Goodbye Ben Artwork by Warren Davis
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@warrendavisartworktribute
Goodbye Ben Artwork by Warren Davis
All done!
Everything has been uploaded! Sorry about the miscellaneous collection being in bundles if you wanted them separate. Anybody could always repost their favorites as a single picture, just make sure to have Warren’s name at the bottom somewhere. Enjoy!
Miscellaneous Artwork by Warren Davis
Fat Cops Artwork by Warren Davis
Super Heavyweight Class by Unknown
The Proposition “Man, you gotta be kidding. You’ve spouted off some crazy-assed schemes before, but that one takes the cake. I’m not gonna be anyone’s lab guinea pig.” Joey, the dorm’s resident loud-mouthed jock, reached for his beer as he dismissed Brian’s suggestion. Throwing a hand in a “get out of here” gesture, Joey raised his three-quarter-full stein with the other, draining it in one motion. Closing his eyes tightly and thrusting his square jaw forward, he ripped out a deep belch. Then, with a grunt of relief, he shoved his empty glass into Brian’s chest and directed him to refill it. Brian started to protest. After quietly watching Brian’s failed attempts to make Joey listen, Tony finally broke in. “Guys guys! Hear him out, Joey. What’s the harm in it? We test some new food substitute for a few weeks. No biggie, and we might make some good cash. We could use the beer money with all you’re socking away lately.” “Man, I like my chow too much, and this sounds nuts to me anyway.” Joey looked down at his gut as he spoke. They were an interesting threesome. Joey, Tony and Brian had been roommates since freshman year, despite seemingly little in common and an occasionally off-kilter balance in their interactions. Joey was this huge, swaggering jock, a beefy dark Italian guy with a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. He was built like a tree trunk, framed with broad, round but muscled shoulders, a thick chest, huge beefy arms, and a set of thighs that could hold up a house. His neck was just as muscled, and his square jaw set off a startlingly handsome face. Joey was one hundred percent Italian, with a mop of jet-black hair and deep, alluring eyes that were almost wet looking. Against the smooth, rich tone of his olive skin, Joey’s bright white grin could stop traffic. His smile would qualify as boyish without the tightly shaved goatee that framed it. Joey knew he cut an imposing figure, and his devilish smirk revealed just how proud he was of his size and presence. And no matter how loud or in your face Joey could be, once his smirk broke into a grin, white teeth flashing, he was hard to resist and always got his way. Brain was at the opposite end of the spectrum. He was fit, but was most certainly not a jock. He seemed like a 5’ 8”, 170# pip-squeak next to Joey’s 6’ 3” wall of a build. He was definitely the brightest of the three, a biology student who oscillated between proud intellectual aloofness and awkward attempts to be one of the guys. But when struggling to affect what he secretly considered a somewhat dumb, yo-dude mentality, he tended to just come off as a bird circling a large mass, clumsily vying for some of the attention that naturally fell on Joey. And Joey was always there to throw in a jab, preying on Brian’s self-conscious attempts at a different personality. In the end, the two had somehow always gotten along, though there was definitely a precarious balance to their friendship. Tony always figured it would erupt one day unless he helped diffuse the periodic tension. Tony was, in fact, the most to credit for the threesome’s solidarity. Both his personality and physique were dead center between his roommates. It made him a natural counterbalance, so he often ended up mediating. He was also a jock, though with more of a baseball player’s physique compared to Joey’s massive, swaggering football build. And he was most certainly more understated and quiet. But despite Tony’s own relatively calm demeanor, he found Joey’s bravado infinitely amusing. Whereas Brian sometimes made dumb attempts to pull off what only Joey could, Tony would just egg Joey on, sharing in the fun without trying to be the center of attention. He would intervene if Joey ever went too far, but he endorsed the behavior, just toning it down enough when Brian was about to lose it or if Joey was about to get himself in trouble. Of all Joey’s many friends, Tony was the only who managed to influence Joey, and it often pissed Brian off. Joey grumbled at Tony’s intervention and headed for the chair in the corner, one hand on his gut as he nursed another belch to the surface. He’d been gorging on pizza, burgers and beer after beer all weekend, and his gut was definitely starting to edge out to prove it. As he took in short breathes, his only choice given the beer-bloated pressure on his belly at the moment, he snapped back at Brian. “If you’re gonna make me listen to this crazy idea, I’ll need more beer, dork. Keep it moving. Still pretty thirsty here.” Brian scowled as he testily pumped the keg. “Yeah, ‘cause you haven’t put enough beer in that gut already. I think you’ve drained an entire keg single-handedly this weekend. I’m surprised there’s enough left in here to even fill this glass.” Totally ignoring the comment, Joey sank into the beat up recliner. His imposing mass hit the chair with a hard thud. In one motion, he had the chair thrown back and fully horizontal. It was a move he had done often, as evidenced by the grind of the springs and his quick flop into a sprawled position. He spread out in the chair with broad shoulders spanning the entire width of the recliner, legs over the chair arms, head leaning back, eyes shut and mouth pushing out beer-soaked exhales. Taking in one big breath, he firmly grabbed the outer curves of his overfed belly and bounced its now basketball-sized bulge with both hands to let loose a second, wall-shaking belch. With a groan of relief, he folded his thickly muscled arms over his chest, nestling them into where his rounded pecs joined his newly formed gut. The university logo on his T-shirt skipped an inch or two where the top of his gut dipped in to meet the base of his strong chest. It then distorted slightly at the top peak of his belly, curving back to normal proportion as the shirt hugged into his navel. When his arms landed, the bottom of his shirt tugged up a few inches, exposing the bottom arc of the jock’s beer gut. Brian walked over and smacked the refilled beer right on the peak of Joey’s belly. “Oooof. Hey man, easy on this thing. It’s been getting mighty full this weekend. No need to go adding extra pressure.”
Now Brian’s arms were crossed. “You know, Joey, I’ve watched you put on weight every spring, but this year you’re really outdoing yourself. I’d think that with all you’re eating, you might go for this idea a little more.” Brian was right about Joey’s spring semester gain. It had been a ritual for Joey since freshman year, and this was the third year that Tony and Brian had seen Joey feed himself up. Joey’s running position on the football team kept him trimmer during the fall, so unlike many of his teammates, he always cut a more lean figure through November than he did come April. Joey was certainly never anything other than beefy, but he kept his hearty build to a steady 235 during the fall. But the second the season was over, Joey started ramping up for spring. He wrestled during the next semester, and he always felt more powerful if he added some girth, and he made no secret of liking to eat more. Thanksgiving always served as the official kickoff. By New Year’s, after two holidays at home with his big-eating Italian family, Joey was soon sporting a bulge below his pecs that he proudly paraded around and fed for the rest of the semester. And each year he seemed to edge a little higher up the scale, knowing he would always drop some of the weight once the warm summer weather hit, losing the rest once he started running his ass off for football again in the fall. It was almost as if he tested how big he could get before snapping back to playing weight. Joey actually didn’t gain that much during freshman year. It was more of an accident, the freshman 15. Well, 25. Both he and the wrestling coach discovered that the extra few pounds gave him an edge on the mats, so when Joey showed up for his sophomore season at his fall weight, the coach told him to beef up again. The hearty jock didn’t have to be told twice. He peaked out at 278# before mid-season that year. And for his junior year, after a particularly gut-busting Christmas and two more months of winter eating, he was likely already at record size. “You know, Joey, if you keep it up, you’re not going to be able to yank any of your shirts over that gut of yours. You won’t even be able to move around fast enough to pin a guy at this rate.” Joey sat up enough to scowl at Brian and suck up more beer. His belly pushed a bit higher with his torso’s contraction, edging his shirt up another inch or two as he chugged. Now Tony got into the conversation, though with far less disdain that Brian. In fact, Tony saw it as the opening to check in on his buddy’s progress. “You have managed to edge up to full size pretty quickly, Joe. It’s only February, and you’re looking pretty massive. What’s that gut have you weighin’ these days?” “Dunno. Maybe I’m 260 already.” Joey pushed his belly out, patting it as he guessed at his weight. Brian guffawed loudly. “Ha! 260? There’s no way fatso! Your belly must be bigger than ever. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re fatter than you’ve ever been.” Joey launched out of the chair at Brian with amazing speed for a half-drunk guy of his size. Brian’s eyes bugged as Joey body-slammed him into the wall. Throwing his arms back to lead with his chest and gut, he pressed Brian squarely into the wall, squatting down and then extending his powerful legs to raise Brian’s feet off the floor, grinding him up the wall solely with his gut. “Who you calling fatso, you puss? I may outweigh your bony ass by a ton, but I’m faster than you’ll ever be and can chase you down if you keep busting my chops.” Brian was trying to be nonchalant, but he could barely inhale with the jock’s full weight slammed firmly into him. The more he wriggled, the harder Joey pressed. Brian finally held still, looking right into Joey’s rugged face. Jet black eyes stared back unflinchingly, and Joey leaned even harder to make Brian groan. Brian felt his ribs pressing back into his lungs and started to gasp.
“See how this weight helps, buddy boy? My coach likes it, and the guys I wrestle go down easier, so stop giving me shit, okay.” Tony started to call Joey off, so he suddenly stepped back, letting Brain drop. As Brian slid down the wall, his chin bounced on Joey’s gut before his legs crumpled under him. Joey grunted from the impact but gave Brian one more belly bump before he hit the floor. Looking down with a laugh as Brian gasped to catch his breath, the jock turned to search for more food.
It took Brian a minute to recover, and that gave Joey time to rummage for more to eat. The room was littered with empty bags from the nearby burger joint and with stacks of pizza boxes from the all night delivery service. Joey opened one box after the other until he found three remaining pizza slices. Joey inhaled the last of the pizza at an amazing rate for a guy whose belly was already overloaded from a weekend of nonstop eating. Joey realized that Tony was watching, seeming impressed that the jock was still putting it away, so he played it up. “Ooooo. That feels goooood.” He looked down as his protruding belly with a visible sense of pride. Putting one meaty hand on the front of his stomach, he slowly puffed his gut out as far is it could go. Patting the top and front of his bulging gut, he moaned. “Mmmmm. Oh yeah. Getting nice and stuffed, but I think I should top it off with a few burritos, finish off the weekend right, hey Tonz?” Tony grinned and shrugged a why not. Brian looked on with characteristic disdain, which was characteristically dismissed by Joey. “Alright Bri.” Joey flashed that killer grin with mock niceness. “This sounds like a BRILLIANT scheme. I’ll hear you out, but it’s gonna be over Mexican, Let’s go.” “You mean to tell me you can even eat another – OUCH!”
Tony punched Brian in the arm to shut him up, whispering, “You wanna end up pressed against the wall again? Jheesh.” Soon the threesome was parked at the all night burrito stand. All three had ordered food, but Joey’s share easily covered half of the table. His gut was steadily creeping toward the table edge as he crammed fattening Mexican food into his mouth with unrestrained gusto. He ate as if the twenty-minute drive equated to eight hours of fasting. Both Tony and Brian had finished their orders long ago, but Joey was pushing on, miraculously shoving in a fourth burrito, eyeing the fifth and looking ready to pop at any moment. His shirt wore like a second skin. The logo was now completely distorted, spreading across the top arc of his gut. The hem at the base of his shirt, surrendering under the building pressure of the jock’s hard gut, managed to stay pinned below the firm bulge of his love handles. The fabric, however, just couldn’t reach all the way across his ever-growing belly, and the bottom edge could no longer stretch around the broad middle of the spherical expanse that pushed out from Joey’s torso. The shirt slid up his belly in a trail behind the logo, exposing a good four inches of gut above his navel, wrinkling into folds where his pecs rested and pulling hard down the outer edge of his belly to his sides. Anyone else would have shifted to cover his exposed belly, but Joey just ate on, letting his stuffed gut stick out for everyone to see. Talking around giant mouthfuls, he said, “So, you gonna tell me more about this scheme or what?” Waiting for the full answer, he braced the bottom of his exposed gut with one hand as he reached for that fifth burrito with the other. “Damn, am I getting packed full. One last burrito though. Oooo. Man! Feel this puppy tighten up.” Everyone at nearby tables could hear the thump as he slapped his hand on the exposed flesh. “Bet I can still can get in – oooo – one last – mmmmmm – man, stuffed gut - burrito.” With that, he rammed a third of the last burrito into his wide-open mouth. “Well Bri? Mmphfm. Gonna tell me, or what?” Brian finally got the chance to finish what he tried to start two hours before, so he kept his fatso jabs to himself and started to explain the science department’s experiment. “It’s pretty simple. They want volunteers to test this new food substitute. They’re paying huge money. We sign up, take the stuff for a couple of months, and we get paid bunch of money.” “Food substitute? What the hell is that?” Joey stuck his tongue out to catch the cheese dripping from his burrito, unintentionally making the question comical. Brian managed not to laugh and went on with the explanation. “It’s this food tablet they’ve been developing. We just have to take a few a day, instead of normal food. It releases the nutrients and calories you need, and it’s supposed to have enough in it to maintain your weight and keep you going as if you were eating – like a normal person with a NORMAL caloric intake.” Joey shot a warning glare between bites and Tony grabbed Brian’s knee under the table. He held his tongue, letting Joey consider the proposition.
