When Dustin entered the office, Coach Fowler made a brief comment about Dustin's weight gain, but otherwise, he was very matter-of-fact. Struggling to overcome his nervousness, the hefty sixteen-year-old blurted out his desire to play football on the defensive line.

"Well, it's about time," the coach laughed, as he set down a stack of papers, and folded his hands on the top of his desk, "I guess your dad must have finally talked some sense into you."

"What?" responded Dustin, thinking of the countless arguments he had had with Mark regarding his weight.

"Son," the coach began sternly, "when a boy's got a daddy as big as yours, it's a good bet some of that size is gonna rub off on ya, and that's definitely what I need plugging up the holes in our front line!"

"Oh, yeah, that's right," answered Dustin, remembering that Matt, the massive plumber, was now his father.

"What does your dad go about? Three-sixty? Three-eighty?" coach asked offhandedly, and the question caught Dustin completely off guard. He knew Matt was at least six-foot-six, but he wouldn't even venture a guess at how much he weighed. It was a huge amount to be sure.

"Well, let's get you up on the scale while you're here," grunted the coach brusquely. Dustin smiled, and slapped his belly at the thought of getting up on the locker room scale, but before he turned to leave the office, he stood and watched the coach lift himself out of his desk chair. As the powerful man straightened to his full height, stretching his meaty arms, and flexing his broad chest, a big round pot gut popped out over the desk top. The sheer size of the coach's gut made Dustin stare. He'd never seen Coach Fowler so big. The front of coach's shirt was swelled out like a balloon.

"Wow," whispered Dustin without thinking.

"You're not the only one who bulked up over the summer," coach laughed, enjoying Dustin's reaction. Then he slapped his gut with a loud spanking noise. Dustin couldn't help noticing how the big firm beer gut shook when the coach moved. The two of them made their way into the locker room, and Dustin stripped to his boxers to weigh-in. The beam made a loud "clank" when Dustin hoisted himself onto the scale. He decided to push the top weight all the way to the three-hundred mark, and was surprised when the beam hardly quivered. Slowly, he nudged the smaller bottom weight with his finger, shoving it from left to right. His eyes widened as the numbers under the indicator rose higher. Finally, at three hundred and fourteen pounds, the beam dropped to a balanced position. He was even heavier than he had thought. When he turned, and stepped down he noticed that the coach had also stripped to his shorts.

The scale seemed to clank louder when the coach stepped on, and it rocked side to side as the big man shifted his weight. The coach pushed the small bottom weight well passed the three-fifteen mark, and continued to tap it toward a balancing point. Dustin watched as the beam joggled slightly, and finally settled on the far side of three hundred and thirty-five pounds. From the height of the scale, coach smiled down smugly at Dustin, he then adjusted the back of his shorts and stepped off the scale slightly nudging his new lineman with his big belly.

As the two guys stood barefoot, and navel to navel, Dustin suddenly broke into a wide grin. Even though he couldn't top the coach in the weight department, he still had him beat by nearly four inches in height, and he enjoyed peering down from his lofty six-foot-three.

"Geez," grunted the coach, taking note of Dustin's increased height, "looks like you got me there kid!" •