MommasBoy2

Momma's Boy II Flesh No. 661
“I don't enjoy it at all!” Toby told his mother through a mouthful of chips. The two had told Scott they were driving to a recycling plant as part of an assessment Toby was doing for Geography. They ended up at a McDonalds instead with Lucy deciding it would just be easier if she did the assessment for him.
“I know you don't like swim training,” his mother reasoned, “But it means a lot to your father.
“But I hate it!” Toby slammed his fist, tears welling up in his eyes, “It makes me feel bad about myself! Like… like I'm not good at anything!”
“Aw there there baby,” she closed in for the hug, unable to resist the display of waterworks, “if you don't want to go to swim training anymore then Momma won't make you.”
“What about Dad?” the boy whimpered.
“Momma will take care of it.”

And so it began that Lucy would drive her son to and from the indoor pool every other day of the week instead of her husband Scott. Or that was the story anyway. In fact, she would drive Toby to and from the Mall every other day and he would get himself a fudge sundae and a box of original recipe wings. Lucy loved spending time with her boy, and was addicted to seeing the smile on his face. This behavior of course did not go unnoticed. By the next weigh in Toby had developed a little bit of pudge. Two weigh ins later he had a bonafide muffin top hanging over his swimmers. His father did the usual song and dance routine – screaming at him, poking his flab and telling him he'd amount to nothing – but by this point Toy had started sassing his father back. Toby made a snide remark about how maybe his father was just a moron seeing as he was one in control of his son's strict diet. Lots of little comments like this had started coming out of Toby's mouth and rather than get even angrier his father tended to back off in shock. Toby was getting less and less afraid of him and he knew it.

“Um, do you mind me asking why you want to wear that outfit?” Lucy treaded cautiously as she looked over her shirtless son on the other side of the dining room table.
“I didn't want to get food stains on my shirt.” he said dismissively, not looking up from the table of snacks and desserts in front of him.
“No, I gathered that…” she responded, quickly taking in how her once sickly thin boy was starting to fill out nicely, “I mean, why are you only wearing your old swimming trunks?”
The key word here was 'old', Lucy could see that the swimming trunks were getting a size or two too small for her son. His softer hips and thighs were being pulled inward where the band of the swimmers passed across his hips, and at front they almost became invisible where her son's pudge hung over them.
“Oh, I don't know… They're pretty comfy and it's what I wear when Dad weighs me anyway.”
Before long he was chowing down on what could only be described as the snack table from a 9 year old's birthday. Except instead of 20 hyperactive children is was one greedy boy who was slovenly pouring plate after plate into his mouth. His appetite had be increasing by leaps and bounds. The occasion? Well, there shouldn't need to be an occasion to prepare your son's favorite meal Lucy thought. He was a good boy and he deserved a treat, especially with how rough his father had been with him recently.