“So let me get this straight. Some crazy scientist is spending university cash to makes pills so people don’t have to eat? What in the hell would anyone want that for?!” Brian sighed. It was so hard not to lob off a comment about the jock’s gluttony. “It’s for use on people who can’t eat for some reason. Hard for you to picture, I know. Someone’s sick, but doctors have to keep him nourished. For extended and remote travel. Or it’s possible they’d use it in the space program. They have been developing it for years and are positive it’s ready to submit to the government. They’ve run about a million tests with rabbits and monkeys. Totally safe. But they just need to test it to make sure the thing works the same way on people. So they’re advertising for volunteers, and they’re paying huge money. We could make a ton.” “So what’s the deal? I literally have to eat nothing but some astronaut’s food pellets for weeks? Aw man, I dunno. I gotta keep my weight up for the rest of the season. Still sounds crazy to me.” Tony piped in. “What the hell, Joe. Let’s go see the mad scientist. If it really works like Brian’s saying, sounds like a pretty easy way to make a lot of money. Let’s go check it out. What could it hurt?” “Shit, alright. Alright already. Let’s go check it out if it’ll shut you guys up. But I tell ya, if it affects my wrestling, I’m gonna come after both of you.” The Deal So the next day, the three headed to the science department to sign up for the experiment. Brian seemed oddly excited about having convinced his buddies to come with him, and he was eager to finalize the deal before they changed their minds. Soon Brian and Tony were seated in two chairs in front of the doctor’s desk, with Joey standing behind Brian, arms crossed over the top of his gut, which stuck out proudly from the weekend’s gorging. “Okay, Doctor Lambert, I’ve told these guys about the program, so we’re here to sign up.” “I see,” the doctor started. “Well, let’s get out the paperwork then.” Joey protested immediately. “Hold on a second. I said I’d come hear him out. I haven’t decided to be a guinea pig just yet.” Brian muttered. “Though ironically you’re the one already looking like a pig.” Thud. “Hey!” Brian’s teeth clacked together as Joey blasted his gut into the back of his head in response to the crack. “Guys! Enough already.” Tony shot them both a look that got them back in line. Doctor Lambert patiently waited until they quieted down. “Okay then. Let’s review how the experiment is structured, shall we boys? Joey, is it? Why don’t you have a seat?” The doctor directed him to pull up a chair from the corner of the office. Joey slowly lowered himself into the wooden armchair, having to wriggle himself into its tight confines. The doctor’s eyebrow raised as he surveyed Joey’s bulk. “Looks like you will need a bigger dose than your friends will, Joey. Okay, let’s get started.” “First off, you know the point of this substance, yes? It’s a complete food substitute. We need to ensure that it functions as a total dietary replacement for all solid food. So the experiment runs like this. You each list off what you has eaten for the last three days. I weigh you in. I will set daily intake amounts to match your eating habits and your size.” The doctor’s eyebrow raised and he looked directly at Joey. “Then I send you away with the product in question. You are to take it in place of all solid food for the next twelve weeks. It’s critical that you only take the pills I prescribe and that you eat no solid food until the experiment is completed. We feel confident that the substance effectively replaces what you would get from eating, but we are frankly still in the process of testing the interactions that result when solid food is partially mixed with the substitute. It’s the most open piece of this experiment, and I will insist that you adhere to that rule without questions. I cannot stress the importance of this enough. So you eat nothing but the pills, again, nothing. We then weigh you in during the process and check your metabolism to ensure that the substitute is functioning as anticipated. Then you get your check after the final examination. Really quite simple, and - ” “Holy shit. Twelve weeks? Doc, I think you’re only gonna be signing up two of us.” Joey leaned back in his chair with a scowl. I’ll be starting wrestling finals in five weeks. I’ve been beefing myself up for that, and I just don’t think I can risk it. I thought this thing would be like a two-week deal, not the rest of the friggin’ semester.” The doctor sat calmly as Joey protested. “Well, son, it’s quite clear from your size that I would be prescribing a much larger dose than has been used before. However, based on all tests run to date, I can assure you that your weight should remain constant, provided we get the dosage proportionate to your size and eating habits.” “I dunno Doc. Still sounds pretty nuts to me, no matter what the payoff. Sorry but . . .” “Ah, yes, the fee. Well, maybe that will sway you.” The doctor handed Joey the agreement form and a pen. “If you’ll look right here, I think you’ll see that it might be worth it to participate in what should be a harmless exercise.” Joey let out a yelp of surprise. “Shit! That’d practically pay for all of next semester’s tuition. Brian, man, why didn’t you say it was so much cash?” Brian didn’t actually known how much the doctor intended to pay, though he did know he got a referral fee for each friend that signed up. But he took the opportunity to say I told you so nonetheless. “Well, yeah”, you fat moose, he thought. “Why the hell do you think I was pushing us to do this so much?” “So you promise me, Doc, that I’ll keep up weight if I do this? And I won’t feel so much as one ounce of lost energy. ‘Cause if I’m not at full power in the final meet . . .” “Yes, yes, son. I’m quite sure you’ll be fine. Now if you’d all please sign the agreement forms, we can get you weighed and I can send you off to get started. I’ll bring you back for a check in three weeks to make sure we have the dose correct. Then we’ll adjust if necessary and give you the supply to cover the remainder of the experiment.” At long last, signed papers committed them to the experiment, and the three guys were writing down everything they had eaten since Friday morning. Most guys would have been shy about listing the massive amounts that Joey had put away, but there Joey sat, working hard to remember every mouthful of food he had consumed. He had to ask for additional paper to list everything. The doctor looked over his shoulder to check the list. “You are making that list for just the last three days, Joey, yes?” Tony was the one that laughed this time. “Yeah, you should’ve seen him put it away!” Joey grinned with pride. “I don’t want to forget a thing, Doc. I want to make sure you keep me up to fighting weight. It’s weird enough to agree to eat nothing but some pill for weeks, but I can’t slide on weight or coach’ll kill me.” “Yes, well, if this represents what you’ve eaten in three days, I must say, young man, I am surprised you don’t weigh 400 pounds. And on that note, boys, it’s time to weigh you in.” Each stripped to his briefs and stood before the scale. Tony and Brian had been recorded at expected starting weights of 170 and 203. Now it was time for Joey to tip the scales. Both Tony and Brian looked on with curiosity. They knew the jock was at record size, and each had to admit a fascination with just where that scale needle would land. Joey’s gut was still riding high, in full glory from the weekend’s eating binge. With the way his gut jutted out over the top of his briefs like a swollen basketball, bending the elastic waistband down in a deep curve, it almost looked like he had literally swallowed the ball, only to have it blow up in his stomach. Brian had a fleeting thought of how the overfed jock would look if that ball of a belly kept inflating, growing bigger and bigger. He pictured Joey finally too fat to shed all he’d gained, gut so big he had to lean back to balance it. His lips curled into a grin as he thought of Joey’s belly swelling, his shirt inching up his growing stomach, the jock finally panicked about growing so huge, his bigger and bigger gut pushing him right off the scale deck. Then he shook his head hard to clear the image. But not before he thought it would serve Joey right to really blimp up, finally too fat to deny being a porker. “Alright then. Tony, Brian, you each weigh about what you listed on this sheet”. The doctor shuffled to Joey’s release form. “It says here that you weigh 275, Joey? Sounds a bit low from the looks of you, but let’s get you weighed in to see.” “Nah, Doc, 275 should be ‘bout right. It’s around my peak size from last season. Can’t imagine I’m bigger that than yet.” The doctor made a slight noise, eyebrow raised again. Joey stepped on the scale with a thud and stood there, arms at his sides, fists on his hips. His gut actually bumped into the scale upright. When the cold metal hit the warm flesh at the front of his belly, Joey flinched a bit and kind of laughed. “Hmm, maybe I am over two and three quarters, huh?” Wrestler5.jpg (246763 bytes) Brian had to shake the image of Joey’s ballooning belly out of his mind again. The doctor said nothing and just tapped the scale’s counterbalance progressively up the level. 250. 260. 270. The bar didn’t even start to lift until 280, and even then, just a touch. 290. 295. 300. Now it was teetering. 301. 302. Almost. 303. 304. Still didn’t stick. 305. So close, but still the level remained unbalanced. The doctor’s eyebrows raised as he continued to tap. Finally, he stopped. “Three hundred and eight pounds, young man.” Joey grabbed the sides of his meaty belly, and Brian couldn’t resist chiming in. “Holy shit! I told you that you were a hell of a lot fatter than last year. But damn! Over 300 pounds?! Doctor Lambert, do you even have enough pills to feed a guy that huge?” Joey whirled around on the scale, and Brian took a leap back, ducking behind Tony. “Well, we do indeed have all the pills needed for a guy at any weight. I know you seem quite intent on staying this size, Joey, but I have to suggest that maybe we cut back on your dose to get you to a leaner weight during the process of this experiment.” Joey now spun in the doctor’s direction and looked ready to shout. “Okay, how many times to I need to say this?! I am gonna keep at this size until I get that division title. So I beefed up a little more than I realized, but man, I’m gonna be at full force for the final meets or else. Doc, if you want me to do this, you’re gonna have to keep me fed up to hold my weight. Looks like that’s 308.” In his head, Joey was also stunned at the scale’s reading. He rubbed his belly and thought, “Man, over 300. That is getting pretty damn big. I’ll have to run my ass off in a few weeks to shed this puppy.” “Alright, young man. Since you’re willing to participate, I’ll work with you on this. But I am going to put you through an assessment after your final matches to see if we ought to cut down on your weight. From the scale’s reading and the look of your belly, I’d say you’re pushing a weight that might be hard to drop without some discipline, especially if this is how you eat regularly” The doctor again surveyed Joey’s three-day diet with a whistle. “But we’re on for now, and you’ll get a dosage to replicate this kind of caloric intake.” And with that, the threesome was again off, this time with bottles of the food replacement pills and a label indicating their dosage, based on size. Needless to say, Joey’s had four bottles to Brian’s one, and his dosage prescribed not only higher pill quantities, but also extra “meals.” And the experiment began. Preliminary Results Tony was the last of the three up for class the next morning. He stood at the sink in their room, eyeing the bottle of pills, when Brian came back from the showers humming. “Checking out breakfast? I took my pills already. You?” Tony filled a glass of water. “Not yet. Was just about to. Hey, where’s Joey?” “Hmm, I don’t know. It’s definitely not like him to be up so early.” Tony tossed the four prescribed pills on his mouth and washed them down. Just as he emptied his glass, the door flew open, and in bounded Joey. “Aw, man, am I fucking stuffed! They had these awesome pancakes at the dining hall, and man did I pig out. Mmmmm. I think I got in a good two dozen. Oof. Feels like they’re expanding a bit in here.” He closed his eyes as he rubbed his big gut. Brian was stunned. “Pancakes? Did you manage to forget that today is the start of the experiment? What part of no food did you not get?” “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. My memory’s not that short, Mister Hall Monitor. I just decided to have one last meal, one big huge one, before I go in for the sentence here. I signed up for this thing. What else to you want from me?” Joey grabbed his bottle off the desk and dumped a fistful of pills into his hand. Tony spoke up too. “Are you sure you ought to start with the pills today if you’ve eaten, buddy? Remember what that doctor said about mixing solid food with these things.” “Yeah, whatever. I figure there can’t be much difference between starting after a nice man-sized breakfast or starting clean this morning after eating huge last night, right?” Before anyone could protest further, Joey had thrown a huge handful of pills into his mouth, heading for the sink to stick his head right under the faucet to wash them down. “So how many of those does he have you taking?” Tony looked concerned. Joey stood up from the sink, cheeks full of water. With two exaggerated gulps, he swallowed them all. “Ah, yes, breakfast of champions - NOT. I dunno. I think the bottle said 10 pills a dose, 6 times a day.” Brian’s eyes widened. “Whoa. That’s over three times what he has me taking. Was that ten you just took?” “Yeah, looked like it, I guess.” Tony kind of winced. “Looks like it? Man, not to sound like Brian here, but I think you better be a little more exact about this, Joe.” “Okay, Mister Nervous. Man, between the two of you I feel like I have the eating police after me. Shit.” And with his usual bravado, Joey scooped up his books and headed to class, leaving Tony and Brian staring at each other. Despite the hearty breakfast and first dose of pills, Joey was starving by 9:30. It was past time for the second dose, and Joey could hear and feel his stomach rumbling. The second his lecture ended, he dashed to the water fountain and pounded down the next ten or so pills. He went on to his next class, feeling no less satisfied. By 11:00, he felt ravenous. The next dose was to be taken at noon, but Joey didn’t think he’d make it. “Damn, he thought, I hate this already. I thought this shit was supposed to keep me from being hungry. This fucking sucks. I’m gonna kill Brian.” His next class was at one. As he swaggered across compass, he thought how he would usually be parked at the dining hall now, putting down a big hearty lunch. Grumbling out loud, he dug the bottle out of his bag and counted out the next dose. “I'm taking it early. What difference can it make?” Ten pills sat in his hand by the time he reached the next water fountain. He counted this time. The big jock stooped over the basin and swallowed his next “meal.” He stood upright, looked down at his still rumbling belly and scowled. Then he looked at his watch. His entire afternoon was filled with back to back classes, followed almost immediately with wrestling practice. Joey reached back into his bag and reread the prescription label. Then he checked his watch again. “What the hell. Four doses now. Four over the rest of the day. Not like I’ll have time anyway.” Looking over his shoulder as if Brian were there to chastise him, Joey counted out the remainder of the day’s pills and swallowed them down. “Maybe this’ll make me less damn hungry.” And with that he lumbered into the next classroom. His last lecture broke at 4:00, and Joey felt like he was going to pass out. He had to get over to the locker room by 4:30 for practice. He was utterly light headed as he stormed across campus to the athletic facility. He actually complained out loud, his grumbling turning a few heads as he stomped along. “I’m STARVING! I’m gonna kill Brian. MAN, I could eat a HORSE!” He grabbed his belly and thought about how much better it felt that morning, full of warm pancakes. The campus burger place sat in the building two up from the athletic facility. Joey paused in front of it and then gave in to his hunger pains. Charging the counter, he ordered five burgers and had them stuffed into his mouth before anyone could have stopped him. For the first time all day, he leaned back, starting to feel satisfied. “I knew this sounded too weird to be true. There’s no damn pill that can keep this gut full like a good burger.” With that, he headed to practice, ordering one more burger on the way out. “An even half dozen,” he thought as he ate and walked. The roommates met back at the dorm around 7:00. Usually, this left them just enough time to dash off to the dining hall for dinner, but with the new routine, they all sat there looking at each other. Finally, Tony broke the silence. “Okay, I know the cash is big, but I gotta say this is a little weird. Did you guys really feel full and normal today? I mean, I wasn’t exactly hungry, but this is gonna take some getting used to.” Brian obviously planned to fully support this endeavor, so he tried to appear as convinced as he was the day before. “I felt fine. Maybe I wasn’t full like when I eat three square meals a day, but I wasn’t really hungry.” “Hmm.” Tony thought on it. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t actually hungry, but it was bizarre not to eat anything all day.” Joey was shocked to be the only one ravenously hungry. “Shit, well I was fucking staring all goddamn day! I could’ve eaten a cow!” He didn’t confess that he practically had. “If it keeps up like this, I may just bail out early, boys.” Despite their hesitations after the first day, Brian talked Tony and Joey into giving it more time. The massive cash reward was indeed motivating each of them to stick it out. So the guys headed off to watch television and study for the rest of the night. Again, Joey’s stomach started rumbling. After an hour, he leaned over to Tony while Brian was in the bathroom. “Man, I am totally hungry again. Is your gut rumbling too, or is it just me?” “Tell me about it. I can hear it from over here. Nah, buddy. I’m okay. This no eating thing is still a bit of a mind fuck, but if I think about it, I’m not actually hungry.” “Ugh. I feel like my gut is gonna turn inside out here. Tonz, I gotta eat something or I’m gonna die. Cover for me. Tell our pal Brian I went for a walk. I’m finding some food before bed.” Both boys scanned the room guiltily. When it was clear Brian was nowhere in sight, Joey dashed out of the dorm, making a beeline back to the burger counter. Realizing that the place was about to close for the night, he practically ran to the counter to get his order placed. Looking frantically over the menu, he was actually too hungry to even think clearly and focus on what he wanted. The guy behind the counter waited as the jock looked all over the board. “Shit, I dunno. I’m so damned hungry. Just give me a few of those combo deals. As many as you have.” “As many as I have?” The guy turned to look at the rack behind him. “That would be about 12 orders? Having a little party?” “Yeah, man, in my gut. I’ve never felt so hungry, and I’m gonna stuff burgers in here until I feel like myself again.” “Uuuuh, okay then. Coming right up.” Looking a little befuddled, the little freshman stacked burgers and jumbo French fry orders onto two trays. “That’s everything I’ve got. It’s actually fifteen orders. You want the fifteen drinks too?” Joey was too distracted by his stomach pangs to register the sarcasm. Instead he grabbed the tray, threw money on the counter and headed to the nearest table. He rammed a giant handful of fries into his mouth and started unwrapping the first burger as he walked. “Man, I don’t care. Gimme three or four I guess so I can wash this stuff down. I’ll be over there. Just be a pal and bring ‘em to me fast, huh?” With that, Joey landed at the nearest table, stuffing the first burger in his mouth almost whole. While the drink cups filled, the kid watched the huge jock gorge at an amazing rate. He had never seen anyone eat so much so fast. Joey was shoving in burgers one after the other. He was practically licking the wrappers clean, stuffing a burger in his mouth with one hand while working to unwrap the next with his other. By the time his drinks were ready, he had already shoveled in seven burgers. He paused when the kid sat them on the table, sitting upright and grabbing his gut as he let out a groan. “Mmmmmm Starting to feel better. UUUURRRRRPP.” He ripped out a huge belch and pushed another burger into his mouth the second he caught his breath. Intent on eating as much as it would take to stop his bizarre hunger, he didn’t notice that this freshman was still standing there, staring. The restaurant closed, with the last few students clearing out except the gorging jock and the shocked freshman. Joey remained engrossed, stuffing himself nonstop, only slowing when he had eaten all of the fries and was gulping down the thirteenth burger. As he opened up the fourteenth, he looked down at his belly. There was just a tiny space between its overfed curve and the table. Strangely, his hunger still didn’t feel fully satiated, but he was glad to finally have a full belly. Joey slowed to eat at a normal pace for the first time in thirty minutes. The freshman’s fascination finally got the best of him. He’d never seen a guy eat so much in a sitting, and he was sure he could see Joey’s gut pushing out before his eyes. “You better take it easy or that belly of yours is going to wedge you in that booth.” Joey startled a little. When he turned to look at the kid, his gut did in fact bump squarely into the table. “Whoa. Oooo. Yeah, kinda full gut here I guess, but man did I need a big chow-down. Stupid food substitute. Who the hell thought that - ” “So did you get enough to eat there? Or are you going for a record with the last two burgers?” Joey eyed the remaining helpings. “Heh heh. Guess I made a pig of myself, but yeah. I needed all the burgers you had on hand tonight. My crazy roommate talked me into being some lab test rat for this food pill. Been taking it only one day, and I’ve never had such bad hunger pangs. I had to fill this belly up.” “Well, looks like you ate enough for three days right there.” “Mmm. Yeah. You know, I can eat pretty big, but even I gotta admit I’ve never stuffed in that much so fast.” He tapped the top of his belly with his meaty finger. “See, this experiment is totally nuts. I told him it wasn’t natural to only eat some freaking pill all day.” The kid laughed. “Well, I need to lock up here. Want a bag for those last two?” “That’s okay, man. I’ll eat ‘em on the way out. Thanks.” Joey moved to stand, and his belly slammed into the table, sending him bouncing back into the seat. He caught himself, hoisting back to standing with his meaty arms. His gut stuck out like an over-inflated basketball, and he had to arch his back to offset the pull of his burger-laden belly. “Ooooo. Stuuuuffed. But man does that feel more like it.” And with shoulders back and hands rubbing his protruding belly, he waddled out with his ever-growing belly leading the way and one of the remaining burgers already in his mouth. Soon, Joey was sneaking into their room, belly near bursting after managing to shove down the last two burgers on the walk back to the dorm. He rolled onto the bed, belly high in the air as he sprawled on his back. At last full and contented, he passed out, forearms leaning against the curve of his bulging gut, hands spread to grab its stuffed swell. But the rest didn’t last long. By five a.m. he was wide-awake, stomach rumbling harder than ever. Befuddled, he decided to rouse and sneak some breakfast. He quietly slid on his sweats, grabbed his jersey and crept into the hall. After gently closing the door, he shoved both arms into his jersey and raised them to slip it over his head. Before his head made it through the neck opening, he jumped from a sudden slap on his gut. Popping his head through his shirt, he caught sight of Tony. “Where are you off to so early?” “Shit, Tonz! You tryin’ to give me a heart attack? I thought Brian had busted me. I’m heading to the dining hall. I don’t get it, man. I’m so damn hungry again. I ended up eating until even I thought I was too stuffed last night, and this thing’s rumbling on me already.” He was caressing his belly as he talked. “I’m gonna clear a few plates of pancakes and see if a big old breakfast gets me through a day on these pills this time.” “Are you still taking them if you’re eating?” “Yeah. Well. Heh. Actually, I think I took about four days’ worth yesterday. I know. I know.” Joey made a voice like a child. “No eating with these things. Take the exact dose.” He tugged at his jersey, trying to stretch it over his belly. “But man, I’m bigger than you are. I think that doc musta messed up my dosage if I’m still hungry and you guys are fine. I pounded down fistfuls of those things, and I still had to eat a ton to shake the hunger. I really want the payout on this deal, but I’m not gonna make it if I don’t eat something too. I’m just gonna sneak a few meals, take the pills, keep Brian from busting me, and collect the cash. But you gotta help cover for me, Tonz. Cool?” Tony sighed. Joey’s eyes pleaded with him. Then they both heard Joey’s belly rumble, sounding like a subway passing under them. Joey’s hands flew to grab his gut’s bulge, which was still jutting out from last night’s eating, despite his ever-present hunger. “Uuggh. See, man! Listen to those hunger pangs. You know I need to eat more than you guys do, especially during wrestling season. Don’t bust me man. I’m going to the mess hall.” And with that Joey waddled off. Tony watched him walk away. He could see the sides of Joey’s belly to either side of his back, and he could see how the holes in the jersey fabric were distorting. “Wow, can that guy eat. That jersey isn’t going to cover his belly for long,” Tony thought. And again, Joey was stuffing himself. He was practically the first person to the dining hall, and he still couldn’t wait to get seated and eating. He was grabbing doughnut after doughnut off the serving line, stuffing one in his mouth as he asked for a triple order of pancakes and as many eggs as would fit on the plate. When he reached for the collection of plates, the base of his belly leaned firmly into his tray, tipping it up and almost launching food right into his gut. He caught it in time, realizing he needed to turn sideways so that his belly stayed out of the way. For the first time, Joey worried that he was getting too big. But his hunger was so blinding, it overran his flash of concern. He sat as close to the kitchen line as he could, gorging down every last mouthful of food at record pace. His jersey strained to its absolute limit when he stood up, looking ready to finally bust right up the sides. The line server looked surprised when Joey came back, asking for a duplicate order. He took all the plates to the table and then returned to the line, grabbing the entire pan of doughnuts and taking it with him. His crazed look warded off any comment, but everyone stared as he waddled back to his feast, belly bouncing from side to side with each heavy step.
