he could. His name was the same, thank goodness. That would get confusing real fast, otherwise. Age, 63. There go all the parts of my life I was looking forward to, he thought. Height, still 5'2". Edwin was a little sore that he'd still be looking up to everyone, even though he was shaped like a butterball now. He thought about looking over to see his weight, but... he flinched. He put the card back inside before he felt tempted to look at it. Somehow, reading it would make it seem real.
Edwin felt confident that the reality shifting aspect of the program was working flawlessly, based on the job it'd done on his room and his wallet, so he figured that if he left his room his family wouldn't freak out and ask what a fat old man was doing stalking around their house. He opened the door out of his room and was surprised at how narrow it seemed to him in this body. Sure, he may only stand 5'2", but he nearly took up all the space in the doorframe if he walked straight through it! He carefully walked through, continuing to feel the sensation of his body jiggling from the locomotion, and made his way from his room, down the hallway, over to the stairs that led down. He could smell dinner cooking in the kitchen and he felt his mouth water, a bit of drool escaping his lips and dribbling into his beard, which he tried to wipe off with a furry ham hock of a forearm.
He took one step down on the stairs and felt his whole body wobble. Whoa. He could tell that if he wasn't careful, he would pick up momentum going downstairs... fast. He wasn't used to balancing his body, at least consciously doing it, so he tried to let the Edwin inside of him who was a seasoned old codger do his thing and he automatically adjusted his posture, gripped the railings on both sides of the stairs and made his way down a bit more confidently, his bulk shaking with every step down, his moobs flopping on top of his gut.
Edwin finally made it down to the first floor and panted a bit, sweating slightly on his head which he could feel now thanks to the fact he only had hair in a fringe around the top. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief which he dabbed lightly on his forehead as he breathed deeply. Moving around was a serious aerobic activity for someone his size and age. No wonder he saw plump, older gentlemen take their time with frequent rests when he saw them walking around the mall. Eventually, he waddled over to the kitchen to smell what was cooking. His belly rumbled as he got closer to the delicious scents. He saw his mother moving around, stirring something in the pot, checking something on the skillet, a cutting board to the side with chopped vegetables littering it. She caught Edwin out of the corner of her eye and smiled. "Dinner shouldn't be long now, Edwin. Can you tell your son we'll be ready in about ten minutes?"
Edwin was at a loss at first, standing there dumbstruck as he heard the words come out of his mother. His son? Who could that be? It took several seconds until he realized she was talking about the man that used to be Edwin's father. Right, if Edwin was still a part of this family, and had the same last name, then he would have to be... his father's father. "R-Right, I'll do that, Janet," he managed to stammer out, only half-aware that he'd called his mother by her first name and he'd done so naturally as if he'd done it a million times.
"Everything all right?" she asked, half paying attention as she shepherded their dinner through its critical final stages.
"Yes, just famished, is all," he answered. It was as much of the truth as she could handle, after all. With reality having changed to include him as a fat old man with a thing for suspenders, trying to argue that he was a nearly-17-year-old boy who was her son, not her father-in-law, didn't seem like something that would get him anywhere. While he was distracted by this, he found himself moving toward the cookie jar they kept in the kitchen and lifting its lid, reaching inside with his beefy hand and yanking out a couple of fudge-covered cookies that he promptly shoved into his mouth, munching on them and even releasing a small grunt of satisfaction as some of the crumbs caught in his whiskers.
"Edwin, I thought we all agreed you were going on a diet!" his former mother chided him in an accusatory tone as she looked over at him indulging in a pre-meal treat.
"I am; tomorrow," he distractedly answered, as if this was an argument they'd had countless times before, his mind more focusing on how scrumptious those cookies had been.
"And it's nearly dinner time!" Janet shot back.
"Appetizers," he drolly rebuffed, reaching up to brush what crumbs he could find out of his mustache and beard hairs.
Janet just sighed with some mixture of disgust and frustration and went back to the dinner that demanded her attention. Edwin smiled, his mouth almost completely hidden behind his thick, luscious beard that covered his chubby cheeks. Some part of him was quite enjoying this. Maybe it wouldn't be all bad? he asked himself, a pudgy hand snapping his suspender against the quivering mass of his mound of fat.