And there he sat, eating and eating and eating for two hours solid, putting away more food than seemed humanly possible. In the back of Joey’s mind, he did start to wonder. “Why am I so damn hungry? Something’s not right here.” But then his stomach rumbled, begging for more attention. So he ate on. At last, he stood to leave. Letting out a low moan, he set one hand on the top of his belly, feeling the tight bulge where the pounds and pounds of food he had gorged down sat. He leaned back toward his tray and grabbed a glass of juice, thinking “Oh yeah, my official breakfast. Almost forgot.” He gulped down a fistful of pills, probably 30. He let out a belch so loud that he didn’t hear the two stitches pop on each side of his shirt. He lumbered off to class, hoping the feast would cure his hunger. “If that doesn’t get me through to lunch, I don’t know what will!”
But he wasn’t satisfied for long. Halfway through class, the massive hunger pangs resumed. “What the hell? I ate more at breakfast than I ever have, and I’m fucking hungry again?” Trying to bend around his bloated belly, Joey reached down for his bag. After stretching his stomach to accommodate such a massive breakfast, he could barely bend in the middle. He was grunting and groping to catch the bag’s strap, but his gut pushed firmly into the narrow desk, holding him upright and keeping his bag a foot out of reach. Finally, the girl next to him bent down to hand it to him. She eyed his belly and smirked. He just took the bag and muttered. “Yeah, thanks. Appreciate it.” She turned her attention back to the professor. Joey rummaged through the bag and extracted the pill bottle. The girl looked back at the rattle, and Joey sheepishly worked to open it without more noise. Realizing he had nothing to drink, he starting eyeing the girl’s Diet Coke. “Psst. Hey. Don’t think this is too weird, but I gotta take some medicine here. Can I talk you outta that soda?” Becoming annoyed, the girl looked at him and blinked. “Yeah, if it quiets you down over there. Here. There’s only half left though.” “Aw. Thanks. You have no idea.” “Shhhh.” “Yeah, gotcha.” Joey didn’t even attempt to count a dose. He just threw the bottle to his lips, filling his mouth with pills and gulping them down with soda. Then he refilled his mouth a second time for good measure, emptying the pill bottle and the soda, thinking this had to stop the hunger that was killing him. Stifling a carbonated burp, he settled back into his chair, belly firmly pressed into his desk and curving up onto it. “Man, I hate diet soda.” The girl almost laughed. But he was only okay for about twenty minutes. And then the rumbling started again, even deeper than before. He looked at the clock. Five more minutes of class. The rumbling grew audibly. The girl looked over from across the aisle. “Are you okay there?” Even louder rumbling. “Shit, I have NO idea.” Joey was grabbing his belly hard for the last few minutes, trying to stop the noise and trying desperately not to jump out of his chair to get more food. The second class broke, Joey was raced directly to the dining hall, moving as quickly as his girth would allow. He was so hungry! Not able to think past the pangs in his stomach, now so bad that he could barely see straight, he stormed the cafeteria door, only to find it locked. “Fuck! They’re not open yet?!” He looked through the door’s window and started pounding. A kid came up to the other side and yelled that they opened “in an hour, like every day, big guy.” Exasperated and baffled at his growing hunger, Joey charged back to the burger counter at the student hall. Once again, he told them to fill a few trays with as much food as they would hold. Soon he had slammed mounds of burgers onto a table and was stuffing himself as fast as he could. The hunger seemed unrelenting. Joey ate enough in three hours to throw the entire defensive line into a food coma, but his stomach just craved more, giving the fattened-up jock no choice but to eat and eat and eat. His belly was pushing out at record rate, bulging up so tight and huge, making him look like he’d pop if someone poked him too hard. Working hard to balance himself, with his dangerously full belly sitting high and huge from the ceaseless gorging, he waddled back up to the counter to reload. He was dazed from the pounds of food he had gorged down, but that hunger was still there. Eyes half shut, he asked for another two trays’ worth of food. “Back again? Trying to top you own record here, or what?” Joey opened his eyes to see the freshman from last night. He had been there eating for so long, the shift had changed behind the counter. “Look, I don’t mean to offend you, but you look about 15 months pregnant there, and I’m honestly afraid your belly is going to explode if you take another tray of food. I’m not trying to piss you off or anything, but - ” “Uuuggghhh.” Joey just moaned. He was too full to even talk, completely confused by his body’s signals as the hunger raged when his belly felt beyond stuffed. “Just . . .a. . . few . . . more. Fuck, I’m gonna split.” “Buddy – what’s your name anyway? – I think you ought to sit down and rest that thing.” “J-J-Joey.” He was so stuffed he could barely breathe. “I’m still – oooooo –hungry. Just gimme – URRRRRRPPP – Ahhhhh – a few more.” The freshman felt the belch across the counter and swore he head a seam popping. “Joey, huh. Tom here. Man, you don’t look good. Let’s get you out of here. I don’t want to be blamed if you blow that thing on my shift.” Tom came around the counter and started to lead Joey toward the door. Joey was so stuffed he could barely stand, let alone walk. Tom had to tuck his shoulder up under the jock’s armpit to keep him moving, reaching his arm around Joey’s back and gripping his bloated love handle to brace himself as they shuffled along. But they didn’t make it far before Joey started shutting down. He stopped where he stood and grabbed his belly. His meaty arms looked dwarfed up against the growing sphere of his gut. He let out another belch, which at least made it easier for him to breathe. “I gotta lay down, man. I don’t know . . . if I’m too – stuuuffed - to walk . . . or if I . . . need more . . . .chow. I think this thing is still rumbling!” “Okay, follow me. Man, how much did you eat??” The pendulous swing of Joey’s gut served as the answer. “You can’t possible think you’re going to eat more!” Tom guiding Joey to a remote storage room, and he stumbled into the room and dropped to sitting against a table. It creaked dangerously under his weight. Tom closed the door and turned to look at the food-dazed jock. With thick legs spread wide, Joey was slowly shifting forward and back, holding his gut, trying to find a position that eased the pressure on his belly, totally unable to stop groaning. He finally just laid all the way back, dropping his back against the table, leaving his legs dangling. As his back hit with a thud, his over-stuffed belly rose into that air in a giant curve that made Tom’s eyes pop. All he could see where legs and belly. “Holy shit. You look like someone blew up the Goodyear blimp in there.” Joey just groaned more, gut too full to tolerate a prone position. He started flailing his legs while lifting his head to eye his towering belly. He looked around it to Tom as he tried to swing his legs up onto the table. “Man, help me out here!” Tom reached down to help hoist Joey’s legs up. With a moan of relief, the overfed stud smacked his feet flat on the table, knees bent and canted out to each side to clear his belly. And there he laid, hands gently rubbing the tight sides of his belly in a vain attempt at comfort. He shut his eyes and whispered, “just lemme rest for a while.” Tom left Joey to pass out on the desk and returned to his shift. As he clicked off the light, all he saw was the outline of a beach ball belly blocking the view of the stock shelves beyond. “Just let yourself out when you’re ready, Joey. No one comes back here very often, so you should be left alone for a while. Though I think it’s going to take a few hours for that belly of yours to relax.” Tom heard the start of snores as headed back to complete his shift. The Big Feed Five days later, Tom’s nightly shift ended after what seemed like days. The dinner rush had been abnormally busy. “The dining hall must’ve had a terrible meal,” he thought as he eyed the clock, hoping he could make a dash for the door before he was caught by the late night wave. Just as he was about to leave, the line cook hollered for some mayonnaise. “Okay, I’ll grab you some before I take off.” Tom checked the kitchen cooler, but it was out too. With a sigh, he made a dash for the remote stockroom. For the first time since the other night, he though of Joey, wondering how long the fat jock hung around sleeping off his feeding frenzy. Suddenly he felt a little guilty about letting Joey into the storeroom, but then he shrugged his shoulders. It was no one’s office, and they only rarely came back here to refill the kitchen’s main pantries and coolers with bulk foods. What was the harm? He unlocked the stockroom door and thought he heard something from inside. The room was mostly dark, but when Tom poked his head in, he saw a glow of light coming from the back corner of the room, behind several rows of shelves. “Ah, someone left the freezer door open”, he thought. He stepped in, shut the door and flipped on the light. “What the -??” The place was a wreck. Empty food packages littered the floor. Someone had opened up box after box of food, leaving the remains strewn everywhere. Kicking it all out of his way, wondering what happened, he headed up the outer aisle toward the freezer. The usually orderly rows of packages to either side looked as though a wild bear had ravaged through. When he got to the back of the room, he stopped in his tracks. There laid the overfed jock, asleep in front of the open freezer with empty ice cream tubs to each side of his belly, which was now, miraculously, puffed out even bigger than before. Joey was still holding one of the five-gallon ice cream containers with one hand. Chocolate fudge ripple was smeared around the edges of his half-open mouth. He was listing to one side like a beached whale. His belly was so huge it prevented him from rolling completely onto his side. The arm gripping the bucket lay outstretched, above his belly. The side of his bulging gut pressed hard against the floor, pinned down by its own overfed mass, counter-weighting his torso so that his opposite shoulder hung in the air. His knees were bent and his thighs pulled to the side of his huge gut, pressed into the underside of his belly. His other hand, also dripping with ice cream, rested on the hefty topside of his gut. It looked like he had been shoving ice cream into his mouth by the handful until he passed out, clutching his near-bursting belly. His expression still showed how stuffed he must have felt when he stopped gorging and passed out. Tom stood stunned for a few minutes. He looked back at the empty packages strewn across the room and tried to figure how all that food could possible fit into one guy’s belly. Even if Joey had eaten every minute of the last five days, it just didn’t seem possible. Then he looked back at the size of the gut tipping toward the floor in front of him and thought again. Tentatively reaching out, he gingerly pressed his fingers into Joey’s belly. Joey’s gut was packed tight, barely giving when Tom pushed. The fed-up jock didn’t move. Tom poked him a few more times. Nothing. He finally slapped Joey’s belly with three taps like he was dribbling a basketball. Tom wasn’t sure if the prodding or the deep thumping sound actually woke Joey, but his eyelids, still heavy, finally dragged open. “Mmmmmmm. Oh man. Got hungry – again – and again. I had to – ooof – nap it – mmmm – off.” “Joey. Man, what happened in here? You look like you’ve been eating for weeks. Are you okay? I mean, this belly looks ready to - ” Joey finally came to and tried to sit up. With a load grunt, he tried to twist his body back into alignment. “Fuck! What the hell – errrooooff.” He had to throw his legs three times before he could tip his back, beefy butt and legs flat on the floor. He looked up and seemed as shocked as Tom at the size of his gut. It rounded up and out as though a massive sphere sat on his torso. “Whoa!! What the? Man, I made a pig outta – UURP – guess I ate way too-oooo-oooooof.” He looked like he was trying to do crunches, but his head only got so far before his big pecs bumped into the top of his belly, knocking his head back to the floor. Every one of his movements was lethargic. “Shit, man, help me up here!” Tom was no wimp, but this was a big challenge. He shoved his arms down under Joey’s back and tried, with the jock’s help, to hoist him up to a sitting position. But Joey’s belly was way too blown up to allow it. Breaking into a sweat, Tom made Joey rest for a second. Hold on. “Let’s try it this way.” He put all of his strength behind one of Joey’s beefy shoulders and rolled him back onto his side. Tom got down on the floor behind Joey’s back and starting shoving harder, trying to roll him onto his belly. “Come on! Help me out!!” “I am, damn it. I’m just so fucking fat and full here.” They both grunted and groaned until Joey was finally rolled up onto hands and knees. His shirt had ridden all the way up into his chest, and Joey flinched when his bare belly grazed the concrete floor. He had to arch his back up a good few inches to get it off the ground. Anyone with a less muscled torso would have been pulled to the floor by the weight of that belly. Joey was panting from the effort, and his stomach swelled in and out with each huge breath. After another brief rest, he yelled for help again. Exhausted, Tom looked at him dumbly. “What do you want me to do?” “Well shit, I dunno. Get that table over here.” Tom rushed over and dragged the table toward Joey. “Over here. Ooof.” His gut hit the floor again as he talked. “Get it right in front of me.” Tom slid it up parallel to Joey’s shoulders. Looking like he was about to hoist himself out of a pool, Joey brought his hands up to the table. Leaning squarely on his belly, he got into push-up position, arms bent, hands under his shoulders, legs pulled up as close as possible to his blimped-up belly. He grunted and started pressing. His thick arms bulged. With a howl of sheer strength, he slowly raised himself until his entire body was angled, half upright. His forehead turned red until he managed to get his arms fully straight, but his belly was sticking out far too much. Even with his arms extended and quivering to support him, from this angle, his belly still stuck out just enough to prevent his navel from clearing the table’s edge. He gave in for a second, letting his gut shove into the lip of the table as he panted. He then shuffled his thick legs further in under his gut, and with a roar, he worked to jerk himself upright. His gut came a few inches off the table, and then dropped back down, too weighted by the pounds and pounds of food still in there. With a look of sheer determination, he sucked in his gut and then blasted his arms out as far as they would go, puffing his belly out to full-blown size at the same time. From the combined force, he bounced to standing, leaning way back, attempting to balance the massive belly arcing out in front of him. As his arms fell to grip his rotund stomach, he started stumbling backwards, tipping too far from the momentum. Tom rushed behind him, bracing himself as if a redwood tree was about to fall on him. Joey’s mass blasted hard into Tom. He hunkered down and with all his might pushed back, trying to keep Joey standing. After nearly crushing Tom, Joey rocked upright but then started to tip forward again. Led by the weight of his tremendous belly, he stumbled away from Tom. Legs tensing, he steered himself toward the table and landed his belly hard on its surface. With a huge crash, he came to a stop, belly covering half the table, which was quivering from the impact. He let out a huge groan, and his head slumped forward, his arms around his belly and leg muscles pulsing to hold him in place. Tom stood breathless, staring at Joey’s girth in total disbelief. “Have you been eating in here nonstop since the other night??” “Uh huh the jock moaned. I’ve been so fucking starving! I – had – to – urp – make the – uuurrp – hunger – stop.” The rumbling started again. Tom circled Joey like a moon around a planet, moving in and touching his belly like it were an exhibit at the science museum. “Bring me - mmm – that bag.” Joey pointed to the nearest bag of food. “You gotta be kidding. You’ll explode all over this room if you stuff anything else in there. You’ve already eaten half the - ” “NOW!!” Tom jumped, grabbing the bag of hamburger buns and tossing them toward Joey like he was a caged animal. Still leaning on his belly, Joey tore open the bag and started shoving buns into his mouth. Talking around mouthfuls, he asked Tom a favor. “You gotta - mmph - help me - umph - out.” Joey polished off the bag of buns in no time, convincing Tom as he ate to go tell his roommates that he had left town for some final wrestling practice. When Tom hesitated, Joey did his best to work his grin. “Look at me man. Something’s totally - mmphmf - wrong in my – oooo – gut. Fucking mmm-umm-mmm Brian! I don’t know what else to -mmm - do but – mmffmph - eat until this eases – gulp, ugh - up. I’m SO hungry – uuuuggh – it HURTS. Come on! Where else am I gonna go like this??” Tom eyed Joey’s growing belly and had to agree. So he left Joey, with his gut inching across the table as he kept eating and eating, to go fake like he was on the wrestling team with Joey, grab a bag of clothes, and get back to check on the jock and his swelling stomach. The Discovery Both Tony and Brian eyed Tom with suspicion when he showed up unannounced. Joey had never gone for off-site team training, and they both had been all over campus asking about him for days. But Tom told a good story, and they ended up believing that Joey was obsessed enough with the final meet to hide out for last minute training without bothering to tell anyone. “Yeah. He’s been training like a mad.” Training for an eating contest, Tom thought! “He just sent me to pick up some more stuff for him.” Tony agreed to load up a bag for Tom, though he still thought it odd that Joey didn’t come to pack it himself. “Yeah, I was sent for him. Freshman hazing, you know. They treat us like slaves first year on the team,” Tom claimed. Tony studied him closely. As Tom finally turned to go, anxious to escape, Brian called him back. “Hey, don’t forget this. Joey promised me he’d see this experiment through.” Brian mistook Tom’s shocked look. “Oh. Just remind him to take his pills every day, huh? His blood test is in three weeks.” And finally Tom was free, dashing back to the stockroom. To his utter amazement, Joey was still eating away. He had managed to turn, leaning his beefy butt on the sagging table, his belly launching straight out from under his pecs a good few feet before bowing downward. He was resting a huge can on the top of his belly, shoveling up handfuls of its contents right into his mouth. “Found your can opener. Now I can work on this row,” nodding to the row of canned food as he chewed. “Joey, I think you ought to have someone check you out. Besides, I’m going to get in serious trouble of you get caught clearing out – ” “Imma mphmnem ummahmmooo.” With his words totally muffled by the fistfuls of food crammed in his mouth, Joey sounded like a complete pig, grunting with its face in a trough. Tom finally figured out that Joey wanted more food from the burger line. Since the place was closing, Tom figured he could sneak the remaining burgers if it would get Joey out of there. He slid out, making sure everyone had left, and came back with several dozen burgers. Still stuffing himself, Joey signaled for Tom to start unwrapping them. Tom kind of crept toward Joey, holding the first burger out to him. Joey just turned toward Tom, closing his eyes and opening his mouth. He just waited for Tom to stuff the burger in his mouth for him, rubbing his pendulous stomach. Tom slowly moved it toward Joey’s expectant mouth, flinching once he chomped down as if he’d lose his hand. Grunting and chewing, Joey opened one eye when Tom wasn’t there with the next burger. Before he knew what happened, Tom was standing, leaning into Joey’s gut, shoving burger after burger into his craving mouth, feeling the jock’s belly swell up dangerously bigger as he fed him. Six gone. Ten. Twenty. Joey’s belly shoved out harder and fuller as he continued to gorge. Tom was pushed so far back it made it hard to reach Joey’s mouth. Between Joey’s height and the ballooning belly between them, Tom had to strain on tiptoes to feed the engorged wrestler the last dozen burgers. Finally stuffed to capacity for a bit, Joey leaned back, pulling Tom’s feet off the floor and lifting him up with his belly. Tom wriggled back to the floor, sliding across the expansive curve he’d been made to feed for the past two hours. It was tight as a drum, packed solid to the very bursting point. Tom took a few steps back, taking in the full swell of the inflated Jock’s belly. Joey was, for a moment, contentedly moaning, hands rubbing the outer sides of his pendulous belly. And it went on like that for another three and a half weeks. Joey ate night and day, gripped in a constant feeding frenzy by his totally unnatural hunger. Tom, horribly afraid of being caught hiding the wrestling star and somehow being blamed for his bloated condition, became very attentive to Joey’s appetite. He checked in to make sure he was okay between classes, making sure he had tons of food within arms reach. He made sure the kitchen was always stocked so that no one else came back to the hideout, and he helped feed Joey’s ever-growing belly, hoping the bizarre hunger would ebb so he could get him out of there. This drug induced hunger couldn’t possibly last forever, and if he helped feed the jock like a growing prize hog, stuffing him as much as was possible, he just had to break out of the hunger cycle sooner rather that later. As he helped Joey eat himself into oblivion each day, he hoped this would be the one when the jock hoisted himself up and lumbered away, finally having choked down enough food to catch up with the seemingly endless appetite. But Joey’s belly swelled and swelled, easily ballooning up to a good four feet out in front of him. Tom wondered just how much Joey had gained. And he wondered what kind of trouble he could get in if caught as an accomplice to this bizarre circumstance. His fear of getting caught came to a head one afternoon as Tony zoomed toward the burger counter, eyes locked on Tom. “Alright, kid, what’s the deal? Where’s Joey – REALLY?” “W-whadya mean?” Tom stammered as his face flushed. “You tell me! His wrestling coach called our room today, saying that Joey hasn’t been seen at practices in nearly three weeks. He says he’s willing to let Joey wrestle even though he’s blown off practice only because he’s his heavyweight star, but he’ll have to boot him from the team if he doesn’t show by three o’clock. The final meets start this afternoon, and if Joey’s not on the mat for the first one, it’s over. So where the hell is he?!” “I, uh, he, um.” “Spit it out kid! What’s going on??” Tom gravely led Tony to the storeroom door. “Look, I don’t know what caused this. He said he took some pills – I guess the ones your other roommate gave me – and it had this effect on him.” Tony shook his leg impatiently. “Come out with it, already.” Tom opened the door and pulled Tony inside. Tony let out a long whistle. “Holy shit! What on earth – what’s he been – how - ?” He stammered to a stop. The two of them stood staring at Joey. He was laying on the floor, belly absolutely mammoth. After nearly five weeks of ceaseless eating, his gut rose so high that neither of them could see past it. Tom slowly walked around his friend’s mountain of a gut to see his head resting on the floor with a kitchen funnel plugged in his mouth. On the edge of the table above him, a bucket of pudding dripped the last of its fattening vanilla goo down into the funnel with a plop. Joey gulped it down, then slowly pulled the funnel from his lips. He was again too stuffed to talk beyond a hushed whisper. “Tonz. Look at what he did to me, man. Brian’s fucking pills made me too damn hungry. Couldn’t do anything but eat and eat and eat and . . . eat . . . . ERRUUURRRRP.” Tony knelt down next to his buddy, putting one hand on top of his gut and still staring at its towering mass with amazement. “Joe. Your coach called. He wants you at the meet today or you’re off the team. You mean to say you’ve been holed up in here doing nothing but eating for the last three and a half weeks?” He shot a look at Tom, aiming the question as much at him. Tom nodded and Joey groaned. “Come on man. We gotta get you to see that doctor. We were due to get weighed in tomorrow anyway.” Again he surveyed Joey’s blown up physique. “Shit, and I was going to ask for more pills ‘cause I’ve lost five pounds. Brian’s been dropping weight too. But not you! Man, Joey, you’ve done it this time. That guy warned us it could be bad if you ate with those things. But holy shit, I bet he never figured on this!” He patted the top of Joey’s belly as punctuation. Tom and Tony were soon struggling to hoist Joey off the floor. They backed the table up behind Joey, letting him reach back to push up as they each got into squat position under his arms. After several minutes of straining, Joey was finally standing, slowly waddling toward the door, his huge belly leading the way. Tom and Tony had to step aside when they got to the door, guiding Joey so that his gut just barely cleared the door jam. People who passed couldn’t help but stare as the bloated jock stepped heavily toward the door. But he wasn’t waddling back toward their dorm. Tony stepped beside him and tried to ask what Joey was doing without attracting any more attention. “Where are you going buddy? This way, yeah? Man.” He looked around him. “Has all that eating gotten to you?” “I’m going to the locker room man.” “What??” “Headed to the meet. It’s just some extra poundage. I gotta win that final match. Brian’s not gonna blow that for me.” “Joey, buddy, there’s no way. Look at you! You look like that doc fed you a beach ball. We gotta get you over to see him so he can fix this mess.” Joey kept lumbering in the direction of the athletic facility. “I’m going to finals, Tonz. Set up an appointment for when I get back.” Tom stopped in exasperation. “And tell Brian he’s a fucking dead man!” And with that, Joey hauled himself out of the food hall. The Antidote Tony couldn’t get back to their room fast enough. After ripping Tom a new one for not telling him what was going on with Joey, Tony paced the room crazily waiting for Brian. His head was spinning. He’d never seen a guy pack on so much weight so fast. He couldn’t get the sight of Joey out of his head. His nerves were totally rattled. What is this happened to them too when they finally ate something? What if Joey’s belly stayed blown up that huge for good? He’d be too fat for football. Shit, he’s probably already too fat for wrestling. This time, Joey was going to flatten Brian for good, probably with his stomach. Tony kept pacing, looking at his watch, getting more and more tense as he watched the door for Brian. “I gotta calm down,” he thought. Not even thinking straight to connect it to the effects of solid food in his best friend, Tony gave in and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He drained it quickly as he circled the room for another half-hour before Brian showed. Nonchalantly flopping on the couch, Brian started right in. “Okay, so I saw the doctor today. He just gave us a few extra pills to prevent us from loosing more weight. Hmph. He gave me two bottles for Joey, though I don’t think I’ll give it to him. He needs to drop a few, no matter what he says.” Tony snorted. “More than you know, idiot.” Brian startled, more used to that tone from Joey than Tony. Then he spotted the empty beer bottle in Tony’s hand. “What the hell is that, Tony? You know better than that. I’d expect Joey to violate every requirement of this experiment, but you ought to - ” “Shut up, man!” Tony squatted down in front of Brian, grabbing the back of the couch to either side of his head and pulling his face in closer as he talked. “You have NO idea what you’ve gotten us into here, have you? I thought you and that doctor of yours vowed this had been tested!” His glare was making Brian nervous. “Yeah. He did. You heard him yourself. It’s - ” “Well he CLEARLY didn’t work out all the bugs. You’re not going to believe what happened to Joey. He hasn’t been at goddamn wrestling practice. He’s been hiding out, stuffing himself like a prize pig because of what you talked us into.” “He’s been – he’s been eating since this started? Well, huh. What a moron. We were distinctly told not to - ” “Yeah yeah YEAH! I know. But you know how Joey is, and you shouldn’t’ve gotten him into this unless you knew damn well what that quack doc of yours was testing. Once he started eating, he couldn’t stop, and you should SEE the SIZE of him. It looks like someone blew him up like an air balloon.” Brian started to laugh. He remembered envisioning Joey’s belly ballooning up during their initial check-in. “You know, serves him right. He’s been stuffing himself like a prize pig all semester anyway. Then he goes and completely ignores what he was told, and it’s somehow my fault that his gut swells up a little more as the side effect? I actually think it’s kind of poetic justice.” Tony had no patience for Brian’s snide comments. He reached out for Brian’s neck and shoved him back into the couch. “You little arrogant shit. I’m not talking a little bit of a gut. His belly is fucking IMMENSE. He could barely balance that thing. And he said to make sure you knew you were a dead man when he gets back. And if you’re gonna react like this, then I might just take care of you for him.” Tony was about to pop Brian when he doubled over, grabbing his gut. Moaning and falling to his knees, he let Brian go and held onto his stomach with both hands. “Oh man. I feel weird. Uuugh.” And before their eyes, Tony’s belly started to swell. Little by little, for the next five minutes, his gut bulged out like an inflating basketball, literally rounding out and pushing forward, not stopping until Tony suddenly sported a six-inch deep ball gut. Brian finally looked worried. “Oh god. The beer. It must have reacted in your stomach. Oh shit. Oh shit. Tony, I - ” “See what I mean! So now picture what Joey must look like if this happens to me after one lousy beer.” He got up off the floor, swaying until he balanced his newly formed belly. “Now Brian, I mean it! You get your ass back to that doctor right now and find out how to cure this mess. I’m going to find Joey. He seems to think he can still wrestle like nothing’s going on. NOW GET GOING!!” The Meet Joey lumbered across campus as quickly as his overfed build would allow. Each step sent his gut swinging in a huge arc out in front of him. He set his shoulders back to balance the weight, holding each side of his belly to lessen its momentum as it bounced heavily from side to side. He slowed as he approached the gym, growing nervous about what his coach and team would say when they saw him. Even Joey couldn’t deny being an immense porker at this size. But he was determined to finish out his best season ever with a win, no matter what. “I’m just gonna walk – er, waddle - in there like nothing has changed since my last meet, nail this qualifying match, and then go beat the crap out of Brian for getting me into this.” But serious butterflies wrenched his stomach as he approached the locker room door. Joey had never gotten nervous before a match. His cocky side always came out. But what if he was actually too damn huge to move quickly and gets toppled? What if that ever-present hunger started again? What if Coach wouldn’t even let him wrestle? Rrrrumble. “Ah shit. That’s all I need. More fucking hunger pangs to blow my focus.” Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the hunger, he whipped open the door, ready to get blasted for his absence and protruding belly. But no one was there. Everyone was already out in the gym warming up. “Shit, I better haul ass before I miss everything,” he thought. His nervousness only worsened as he opened his locker and pulled out his singlet, comparing it to the girth of his gut. With his belly now impossible to see beyond, Joey had to dangle the singlet around his stomach by the shoulder straps and work blindly to get his feet through the leg openings. After a few stumbles, he managed to step into it and wriggle his thick legs and beefy ass into the tight fabric. “Damn, good thing these pups stretch.” But he only had it on up to his waist. He looked down at the huge curve of the belly, wondering if his uniform would really be able to cover it. He started tugging, getting the straps up to his elbows, feeling the hard pull of the straining fabric as it hugged the bulge of his gut. He was incredibly nervous now. How could he go out there if he was too damn fat to even wedge himself into his uniform?! With a major exertion, he yanked until the straps finally slid over his broad shoulders. His gut, just barely contained by the lycra, looked like an overstuffed sausage. The incredible tightness made it hard to exhale all the way. “Okay, man, nothing you can do about this belly now. You just gotta walk out there and pin this guy. You can do it. Don’t take any shit. Nothing’s different but a few extra pounds.” But then his stomach rumbled again. He slowly headed for the gym, pausing at the coach’s office door to take a deep breath. Another shot of gut wrenching hunger. Joey stared at his gut, honestly amazed at his own size. “Shit, any more food and my belly will blow this uniform wide open.” He gripped his ball gut, like he would Brian when he pisses him off. “I’M JUST NOT FEEDING YOU.” But then he saw it. Coach usually did this during finals, and he was prepared as always. A table heaped with sandwiches and a tub of iced beers stood in the corner of his office. If the team won the first round of matches after weeks of intense practice, the coach always gave them a break after the meet. Joey had a sandwich stuffed in his mouth before he could rethink it. Then he was on the second, the third, fourth, fifth. Panicked that his hunger would ruin his concentration during the meet, he took twenty more minutes and stuffed down a third of the tray. His gut pushed out as much as it could in his painfully tight uniform. If he could even see the front of his belly, he would have noticed the fabric straining to paper-thin. With a grunt, he forced himself to stop eating. “Okay. Can’t miss the start. Might as well face the music.” He eyed the beers. “Ah shit, what can it hurt? This big gut can absorb it. One will just calm my nerves.” He ripped off the cap and drained the bottle. He pounded a second one for good measure, sighing as his nerves finally eased. He squared his shoulders, which shoved his belly out in full glory, and waddled out into the arena. The team was busy warming up, paired out across the gym. Joey lumbered up to the corner of the first mat and took a deep breath. He set his legs apart to support himself and tipped his gut toward the mat as he tried to get into a starting stance. He hugged his belly and prepared to wrestle. “Okay guys, one of you has to help me warm up here. I’ve missed a few weeks and gotta get ready here fast. Don’t want to pull any muscles.” His two teammates froze at the sight of him. Too stunned to talk, one dropped to the mat with a thud, gape jawed and wide eyes. The other found his voice. “J-J-Joey?? What in the hell happened to you buddy?? I didn’t even recognize you.” He inched toward Joey like he was a bomb about to explode. “Where in the hell have you been? Coach has been asking all of us about you. We thought you flew the coop. Looks more like you ate the entire farm!” He was up next to Joey’s side, touching his gut in utter amazement. “Is – is – this thing for REAL??” The guy moved around to the front edge of the gut separating them. Joey couldn’t even see him from the chest down. He could only feel the guy’s hand pressing into his belly. “Whoa, you’re gonna split this uniform if you exhale too hard. It’s yanked so tight I can make out your belly button, Joey-boy. Man, what the fuck have you been eating to pack on this much weight? You know this is wrestling finals, not some eating contest, right??” The other wrestler overcame his shock, started to chuckle and chimed in. “Joe, dude, you look like someone drained and oil tanker of beer in there. You tryin’ to fatten up to feed a small country or somethin’?” The two of them burst into laughter. “Man, when Coach said heavyweight class, he didn’t mean fucking SUMO, Fatboy!” The guy was now swatting Joey’s belly, looking back at his pal. “Man, you gotta feel this thing. It’s hard as a rock.” He spread his arms out as far as they would go and clamped them around Joey’s belly. “Holy shit! I can’t even reach around him.” Encased in his ultra-tight unitard, Joey’s belly looked like a perfectly spherical lycra balloon. It dwarfed his teammate, who was lifting and dropping Joey’s belly like a giant bouncing ball. “Fuck, Joey, we had a few kegs left over from a party last weekend. Wish we had you around Sunday night to drain ‘em off.” “Yeah. Dude, looks like there’s enough room in this monster for at least four of ‘em, keg and all!” “Joey! Hanson, Jones, back off!” All three of them jumped at the stern yell from their coach. He stormed up to Joey and stopped right in front of his gut. He set his hands on his hips and whistled, surveying the endless curve of his star wrestler’s stunning stomach. “What on EARTH have you DONE to yourself?” “Coach, I – I can explain. My roommate hooked me into this experi - ” “Damn it, Joe. I’ve always cut you extra slack because you nail every opponent when you have a little extra meat on you, but now you’ve done it.” Coach leaned right into Joey’s belly and glared into his eyes. “Now, at the start of finals, I’ve got a hole in my roster because you’ve gone and blown yourself up too damn huge to even compete!” “But coach! You gotta let me wrestle. I mean – I – I know I put on a few extra – Shit – I couldn’t help it – Brian – the pills – I got SO hungry – killer hunger, Coach. I just couldn’t stop - ” “I don’t know WHAT you’re babbling about, but you might as well head back to the locker room, Big Boy. You’ve eaten yourself right over the weight limit. I’m certain of that!” “Aw, Coach, come on – please. At least let me weigh in. I gotta finish out the season. See what the ref says, huh? You just gotta -” “No point. You’ve blown it, Fatso. Seems like it was more important to you to ditch practices and gorge yourself into oblivion, and you’re obviously too huge now to fall within weight. Hell, you were practically peaked out before you disappeared on me to feed yourself up like some kind of prize pig! I can’t even IMAGINE what you’re weighing with a gut like THIS.” Coach pressed his fist firmly into Joey’s belly. “Oooof. Just let me - warm up and - get on the scale, Coach. Come on! Can’t you -” And then it started. Everyone turned and stared at Joey as he started to moan. Coach looked down at Joey’s belly, convinced he heard a rumble. “What the hell?” Joey winced and started to breathe like a rhino in labor. He reached around his belly. He felt it swell. He was sure of it. His belly was growing before his eyes. It was starting to blow up, pushing his arms out by the second. He felt the lycra of his uniform tug even tighter. He could almost hear it creak as it strained to cover his increasing mass. The straps were digging hard into his beefy shoulders. He felt a warm spot up against the far side of his belly, the side that he hadn’t seen in two weeks. It was Coach. His belly was ballooning up so fast it was pressing right into his coach. “Joey. JOEY!” His coach couldn’t help but grab the belly that was inflating out toward him. “Son, I don’t know WHAT the hell is going on in this gut of yours, but you BETTER get over here and SIT your ASS down before - ” Coach stumbled back a step. Joey’s belly had ballooned up by a good foot in every direction. It was bulging out fatter and rounder, swelling like someone had shoved an air hose down his throat and turned the pressure to full blast. His shoulder straps hit their limit. The fabric started to tear. Joey was now holding his breath, teetering toward his coach, totally unable to balance the weight of his swelling gut. His groans grew deeper. His belly blew up another foot. His face grew redder. His pecs pushed up toward his face as his gut ballooned up and out. Coach took another step back. Joey’s belly blew up to shove into him again. “Holy shit Coach! He’s gonna blow!” “AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” BLAM – BLAM With a huge snap, the straps blew apart, ricocheting into Coach’s chest. RRRRRRIIIIP Joey’s uniform started to split right up the sides. His legs started to wobble. He was rocking, trying to gain his balance, wondering if his belly had finally stopped ballooning. He tipped forward, unable to pull his massive weight back upright. He flopped forward and landed with a huge thud, pinning his coach under his mighty belly. Everyone heard a crunch. Joey just might have broken one of Coach’s ribs. Joey felt himself rising as his gut notched up even bigger. His gut was SO tight! One more inch of swelling, and he would surely bust open. He could feed Coach trying to wriggle free underneath him. But then it stopped. Thank God! His belly had stopped swelling just in time. And there lay the jock and his coach, separated by the tightly inflated sphere. There was practically no give as Joey leaned on his gut, crushing his victim. Coach was struggling for air, looking up and seeing nothing but belly. Joey panted with exhaustion, arms flopped down against his gigantic belly. His knees didn’t even hit the mat, just his feet. “Get . . . . offfff!” Coach gasped weakly. “Well shit, Coach. At least you know he can still pin a guy.” “Dude, he’s turning blue. We gotta get this Blimp off of him!” It took four guys to hoist Joey back to standing. Finally, he was upright, the shredded uniform dropped down to his waist, fully exposing his pumped-up belly. A paramedic rushed over to check out the coach’s rib, and Joey slowly turned to waddle out of the gym. “Joey – dude – where are you going? You better let the doc here check that thing out!” “I’m going to flatten my roommate.” The team stood dumbfounded, one of them jumping back to clear the swing of Joey’s belly as he waddled away. The Cure Brian’s knees were knocking as he walked back to their room from the doctor’s lab. Tony was going to kill him, let alone Joey. He nervously rattled the large bottle of pills and eyed the big jar of gooey lotion given to him as experimental antidotes. His meeting with the doctor could not have produced more alarming news. The scientist became immediately concerned when Brian described Tony’s reaction to the beer. He hadn’t even mentioned Joey’s eating binge before the doctor grabbed a beer from his office refrigerator and raced to the cages housing test mice. Brian was trying to break in to tell the doctor about the jock’s insatiable hunger, but he couldn’t stop the doctor’s frantic chatter. “You see, I was hoping it was just a temporary phase, affecting only rodents, so I didn’t tell you boys when it came up two weeks ago. I mean, oh dear, I, it can’t be affecting Tony the same, I never even tested alcohol, just, I . . .” The doctor was twisting the cap off the beer and pouring some into a small dish as he rambled. He set the bottle next to the mortar and pestle used to grind pills for the test animals. Brian looked over his shoulder to see a large white mouse dozing in the cage. “You see Son, I’ve been running experiments on interactions with solid food, as I warned you when you signed up. The reactions have been shocking, far more extreme than anticipated.” He shook his head and pointed across the table to another cage. Brian saw a large white furry ball, easily three times the size of the mouse by the doctor. “What’s in that cage?” he asked. “Another mouse.” Brian peered closer and saw little legs at the bottom of the fur ball. His stomach wrenched as he moved closer. It looked like a white tennis ball with feet and a head. Brian groaned. “I trust you boys adhered to my instructions on solid food. It’s even more critical than I knew. I thought we had it solved. I never expected the reaction to be so severe. I confess I have been stunned by the rate at which . . .” “Wh-what happened to this one?” “Hmm? Oh, yes. That’s what I’m saying. We started feeding that one half doses of pills and food to test the interactions.” “Uh-uh huh?” “Never seen anything like it. I left overnight and came back to find it eating nonstop. It ate a week’s worth of food in an evening. It appears that the pill residue reacts with food once in the mouse’s system to produce uncontrollable hunger, making the subject eat ravenously, apparently totally unable to stop eating with food present. We gave it unlimited access to food to see what would happen. It’s been feeding continually since.” “Oh God.” Brian’s head started to buzz thinking of Joey. He thought Tony had been exaggerating about Joey’s size, but - “We had to rub that cream on the mouse’s body to help it stretch. He was eating so fast his skin looked strained. We were worried it might even rupture.” “Oh, Doctor, I have to tell you something. My friend ignored . . .” “But I never even thought to test the reaction to alcohol. I think we have a pill to counteract the hunger reaction, and I was about to call you boys after one last test. It seems to have completely stopped the mouse’s eating. But oh my. Beer. I have no idea what happens when . . .” The doctor set the beer into the smaller mouse’s cage. It sniffed curiously and began to drink. “Doctor, I need to tell you more. See, Tony’s just had a beer, but Joey . . . “Sssh, Son. Let’s watch.” Brian grabbed his throbbing head and watched the mouse lap at the beer. It drank about half of the bowl’s contents and then turned away. “Hmm. Nothing.” Doctor Lambert turned back to Brian. “Now you say Tony’s stomach actually began swelling in a matter of minutes? Are you absolutely certain, Brian? Even with the worst of reactions, I don’t see how . . .” “Oh, Doctor, Tony’s reaction is only half the issue. Joey is in serious-” The drunken mouse started to squeal. The scientist held up his hand to quiet Brian and moved closer to the cage. They both stared as the mouse began to swell. It was pacing and squeaking as its body inflated. The doctor quickly reached into the cage and ordered Brian to grab the jar of lotion. Holding the mouse in his hand, he spread lotion all over the ballooning mouse’s body. It continued to swell to nearly the size of the other obese mouse in a matter of minutes. “Amazing! I would not have thought it possible that-” “DOCTOR!” Brian let loose. He told the doctor everything – how Joey mixed food with his dosage from the start and has been eating nonstop. “Who knows how big he is now, and you know about Tony’s stomach after the beer. Doc, you have to do something! I swore this was safe when I talked them into this. What am I going to do now? You’ve got to stop what’s happening!” And in a matter of minutes, the doctor had shoveled out the pills used to stop the eating mouse’s hunger. Brian was sent to immediately administer a continual dose of the pills to both Brian and Joey until the reactions ceased. The doctor was adamant. “Whatever you do, make those boys take these pills until they feel normal. Absolutely no more food, and good God no beer. My Lord! Can you imagine if we had given that fat mouse the beer instead of the small one?” So Brian raced back to their room. “Ugh. I wonder if Tony’s even found Joey yet.” But when Brian returned to the room, he found Tony there, parked in a chair, burger in hand, stuffing his face. An empty bad sat on the floor and a second bag sat next to him, loaded with food. “What are you doing?!” Tony jumped, but then stuffed another bite of food into his already full mouth. He grunted as he chewed, trying to talk around the food. “I – mmffmm – I went to look for him. Mmmffph. I – gulp – it’s happening to me now, man. What’d you find out?” He sheepishly looked down at his protruding stomach. “I had to get food, man. I was so hungry I could barely concentrate. I never even made it to look for Joey.” The bulge of Tony’s belly gave away that he had been eating the entire time Brian was at the lab. Brian told him everything as he popped open the pill bottle. Tony finished another burger before Brian could get him the first few pills. Tony reached for a beer to wash them down, but Brian yanked it from his hand. “Are you out of your mind?! One more beer plus that food, and I think your gut will look like a beach ball in ten minutes!” Tony swallowed the pills dry. “Shit, I’m still hungry. How long did he say it took for these to kick in?” He reached for another burger, but Brian grabbed his hand. “Here – take a few more. He said to take them until it stops.” So Tony sat, rubbing his newly formed belly, gulping down a pill every five minutes until the hunger ebbed. His gut was still sticking out, bloated and full, but the hunger pains finally stopped. “Okay, man. I’m going to look for Joey again. I think I can make it past the burger stand now.” And he hoisted out of the chair. “Man, I never thought I’d see one of these things on my frame!” Tony was engrossed with his belly, feeling every curve of it as he headed out of the room. “Oh, you better get a ton more of those pills. When you see the size of Joey, you’ll see what I mean. Your doc better make a few more batches if he expects to stop his eating.” And with that, Tony was gone, cradling his beer gut. Final Confrontation Brian paced the room, unable to think of anything but Joey’s inevitable rage. He was rattling the pill jar and tapping the tub of lotion against his leg, growing increasingly anxious at the thought of Joey’s temper. This time, Joey was going to come at him with good reason. But hell, he thought, it still serves him right. Why is this totally Brian’s fault? The doctor’s instructions could not have clearer. No eating under any circumstance. Period. No exceptions. If Joey had only listened instead of being so bull-headed, he’d be just fine, taking a few pills, no worse for it all. Brian was fine. He did what the doctor said. But nooo, not Joey. He had to eat like the gluttonous jock Brian warned him he would become. But big dumb jock just couldn’t listen. He was too above the rules and did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. Maybe it was about damn time he got nailed for being so cavalier. Brian’s rationalizations were making him feel mad at Joey when he heard the bellows. Then the nervousness resumed. “Alright you little fucking Shit! I’m gonna squash your skinny ass with this thing!” Joey’s voice flew up the stairwell ahead of him. Brian went out into the hallway to prepare for the inevitable argument, holding his breath with both fear and irritation. He heard the jock’s grunting as he made his way up the last few stairs. Brian locked his gaze on the double doors at the top of the steps. Then he saw it. Joey’s yelling didn’t even register as Brian stared in shock. A giant gut was pushing the doors open. Joey was so huge that his belly hit the doors before his hands could. Pushing ahead like a bull, Joey parted the swinging doors with his belly and waddled directly toward Brian. “Yeah, you stupid runt! Look at me. This is what your fucking ‘SAFE’ experiment did to me. I’m a BLIMP!” Brian was scared. The rage in Joey’s eyes was unlike anything he’d seen before. Even in their worst of fights, Joey always had a slightly sarcastic tone, like it was never that serious. But it was pure fury this time. Joey was charging at Brian as fast as his mass would permit, arms trying to hold his monstrous gut from bouncing as he lumbered closer. “So you BETTER tell me you’ve been to that quack to get a cure, ‘cause I was booted from my meet and just about crushed my coach with this thing.” Joey hoisted his belly up and down for emphasis. He grunted deeply from the exertion, and his gut bounced like a giant ball. That was enough to snap Brian’s tension. He let out a small laugh. Joey flared. “Oh shit, man, you better NOT be laughing at this.” Brian tried to wipe the smirk off his face, but it was too hard. He remembered thinking of Joey ballooning up to match his show-off eating habits, but he never dared picture the jock this huge. Tucking the pills and the lotion behind him, Brian stepped back as Joey edged closer. Brian’s eyes narrowed as he locked gazes with his roommate. “Well, now. Seems I warned you of two things, didn’t I?” Brian’s voice had the edge now. “Man, this is SO not the time for fucking I told you so’s!” “Isn’t it, FATSO?” “Alright, you puny little-” “You better back off, you giant pig, if you want to get any of this cure.” Brian shoved the pills in his back pocket and held up the lotion. “Even before this experiment, I warned you to ease up on all that eating before your gut blew up for good. And then I warned you not to eat a thing during the test. You ignored me and had to do things your own way like always, and now it seems like you got what you deserved.” Joey leaned his belly into Brian. “What I deserved? Man, you’re UN-fucking-believable! I’ll give you what YOU deserve and crush you flat under this freaky gut!” “Yeah, will you? And then what, you fat jock? You flatten me in some show-off move, and then what?” Joey pushed into Brian a little more, but said nothing. “Yeah, has you thinking huh? You smug blimp. If you flatten me, there’s no way you’ll know how to stop that gut of yours from growing. Who knows how fat you can get from here? Hell, you might not even fit through that doorway soon without the cure I have here.” Brian teased Joey with the jar of cream. “What’s that?” Joey rocked himself back a little, easing his gut away from Brian. “Ah, see now you want to listen huh? For once the big fat jock has to shut up and listen to me.” Joey’s anger swelled. He tried to grab for the jar. Brian dodged him. Joey’s gut bumped into the wall as he lost his balance.” “Nice try, you moose. I bet you couldn’t move that gut fast enough to pin a guy now, fatso!” “Gimme that jar, you little runt!” “Or what?” “OR – or -” Joey gnashed his teeth. “Yeah, or nothing. I thought so.” Brian was loving this. He finally had Joey under control. “So you want this jar?” Tersely, Joey answered. “YES.” His face was reddening and his nostrils were flaring, but he bit his tongue. “I do.” Brian tossed it at him, bouncing it right onto the top of Joey’s belly. The jock grabbed it on the rebound and stared dumbly. “What do I do with it?” “You rub it on your stomach.” “I what?” “You rub it all over that massive stomach of yours. Slather it on every square inch. Grease yourself up like a pig.” “What in the hell does that do?” “Just do it!” “Brian, man, unless you tell me what you’re up to, I’m not doing a damn thing! Look what your last bright idea did for me.” “Okay then, figure it out for yourself.” Brian charged into their room and slammed the door, leaving Joey standing in the hallway, staring down at the jar and his massive belly. What would rubbing this on his gut do? He started to panic a little. He yelled out for Brian. “Come on man. Give me a fucking break! Just tell me what the deal is.” Silence. “Brian?” Still quiet. “BRIAN?” Joey started to sound desperate. “Bri?” With a huge sigh, Joey opened the jar and tapped its contents onto the top and sides of his gut. Rubbing in big circles, he spread the lotion all over himself, twisting to reach as much of his belly as possible. “Alright, man. I’m doing what you said. But I need some help out here.” The door opened, and Brian’s head poked out. Joey was pointing toward the front of his stomach. “I need you to get me out there. All the fine food your doc gave us made me so fat I can’t even reach around my own stomach.” Brian laughed again. “That’s right. You’re WAY too fat, aren’t you? But it’s not because of what Doctor Lambert gave you. It’s because you had to keep eating and eating like you always do, isn’t it?” “Come on man, I’m doing what you’re telling me here. No more damn lectures. Just rub this crap on me, huh.” A big grin spread across Brian’s face. He couldn’t believe the size of Joey’s belly. He spread the last of the lotion on the jock’s gut, massaging it in, making sure to hit every inch of its bulging, round curve. Joey kind of moaned a bit, in spite of himself. “Felling good, big guy?” Joey startled at the question and tried to move his belly back from Brian. But Brian pressed his torso against Joey’s giant belly, running his hands in broad circles across its bloated expanse. “Seems you’re liking that, big guy.” Joey closed his eyes, trying to ignore Brian, but he let out another moan in spite of himself. Admit it, you wanted to be a fat pig, didn’t you?” “Man – I - ” “Didn’t you?” Brian now spread both hands over Joey’s belly, hugging and rubbing it firmly in kneading arcs, staring the jock squarely in the eye. Now Joey’s gaze faltered. “You like that don’t you, Fatboy. You like having this massive porker of a gut. You’re almost worried that you’ll miss having the Goodyear blimp for a stomach.” Joey cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Tell me.” Joey tried to look at the floor, seeing only belly. “You DO want to know the next step in the cure, don’t you?” Joey looked back at Brian. “Don’t you?” The jock opened his mouth but still said nothing. “Or maybe you don’t.” Brian was now smacking his arms into Joey’s flesh, making it thump like a timpani. “It seems to me that you kept feeding yourself up for an awfully long time after you realized the side effect. A guy who wanted to stay the tight, fit muscle jock would’ve come running for an antidote LONG before his belly blew up to this size. You must have wanted to really pack it on this semester, get as fat as you possibly could, hmm?” Brian and Joey stood glaring at each other. Joey was blushing even more. “Tell me you’re meant to be fat.” “I – what? Aw, come on.” “TELL ME!” Joey stammered, but emitted only grunts. Brian started to walk away. “Okay then, you’re on your own once and for all. Figure out the cure yourself. You might just stay that fat forever.” Joey snapped. “Okay, okay! I’m fat.” “And you like it." “Aw shit. Yeah, man, I like eating.” Brian walked back up to Joey’s belly and reached around it. “You don’t like eating. You LOVE eating. You’ll do anything to get that belly stuffed.” Joey flushed. “Yeah.” “Yeah WHAT?” “Yeah, I like gorging, man. Hell, you knew that.” “And what happens to guys who gorge too much.” “They get fat.” Joey grabbed his big belly for emphasis. “How fat?” “Shit, apparently SO fat.” “So fat that maybe they get what they deserve for being such cocky pigs?” “Fuck man, I admitted I get off on stuffing my gut. What more do you want?!” “Tell me you got what you deserved.” “Holy shit, man. What kind of messed up game is this.” “Tell me you got what you deserved, or I don’t EVER tell you the next step in the cure.” “Aw man! There’s more? I thought this cream you rubbed all over me was it, man. What’s the deal here?” “The deal is you admit this gut serves you right, or you’re stuck with it forever, Fatso.” Joey was fuming, trying to resist the urge to crush Brian once and for all. But he felt his big gut and held back. He held onto the outer curve of his belly and pressed it into his own hands a bit. A sheepish smirk broke at the corner of his mouth as he cradled his fat. “Okay, man, you’re right.” “You’re what, then?” “You’re right.” “No, I know I’m right, but what’s that made you?” “FAT!” “How fat?” “Really fat.” “HOW fat?” “Shit – So fucking fat. I’m never gonna be able to lose this thing in time for football.” “Fatter! Tell me again!” Joey snapped his response like a well-trained jock during drills. “So fucking huge that I can’t even jam this monster belly into the biggest jersey I’ve got. So damn fat that I could eat all fucking DAY and not fill this thing.” “And you loved it.” Joey’s words caught in his throat. “You absolutely loved it. You knew you were meant to be a blimp, and I finally made you give into it. I made you bigger than you ever thought possible.” Joey made a noise. Brian leaned back into the belly separating them and held Joey’s gaze. “TELL ME.” Brian felt Joey leaning back and he kneaded the jock’s taught skin. “Yeah man, it was fucking cool. I couldn’t BELIEVE how much I was putting away. I was eating and eating and eating, wondering how huge I could get this thing before it would pop. You happy man? I was totally hooked on the gorging.” Joey’s head dropped. “Damn!” Brian had broken him. They both stood there for a few minutes, outstretched arms hugging the belly between them but not able to touch. Brian broke the silence. “Almost seems like a shame for you to lose this thing.” Joey whispered back, rubbing his belly fondly. “But man, I gotta. I’ll lose my scholarship.” “Yeah, I guess we ought to move into the next phase of this.” “Yeah, Bri. I gotta give up this gorging. I gotta go back. This has gotten totally out of control. I’m way too fucking huge. I never thought I could get THIS fat. Never." He was whimpering. Brian put on an expression that Joey took for understanding. “Yeah, it’d be scary to see you fatten up even more, huh?” Thinking that Brian was giving in, Joey let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, man. I’m kinda freaked. I might not stop eating unless we cure this now. Who knows how huge I’d get?” “Yeah, exactly Fatso. Who knows?” Joey stood balancing his weight as Brian disappeared back into their room. Joey heard liquid filling a container and something dragging across the floor before Brian returned with a hose. “Lie down.” “Huh? Bri, what’s with the beer bong?” “Just lie down and I’ll tell you.” “You’re kidding right? Look at the size of me man. I can’t lie - ” “Then get down on your knees so I can reach.” Brian moved behind Joey and kicked him in the back of the knees. The jock dropped. His gut pounding onto the floor with a thud. “Lean back.” “I don’t get it.” “LEAN BACK.” Joey tugged his gut off the floor to lean back toward Brian. It hovered pendulously, like a zeppelin taking off. Joey rocked to stabilize himself. Brian grabbed him by the hair and tipped his head back, pulling his mouth wide open. He plugged the beer bong firmly into Joey’s mouth and leaned into his ear. “Now you do EXACTLY what I saw. The only way to neutralize your hunger is to drown it out with as much beer as we can pump into you. Got it? You have to chug and chug like you NEVER have before. To make the reaction work, we have to totally flood your stomach. GOT IT?” Joey knelt frozen except for a small nod. Mouth plugged, he watched Brian go back to the room to bring out six pitchers of beer. “Ready, Fatboy?” Joey nodded apprehensively. He took one huge breath through the tube before Brian dumped the first pitcher down his throat. Gravity pounded the beer straight into the jock’s mouth. Joey clenched his eyes shut and concentrated on swallowing as fast as he could. He downed one pitcher before he realized it. Brian dumped in the next one right away. Joey’s nostrils flared like a horse as he gulped and gulped. Foam leaked from the corners of his mouth. Brian forced Joey to support the funnel himself and rammed the tube deeper into his mouth. He dumped the third and fourth pitcher simultaneously. Then the fifth and sixth. Joey’s head was spinning. With a pop, Brian tugged the hose out of his mouth. “Catch your breath, big guy. That’s just round one.” Joey let out a massive belch and panted. Blinking drunkenly, he saw Brian dragging the entire keg his way. “Uuuuggh. Man, I can’t. Uuuurrrp. Give me a minute. I’m – errruuuup -I’m too – fucking b-bloated.” “If this is going to work, you’re going to chug when I tell you to chug!” Brian sounded fierce. Joey moaned in compliance as Brian wedged the keg nozzle into Joey’s mouth. He shoved the blimp’s jaw shut, making his teeth open the tap. Beer gushed and gushed into Joey. Brian pumped the keg frantically, not easing up until it was totally drained. Joey felt his gut stomach distend from the sheer volume of beer. Brian finally pulled the tap from Joey’s mouth, leaving him struggling to inhale, unable to take a full breath from the incredible pressure built up in his belly. Joey moaned and gently eased his belly back onto the floor. Exhausted, he leaned forward onto his stomach, but the pressure made him grunt. He reopened his eyes. They were glazed over. Still gasping, he looked around for Brian. “Now what? Hiccup.” Brian was back in the room. “Bri man, oooooo, hiccup. Mmmmm. Dude? What now?” Brian came back with three opened beer bottles between his fingers in one hand, an even fiercer look in his eyes. “Oh, NO fucking – uuurrp – WAY.” Brian was behind Joey before he could complain again, wrapping one arm under the jock’s chin, pulling his head back and pouring all three beers into his mouth. Joey thrashed his head, sloshing beer out of his mouth and choking. Brian gripped his chin even tighter and kept pouring. Trying desperately to break away, Joey tipped onto his monstrous belly and tried to get to his feet. Brian clamped onto him, jamming the beer bottles right into Joey’s mouth. They both grunted and struggled as the wrestler’s powerful legs straightened. Joey dead-lifted himself to a standing position. Brian held firmly onto his neck and wrapped his legs around Joey’s bulging love handles. His legs quivered as he tried to hold on, sitting on the fattened-up bulge of Joey’s ass cheeks for support. “Ooooh. Ooooooooohh.” Joey’s moan deepened and he tipped forward. Brian hung on and rocked forward with him. “Uuuuggh. Man, I feel weird. Uuuugggggh.” Brian felt his legs pull apart slightly. It was starting. He dropped the beer bottles and wrapped his other arm around Joey’s neck. He pulled into Joey’s ear and hissed. “You haven’t even come CLOSE to seeing fat yet, you giant bloated pig.” “Oooooo. Shit, my gut – uuuggh – feels – ooh – MAN – so TIGHT.” “Oh yeah, Fatboy. You ain’t seen NOTHING yet! You’re about to REALLY balloon up. I’m making sure you’re too fucking fat to EVER be able to fit into a jersey again!” Joey was grimacing, hugging his belly, planting it on the floor again. “Whoa, fuck. Feels like – errrraaah – it’s growing.” Brian felt his legs pull further apart. Joey’s belly was starting to blow up right under them. It swelled visibly, tipping them both up as the widest part of the jock’s belly swelled and swelled. Joey’s back went parallel to the floor. His toes barely hit the ground as he rocked up onto his ballooning stomach. Brian hung on, riding him like a bucking bull. “That’s right, you porker. All that beer ain’t no cure, Fatso. It reacts with everything you’ve stuffed into yourself, and you’re gonna to balloon up to record size right before my eyes!!” Brian laughed mercilessly. Joey’s belly inflated a foot, lifting his feet right off the floor. Brian’s legs forced further apart. Joey was now stranded on top of his own swelling stomach, ballooning up, hands and feet now a good foot from reaching to floor. Teetering back and forth, he groaned and swelled and swelled. He was now steadily ballooning, rising another two feet in the air by the minute, no sign of stopping. Brian shifted to ride Joey like a bronco, jabbing his feet into his bulging sides. Each kick bounced into increasingly tightened flesh. Joey was utterly howling. The pressure built as he ballooned and ballooned and ballooned. His belly blew out tight as a drum in every direction, bulging into a perfect sphere, lifting them both even higher in the air. His skin started to shine, purple as it stretched to its absolute limits. “Aaarrrrggghh. MAKE IT STOP!!!” “HA! No way to stop it now, you fat pig. You’re gonna be circling the stadiums like the Goodyear blimp from now on, fattened up beyond belief, my own personal human balloon!” Brian started bouncing up and down, riding Joey hard. Joey inflated nonstop, gasping with each thud from his rider, belly so utterly tight that Brian launched up after each bounce. Joey’s stomach tightened up more and more, swelling faster with absolutely no give. The pressure mounted. Brian felt himself bounce higher as Joey blew up to meet him, belly now inflating so fast that it rose to catch him on the rebound. “Man- ooof – help – ooooof – me.!!” Brian bounced harder. “Ugh – I’m gonna – oooof – fucking – uuuggh – POP!!” “Like I’d stop it now if I could, Fatso!” And with that, Brian’s head hit the ceiling. This time he blurted out, “Holy shit.” He looked down at Joey’s continual swelling. “Oh god.” The jock was still ballooning. How much longer would he swell? Brian had to tip his head to clear the closing gap. He scrambled down to lay flat on Joey’s back, but the jock kept rising and rising. “OOOOOOHH! MAKE IT STOP!! I FEEL – AAARRRRGH – READY – UUUUGGGH – TO EXPLODE!!!!” Brian panicked as he felt his back touch the ceiling. Joey swelled a little more. Brian felt himself pressing between the jock and the ceiling. Joey ballooned a little more. Brian could barely inhale “You’re – crushing – me!” Just a deep moan back. Joey couldn’t talk. Brian felt wedged in a vice, his ribs squashing into Joey’s back as he blew up a notch more. Joey inched up fatter yet. Brian started to get dizzy, air knocked out of his lungs. Trying desperately to inhale, he didn’t notice that Joey’s growing had slowed. Both boys were gasping for air. Brian was completely prone, smashed flat between the ceiling and Joey’s back. But then it stopped. Joey had blown up to maximum size, belly so huge that he plugged the hallway. He grunted, each movement and exhale making it harder for Brian to breathe. Too jammed in to speak, they both laid there stunned. “Whhoooaaaa.” Tony whistled, creeping up the hallway toward the giant mound of flesh blocking the way. “Joey?” He gingerly touched the round bulge in front of him, wondering if it could be for real. He pressed both hands against the jock’s stomach. There wasn’t an ounce of give. Joey’s skin was stretched tight as a drum, ready to bust with one firm poke. Tony heard the muffled gasps from above and took several steps back, trying to see past the arc of the planet in front of him. But all he saw was belly. He called Joey’s name again. Only muted groans in reply. He looked around the hall and saw the toppled keg and scattered bottles and pitchers. He picked up one of the half empty beers and stared back at the looming curve of flesh in front of him, realizing what Brian had done. Grabbing his own stomach, he whistled and took another step back. Not even sure what to do to get his friend freed, he stumbled down the hall, thinking he should get help from someone. Gaze fixed on the belly barricading the passageway, he stalled, looking from his own bulging stomach back to the unbelievably giant stomach of his buddy. He rubbed his own gut, feeling its every curve, thinking he better run for help fast. Almost denying what he did, he put the beer bottle to his lips, drained the last of the brew in four quick gulps, patted his growing stomach, and ran off for help The End
Stuffing By Unknown Damien Zamora walked the halls of Jefferson High School after his last class for the day with a confident bounce in his step. His dark skin contrasted with the white T-shirt he wore tucked into the 30-inch waist of a pair of slightly baggy 505 jeans. He would have preferred to be wearing skintight 501's to better show off his 5'11", 190 pound body, but he had to make some concession to today's fashion. He noticed small cliques of teenage girls stop and whisper or sigh as he passed by, and the knowledge that he inspired their admiration brought a small smile to his lips. He only wished that some of the cute boys would notice him like that.
Damien had transferred to Jefferson in the middle of the fall semester, too late to join the football team, a sport which he had excelled at when attending his previous school, and therefore he felt like a sort of non-entity, not really in his accustomed niche. He was friendly, easy going, and certainly easy on the eyes, but he hadn't yet found a place where he fit in the new school. He figured that it would be best to just train hard this fall, and go out for spring training next semester and try to secure a place for himself on the team for his junior year. He figured once the coaches saw what he could do, he would be a shoo-in to make the team. He only wished his love life was as easily planned. Things had been much easier in San Diego. Being gay had been no big deal there, but here in western Oregon things were much different. Intellectually he understood that when his Mom had been offered a chance to become the VP of Nursing at a small rural hospital, it was the chance for her to advance her career that she had been waiting for, and that she had to jump at it, but deep inside he felt that his feelings really hadn't been considered at all in making her decision. But done was done, and here they were in Baker City, Oregon, and he had might as well make the best of it. As he walked out of the high school to the parking lot he sighed, wishing that being gay wasn't so taboo here. Corey Monroe sighed and wished the same thing as he watched Damien walk across the parking lot. He had noticed the muscular, dark-skinned jock the first day he had come to Jefferson last week, and had been dreaming about him ever since, but had been too shy to go up and introduce himself. While also in the closet to everyone in town, Corey had spent enough summers in bigger cities with gay communities to develop some gaydar, and Damien had set his off like no one else! He just wished that the new boy had a little more meat on his frame. He thought it was kind of weird, but he was really attracted to boys and men with big bellies. He watched as Damien dropped his car keys and bent to retrieve them. Corey stared as the loose 505's got tight when Damien bent over. What a butt! Corey also wished that the rage in teenage fashion was skin-tight jeans instead of the baggy "grunge" look. He watched a moment longer as Damien climbed into a black '95 Toyota pickup, then jumped into his own red 'yota and sped home to change for work. Corey's family owned a small farm on the outskirts of town, but were really town folk: his mom a paralegal for a firm in town, and his dad owned several small shops, one of which Corey worked at after school--a Baskin Robbins. Corey was grateful that his family could afford to hire help to do the majority of the farm work, because the blonde 16 year-old's 5'10", 150-pound frame just wasn't made for manual labor, and he would have hated to miss seeing the young farm workers come in an pork out on ice cream. Corey had been aroused by men with big bellies since he had first been sexually aware. In fact, his first memory of masturbation had found him fantasizing about a young stud muffin that worked on the farm stuffing his gut and getting fatter. And Corey had done his part to make it come true by offering the lanky laborer free ice cream whenever he had come into the store. But unfortunately the farm-hand had a blast-furnace metabolism and had never gained an ounce. Corey felt his cock getting hard just thinking about it. If only he could get Damien to somehow start gaining. Corey just knew that the hunky young Latino was gay, and being that Corey could have doubled for either of the famous Brewer twins, he figured that he wouldn't have too much trouble convincing Damien that they could enjoy each other's company, among other things... Corey sighed as he pulled into the driveway and shook his head. Damien was a high school jock, and one who obviously spent a lot of time working out. There was probably no chance of him ever putting on a gut, at least not while they were in high school. The slender blond trudged into the empty house, shedding clothes on the way to his bedroom where he changed for work and left, feeling more than a bit depressed. Damien finished his free weight work-out in his room and sat up, dissatisfied. Without a spotter, he just couldn't really push it like he had been used to in San Diego, and he couldn't get that pump that made him feel on top of the world. But he hadn't been here long enough to meet anyone he'd feel comfortable asking to help him work out, not to mention that he was afraid that whoever he might ask would think that he was gay. Most of the football jocks worked out in the weight room at school; he was afraid that asking one over to work out at his house might be eyed suspiciously. He knew he was probably just being paranoid, but being the new kid at school, he didn't want to take any chances. Toweling himself off, Damien wandered into the kitchen. His Mom would be working late, as usual, and so dinner was on his own. He started by dialing the Pizza Hut and ordering a large Stuffed Crust Meat Lover's to be delivered, with a double order of cheese bread. Since he was trying to bulk up this fall, he didn't worry too much about the extra fat, and he had never really had trouble keeping his body fat percentage down anyway. Hanging up the phone, Damien wished that he had thought to order before his workout. He was REALLY hungry, and didn't want to wait the 45 minutes it would take for the pizza to get there. He started scrounging through the fridge, but nothing really looked good to him, even as hungry as he was. He opened the freezer and smiled. A whole gallon of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream stared him in the face. His Mom didn't usually buy sweets, being that she had been a cardiac nurse before she had become an administrator, but sometimes she splurged, knowing that she did have a growing teenage boy, and Damien was glad she had. Ice cream was his big weakness; he just couldn't say no to it. Grabbing a large cereal bowl, he piled it high with his favorite flavor and went into his bedroom and sat down at the computer. This would tide him over until the pizza got there. Damien double-clicked on the Free Agent icon and started connecting to the local Internet service provider. He thanked the stars that at least the small rural town had access to the 'net. Unfortunately, the connection was notoriously slow, and he had finished his bowl of ice cream by the time it had finished retrieving all of the headers for his subscribed newsgroups. He knew he shouldn't have another bowl; the pizza would be here soon, but he was so hungry, and it was so good, he couldn't help himself. Once back from the kitchen, he started scanning the headers, marking the ones he wanted for retrieval. He reached alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.male and a big grin stretched across his face. A whole series of Kevin Dean pics! And it looked like they were ones he had never seen before. Damien had a serious thing for the big-dicked twink, and almost shook as he marked the articles for retrieval. Finishing with his subscribed groups, he switched to look at new groups. Sometimes his ISP would get access to a previously unavailable group, and a teenage boy on a quest for porn didn't want to miss any opportunities. Hmmmm. Alt.binaries showed nothing new. Alt.sex. What was that one? Alt.sex.weight-gain? He wondered what was sexual about weight-gain. Damien shrugged. Well, maybe next time there would be something worth subscribing to. He finished the second bowl and sat back, satisfied for the moment. He clicked on the icon to "retrieve marked article bodies" and waited to see what new treasures or duds he had chosen. Just as the program started retrieving his articles, the doorbell rang, and Damien looked out the window, then ran downstairs to get his pizza. Unfortunately, the delivery guy was a girl. Damien sat back down at the computer an hour later, groaning. He didn't remember ever being this full! He normally flat stomach was now round from all the food he had eaten. In addition to scarfing down the large pizza, cheese bread, and two large glasses of milk, he hadn't been able to help himself and had finished off the rest of the ice cream. He absently rubbed him stomach, feeling horny for some reason; probably in anticipation of the new Kevin Dean jpegs. He skipped right to those and started uudecoding the images, getting hornier and hornier as each new image appeared on the screen. It looked like Kevin had been working out, and was finally getting some muscle on his previously scrawny frame. Damien set his jpeg viewer to slideshow and started playing all of the new pics in succession, over and over (full screen, of course). The young latino had never been this turned on in his life! He pulled his engorged cock out of his shorts. It was difficult to do because his belly was so swollen, but, somehow, that just added to the intensity of his arousal. He started jacking off as he drank in each image, his other hand rubbing circles over his bloated gut, faster and faster, increasing his arousal with each pass. "Oh, jeezus!" Damien almost screamed. He had never experienced Anything like this! Faster and faster his hand raced around his belly, and his other hand jerked his cock wildly as more and more intense sensations than he had ever felt rocked his body. Damien wanted to scream, and some sort of animal moan or howl came from his throat as he came like he had never come before, splattering his face and mouth with the salty liquid, which, mingled with the taste of the ice cream in his mouth, made the final throes of his orgasm even more intense. Damien sat back in the chair, stunned. What had happened to him? He absently wiped the cum from his face and spread it in circles over his swollen gut. Man! Those were some Great pictures! Nothing he had seen had ever affected him like that before. He stood shakily and wandered off to his shower, and then took a nap. Damien woke up a couple hours later, still amazed at how those Kevin Dean pics had affected him. He was also a little hungry, which surprised him, considering how much he had eaten for dinner, but even more than that, he was horny! He went to the computer and loaded the slideshow on his viewer again. He started masturbating, each picture flowing into the next, with Kevin's prominently huge dick enticing him. But somehow, it wasn't the same. He came quickly, attesting to how horny he had been, but the orgasm wasn't even close to as intense as it had been earlier. He sat there, wiping the cum off with a sock, almost depressed that the pictures didn't have the desired effect on him. Why hadn't he cum as intensely this time. There was nothing different except.....his stomach wasn't stuffed. Damien sat back, the possibility making him hard even though he had just cum less than a minute ago. Could that really be it? He looked at the clock. 10:30. Damn! His mom would be home soon, and she'd be on his case to get to bed. He wouldn't be able to test his theory until after school tomorrow. His groin ached with need, but he just couldn't do anything until then. He got dressed and went downstairs to watch Letterman and wait for his Mom to get home, excited about his new discovery, or at least what he hoped he had discovered. Corey sat waiting in his truck, watching for Damien to come out of the building after school the next day. He felt ridiculous, but for some reason he just had to follow the Latino stud home. He had it bad, and he knew it. Normally, that flat stomach would be a total turn off for Corey, but there was something about Damien that intrigued him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Like clockwork, Damien came out the back door and ran to his pickup, seemingly in a hurry. Corey started his ignition the same instant Damien started his, and slowly pulled out of the parking lot, trying to make sure that he stayed far enough behind that the hot stud wouldn't notice he was being followed. It wasn't hard to stay behind; in fact, Corey almost lost Damien's truck twice since he was driving so fast. Then Damien suddenly decelerated and pulled up in front of...the grocery store? Why would he be in such a rush to buy groceries? Corey sat frozen with indecision as he watched Damien climb out of his pickup. Should he follow him inside, or just wait for him to come out? Normally Corey would have chosen the better part of valor and waited, but the aching in his crotch wouldn't be denied. He just HAD to see what Damien was doing. He jumped out of his red pickup and ran toward the store, suddenly glad that his jeans weren't skin tight. If they had been, everyone inside would have been able to see the raging hard-on he had Getting inside, he swore silently. Damn! He couldn't see Damien anywhere. He started walking down aisles, hoping to catch a glimpse of the hot stud, but no luck. He decided to go back to his truck and wait for Damien to come out of the store, and turned around and WHAM! Ran right into Damien. "Uhh, Sorry," was all Corey could stutter. "No problem," Damien said, and quickly looked Corey's body up and down, then grinned, "No problem at all." Corey just stood in stunned silence as Damien walked off pushing a cart full of chips, dip, chocolate milk and 2 gallons of mint chocolate chip ice cream. But Corey wasn't thinking about the food just then. "He cruised me," he said to himself in gleeful shock. "He cruised me!" Corey considered following Damien home, but decided that the run in at the store was pushing it about as far as he wanted to for the day. As he walked out of the store he looked and noticed Damien at the checkout stand, then looked quickly away. But not before he got a second look at everything in Damien's cart. So he liked ice cream, eh? Corey smiled as he walked out to his car. There had to be a way to put that little bit of information to work for him. Damien rushed out of the store, threw the three large bags of junk food into the back of his truck, wincing at the amount of money it had just cost him for his experiment. Being that his mom carefully monitored the purchases he made with her credit card, he'd had to use his own money. There was no way she'd let him get away with using her money to buy what she considered unhealthy food.. But it'd be worth it if he was right. He peeled out of the parking lot and made it home in record time, rushed inside and got everything that needed freezing in the freezer. Then he ran up to his room, put on a pair of 30-inch waist cut-off 501's, and then back downstairs to test his theory. First Damien grabbed a super-size bag of Doritos, a tub a clam dip, and a huge glass of chocolate milk and sat down at the coffee table in front of the TV. He knew the combination sounded disgusting, but it had been one of his favorite snacks for as long as he could remember. He clicked on WBN in time to see the start of Animaniacs. Great! And next would be Pinky & the Brain! He polished off the Doritos and dip before the first commercial. There was something urgent, almost primal in his desire to get his gut stuffed to see if his theory was right. He made a quick trip into the kitchen and grabbed the first gallon of ice cream. Looking at it, he realized it had been ridiculous to buy two gallons. There was no way he could eat both of them. He'd be lucky to finish one. "Oh well," he said grinning. "No guts, no glory!" He didn't realized the he had just made a pun that would very soon change his life. He returned to the coffee table with a spoon and the first gallon and tore into it with a big grin. His hands became a blur, stuffing the cool creaminess into his mouth, his cheeks swelling as he swallowed the melting goodness as fast as he could. Something inside of him screamed "More!" and he complied, doubling and redoubling his efforts to get as much into his belly as possible, stopping only occasionally when Mindy and Buttons or Goodfeathers got too funny to resist hysterical laughter. Nonetheless, by the end of Animaniacs, he had finished the first gallon of ice cream. He leaned back moaning, not knowing if the sensation coming from his distended gut was pain or pleasure. He looked down at his belly, the skin stretched tight over its rounded form. His cut-off 501's were tighter than they had ever been, but for some reason he enjoyed their tightness, his belly pushing against their unyielding constriction. He examined his belly's roundness and decided he wasn't yet as stuffed as he had been the previous night, and figured it wouldn't be a valid experiment unless he duplicated the conditions exactly. He hoisted himself up, walked into the kitchen and grabbed the 2nd gallon of Mint Chocolate Chip, his distended belly leading the way. He rubbed it absently on his way back to the TV, enjoying the sensation. He tore into the second gallon with gusto, amazed at his hunger. Over the next half-hour he crammed more of the sweet ice cream into his mouth and gut than he would have believed possible, his belly continuing to swell larger and larger. Yet as much as he consumed, there was an insatiable demand for more, coupled with a growing sensation of horniness in his groin. He finally scooped the last of the ice cream out of the container, swallowed it, and leaned back moaning, although this time he was sure that it was pleasure, not pain. He looked down at his swollen belly, amazed at its size. He rubbed its surface, and little sparks of pleasure echoed in his groin. He had never been so turned-on in his life! He hoisted himself up, his huge gut throwing his balance off, and he staggered to his room to sit before the computer, massaging his belly and his crotch at the same time. He started his viewer and set up the slideshow with the new Kevin Dean pics, ripping open his cut-offs and starting to jack himself off. He was a mass of trembling pleasure, the sensations absolutely incredible, and he rubbed his gut in increasingly frenzied circles, his other hand moving up and down his cock faster and faster. He almost didn't even look at the pictures of the big-dicked twink on the computer screen, his attention was so fixed on the sensations coming from his gut and his groin. His breathing was fast and ragged, and he knew he was going to cum. A hoarse yell escaped his throat as pure pleasure exploded in his brain. He came and came, more than he ever had before, his orgasm seeming to last forever. Damien's head thrashed as he experienced pleasure like he had known only once before, the previous night. Finally, it was over, and he sat, panting, as he rubbed the sticky cum over the surface of his bloated gut, his body glowing with pleasure. "Well," he thought to himself, "now I know it works." He considered the rest of the junk food down in the kitchen and grinned. He just had to do this again. He hoisted himself out of the chair and waddled downstairs to claim his prize. The next couple of weeks brought some changes for Damien. The first was that he noticed that eating anything made him hornier than sin. But he found that if he ate just a normal meal and then masturbated, the sensation wasn't even close to what he had experienced, and he wanted that experience again. As often as possible. He stuffed himself in the cafeteria at lunch, eating enough for four boys his age, and then would waddle off to an empty bathroom, find a stall, and jack off, rubbing his distended gut and experiencing the pleasures that only stuffing his belly full would give to him. Two other things happened in those weeks. The first was that his clothes were getting tight. His constant eating of high-fat foods was starting to show up on his waistline. He continued to work out, and he seemed to be getting even stronger, but he just couldn't work out enough to make up for all the calories he was consuming. He had stepped on the scales the second Friday morning and couldn't believe his eyes. 214 pounds! He had also tried early in the week stuffing himself with the food his mom had around the house, so he wouldn't have to buy all that extra food, but he found that even if he stuffed himself as full as he could get, the intensity of the orgasm just wasn't the same unless the foods he crammed his gut full with were high in fat, and his mom never kept that sort of stuff in the house. And so he found himself broke. He had asked his mom for an advance on his allowance, but she had told him that she wanted him to learn to budget his money, and that his allowance was sufficient to allow him to do the normal things a teenage boy wanted to do. And she was right, but he wasn't a normal teenage boy, he told himself. He knew a secret that none of them did, and he needed more food than he could afford to buy. The changes in Damien didn't go unnoticed by Corey, and they drove him wild with possibilities. Every day it seemed that his gut bulged out a little bit more, that his shirts and pants were a little bit tighter, and finally, unable to stand sitting back while Damien got more and more gorgeous, Corey had to act. After school he waited for Damien in the parking lot. He saw Damien walking out to his truck, his jacket stretched tight across his belly, looking a bit despondent. Corey gathered up his courage and walked up to the gorgeous Latin hunk. "Um, hi," Corey said, locking eyes with Damien. "I think we ran into each other in the grocery store last week." Damien remembered Corey, and wondered why he hadn't acted on his attraction before now. The young blonde Brewer-twin look-alike was certainly cruising the hell out of him. "Yeah, I remember," Damien said, depressed even more because it reminded him that he couldn't afford to go buy anything to stuff himself with for another 4 days, and masturbating without stuffing himself full of fat-filled foods paled so much in comparison that it was hardly worth it. "How have you been?" "Oh, not too bad," Corey said nonchalantly, although inside he was screaming with excitement. "Umm, I noticed in the grocery store that you had a bunch of ice cream in your cart. Do you like it?" Damien's cock suddenly snapped to attention. "Yeah!" he said, more excited than he had meant to. "I love it." "Well," Corey said tentatively, "I work at my Dad's Baskin Robbins downtown. If you want, you could stop in for some ice cream anytime-all you can eat, my treat." Damien couldn't believe his ears! This was the answer to his problems, and possibly the start of something else. Damien smiled, and Corey's knees went weak. "Well, thanks, and I'll take you up on it, uhhh..." he faltered, not knowing Corey's name. "Corey. Corey Monroe," the young blonde offered, grinning. "I'm Damien. Zamora. And thank you very much. I'd love to stop by and, uh, sample things..." he said suggestively. This last was finally too much for Corey, and he said, "I'm gonna ask you something, and if it offends you I'm really sorry, but are you gay?" Damien smiled that devastating smile and replied, "Yes. And I take it you are too?" Corey nodded affirmatively. "Well, I'm glad that's out of the way," Damien said, the bulge in his crotch growing even larger for Corey to notice, which he did. "Are you working tonight? Alone?" Corey smiled archly. "Yep, to both. in fact, I need to leave to get to work now. Want to follow me there?" "I can't think of anything I'd rather do," Damien said, and meant it. "You may want to rethink your offer of all I can eat, though. I can really put away a lot." "Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem," Corey said, getting even hornier as they walked to their trucks. They drove like maniacs from the High School to the Baskin Robbins, both glad that there was little traffic, and each concentrating mainly on his throbbing groin. Damien waited in his truck while Corey relieved the girl who had worked the day shift, then, after she left, tried to walk casually into the store. Corey escorted him back to the storage room, where there was a large recliner and a small TV set. "You watch TV while you work?" Damien asked, taking off his jacket, which he was finding harder to zip up these days. "Yeah," Corey said, moving behind Damien and beginning to massage his shoulders. "In the fall, the store really isn't very busy. When the weather's cold like this, people don't think of getting ice cream. So hopefully," he said, turning Damien around and kissing him lightly, "we won't be interrupted." He couldn't believe how calm he felt, how right being with Damien seemed. Damien returned the kiss, their arms locking around each other, and soon both were breathing heavily. Corey moved to pull Damien's shirt off, but the young Latino stopped him. "What's the matter?" Corey asked, concerned that he had done something wrong. Damien looked embarrassed. "Well, it's just that I've recently, uh, gained some weight, and I'm afraid you won't like how I look without my shirt on." Corey smiled reassuringly. "Damien, I've been attracted to you since the first moment I saw you. But since you've put on some weight, you're even more attractive to me than you were before." Now it was Corey's turn to be uncomfortable, and he said softly, "I've always been attracted to men with, well, a bit of a gut. Does that bother you?" Damien couldn't believe what he was hearing. Here was someone who wanted him like he was now, and probably would even if he gained more weight, which was likely, being as how he had no intentions to quit stuffing his gut. "You mean you like me more now with this belly than you did when I looked like a Calvin Klein model?" he asked incredulously. Corey stepped closer to Damien. "Let me show you just how much more." He slowly peeled Damien's white t-shirt over his head, then kneeled to kiss his belly. Sensations of pure pleasure shot through Damien's body as Corey kissed and massaged the bulge hanging over his jeans, and he moaned in response. Corey looked up at Damien's face. "I take it you like this?" It wasn't a question. "Uh huh," Damien managed to get out. He was dizzy, and he moved to sit down in the recliner. Corey grabbed a jar of chocolate syrup and dribbled some on Damien's gut, and then slowly started licking it off. New sensations shot through Damien's body and worked their way to his groin. He shuddered and said, "Where did you learn to do that?" Corey grinned sheepishly and said, "Actually, I've never done it before, it's just something I've wanted to do, ever since I saw you." Damien closed his eyes. "Mmmmm, well you can keep that up forever." He sat back and enjoyed the sensations as Corey licked every trace of chocolate from his bulging gut. This also had the effect of making Corey even hornier, and he moved to unbutton Damien's jeans, but again, the Latino hunk stopped him. "Ummm," Damien said hoarsely, "could we wait until after I've had some ice cream?" He looked uncomfortable again. "Uh, sure," Corey replied, disappointed, because he was hornier at this moment than he had ever been in his life, "but why?" Damien grimaced. "Well, this is going to sound weird, but, Oh, hell-just say it, Damien. Getting off with my gut stuffed is the most intense experience I've ever had. Nothing else compares to it. And I'd like to do that with you." Corey's jaw dropped. This man was his fantasy come true! "Well, then," the young blond grinned, "let's get you something to eat. Name your poison," he said as he motioned toward the ice cream freezer. "Mint Chocolate Chip," Damien said without a moment's hesitation, his mouth already watering. As Corey reached in to find the requested flavor, Damien said, hesitantly, "You know, ever since I discovered this secret, I've been putting on weight," and he absently rubbed his belly, "and I think it's pretty likely that I'm going to put on more. Is that going to be a problem?" Corey dropped the 3-gallon container of ice cream he had been holding. He turned around, eyes wide. "Are you kidding? You know I like a man with a gut, and if yours grows bigger, well then I'll be even more attracted to you, and probably horny all the time, although that wouldn't be so different from now," he said grinning. "So, no, it's not a problem at all." He picked up the container and set it in on the small table next to the chair. "Dinner is served." Damien sat back in the large recliner, and Corey began feeding him. "Mmmmm," Damien moaned in ecstasy, and Corey felt a spot of pre-cum seep onto his own Calvins. They continued, Corey massaging his belly and feeding the hunk of his dreams, while Damien wolfed down the ice cream as fast as Corey could feed him. The bell on the front door jingled, startling them, and Corey whispered, "Keep eating, I'll be back in a minute." While Corey waited on the customer, Damien shoveled the rich, creamy delight into his mouth and gut faster and faster, his actions frenzied in their urgency. After several minutes of non-stop eating, he undid the top two buttons of his jeans and sighed with relief as his gut expanded into the round ball that had been held back by the constricting denim. He gorged himself constantly, getting more and more aroused with each heaping spoonful. He had come close to finishing the 3-gallon container by the time Corey returned, informing Damien that he had locked the front door. Corey stopped and gazed at Damien in awe. The young Latino's gut was a truly wonder to behold. It actually looked as if he had swallowed a large beach ball. His smooth brown skin was stretched taught across the bulging expanse of his gut, and the swollen firmness underneath was incredibly erotic to the blond twink. He returned to his position on one arm of the chair and fed Damien the rest of the container, Damien eating as fast as he could, moaning and occasionally demanding "more," or "faster," to which Corey happily complied. When Damien's gut was stuffed fuller than he had ever thought possible, he had Corey help him off with his pants and underwear, and then Corey began giving him the blowjob of his life. Damien could not believe the intensity of the sensations assaulting his mind. This was better than anything he had ever experienced. Corey was really an expert, and his stuffed gut just made it more sensational. Damien knew that he wouldn't be able to hold out for long, and he wanted something else. He bent over and kissed Corey on the forehead, interrupting his masterful work on Damien's cock, and then the horny Latino tipped the recliner back and raised his legs in invitation. Corey quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes and grabbed a condom from his wallet, then entered slowly, gradually pressing his own flat stomach to Damien's swollen one, while Damien gasped and began masturbating, enjoying the sensation of increased fullness. This was Corey's first time as a "top," and he couldn't believe the amazing feelings spreading through his groin to the rest of his body, made even more intense because he was coming into contact with that gorgeous swollen belly with each thrust. Both young men were so horny by this time that they were almost animalistic in their lovemaking. Moaning in pleasure, Corey held onto Damien's bloated gut while he thrust, and Damien began to thrash his head with pleasure. As horny and aroused as they were, it didn't take long for them to reach climax in unison, hoarse yells escaping both of their throats at the same time. Corey collapsed next to Damien in the recliner, totally spent. They kissed long and hard, and then relaxed in the comfort of each other's arms. Corey played with Damien's belly, spreading the cum around and enjoying the young Latino's moans of pleasure at the attention to his swollen gut. They spent the next hour like that, caressing each other, kissing, and laughing as they watched Animaniacs together, after Corey had briefly left Damien's arms to turn on the TV. It was the most perfect time either of them had ever experienced. And both smiled while cuddling some more, realizing that there were 51 more flavors to try.
Roid Gut by Unknown 11:45PM Thursday April 5 The small glass bottle sat on the counter. The typewritten black letters on the otherwise plain white label read "Gorditol". The clear liquid inside was a powerful new steroid from Mexico that would allow a bodybuilder to add large amounts of muscle very quickly. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. "Not too bad," I thought. Many years of intense weight training had transformed my avergage sized body into a thick, muscular build. I flexed my seventeen inch arms and did a "double biceps" pose in front of the mirror. My chest had gone from forty-four inches to over fifty inches around, with the growth in my lats playing a role in the increase. I rubbed my hands over my rippled abs; even though my stomach did bulge out slightly, it tapered down nicely to a thirty-two inch waist. The very slight thickness in the midsection just added to the powerful look of my build, I thought. But yet something was lacking. I had a body most guys would envy, but I just wasn’t big enough. The idea of twenty inch biceps and massive pecs was very appealing. So appealing in fact, that I was willing to try this very new and somewhat unknown steroid. The word on the street was that this was the best steroid for gaining size, and that a different cycle could follow for cutting up. Did I really need to be bigger? I checked the reflection one more time. "Hell, yeah," I said to myself, remembering the bodybuilders creed, "Life is too short to be small!" I filled the needle up with the entire contents of the bottle. The instructions were to inject the entire amount into a slightly fatty area, and then lift weights regularly and with great focus and intensity. This particular steroid had an unusual quality; it was time released so one injection was all the would be needed for six months. I didn’t really like the idea of having to give myself a shot every day or every few days. This time and trouble saving characteristic helped me make the decision to give it a try. The final question was where to make the injection. I looked at my body and realized there were few areas of much fat. I then focused on the small amount of fat that was making my belly slightly rounded. That gave me the idea. "This would be perfect," I thought, "And no one will be able to see any needle marks!" With that, I stuck the needle into my very slight outie belly button, and filled my muscular body with the growth stimulant. I removed the needle when it was emptied and said to myself, "Now it’s time to get fuckin’ huge!" Noon, Saturday, May 6 I strutted over to the large black rack of free weights lined up at the far end of the room. Grabbing an eighty pound dumbbell in each hand, I stepped back, and faced the full length mirrors that covered the wall. Both dumbbells were raised and lowered simultaneously, working out my growing biceps. The reflection in the mirror told me what I already knew - I was getting huge! My biceps exploded out of the tight T-shirt I had specifically selected to wear. The fabric was slightly torn at the bottom of the sleeves and was stretched tight over my expanded pecs. I couldn’t help but admire the body that smiled back at me. A movement several feet away caught my eye. I looked over and recognized Ron, one of my old workout partners. He approached and I put down the dumbbells and turned down the volume on my headphones. "Man, you’re getting B... I...G...," Ron noted, and reached out to touch my pumped biceps, "What kind of juice are you on?" "Just some special vitamins and supplements," I replied with a big grin. "Check this out...Eighteen and a half inches of pure muscle!" I flexed my cantaloupe sized bicep. "You’re blowin’ up huge, dude; What are you weigh’n in at these days?" "Oh , I’m up to about two-sixty...I’ve gained thirty pounds since I started this intense program!" "Two..fuckin’..sixty! Shit! Looks like some of that has gone here," Ron noticed, as he patted my more rounded stomach, "That gut’s really growing too. You’re gonna need that trim down cycle pretty soon." Ron was right. My belly was noticeably larger than only one month ago. The workout pants I wore, designed for a thirty-two inch waist, still fit okay. However, my belly now measured over forty inches around, an increase of more than six inches. Even though this change was obvious while wearing a tight shirt, I still was more concerned about getting big. Besides, I still had several more months remaining on my bulk-up cycle. "Shit, I got a ways to go before that," I answered, then flexed my bicep again. "I’m gonna break the twenty inch barrier before I even think about gettin’ cut!" 9PM Wednesday, June 5 I reached into my locker and pulled out a pair of jeans. Another exhausting workout had ended and I was getting dressed after showering. I pulled up the pair of jeans, and struggled somewhat to fasten them underneath my growing belly. The thirty-six inch waistband was already very tight, though I had bought them only a few weeks ago. I looked down to see a tan round ball sticking out below my massive pecs. Though my biceps were over nineteen inches now, and my chest measured an impressive fifty-seven inches around, more of my recent weight gain had gone to my gut. I took a couple of steps over to the scale and stepped on. The little balance weights were moved to the right a little bit...then a little more...then a little more...then still more.. until they came to rest ...indicating 291 pounds! "Shit!" I thought to myself, "I’m really huge now!" The bigger than expected belly didn’t bother me though, as I was still on my way to the magic phase, "twenty inch guns". "Hey, man, I can help you with that," I heard someone say as I stepped off the scale and turned around. A muscular but lean thirty-something male was standing there, wearing typical workout clothes. His tight tank top shirt revealed a very well developed upper body, and a firm, flat stomach. "Yeah?" I asked, wondering what he was talking about. "Your gut man....it’s gotten so huge," he replied, "I know a guy that can help you get that under control." He took a small business card out from his pocket. "I’m Terry; this is the address for a friend of mine named Jim Mongo. He’s works at a gym and he helps bodybuilders get rid of big bellies, whether from ‘roid or GH use or just overeating." I took the card from Terry with a slight frown on my face. "Well, I have put on some weight here in my midsection, but its not that big a deal yet; I..." Terry interrupted with, "SOME WEIGHT?!...Man, you’re blowing up like a fuckin’ balloon! I remember seeing you in here just a few months ago and your stomach was normal. Now you look like you’ve swallowed a jumbo watermelon! I’ll bet your gut is four feet around!" "Shit, it’s not that big," I replied, knowing that my belly measured just under forty-eight inches around. "I’m just gettin’ a ‘roid gut!" "Well, that maybe true, but if so, I’ve never seen a ‘roid gut get so big so fast. Even your belly button has gotten big." This was true. My navel, now about the size of a large marble, had grown along with my belly. Terry then proceeded to poke the side and front of my oversized belly. "It is firm like a ‘roid gut, but it sure looks more like a pregnant belly!" "I’ll think about it," I said, then turned back to my locker. "All right,’ Terry responded, "But you better do something about it before it’s too late!" Maybe I should, I thought to myself. I have been eating a ton of food lately. I’m always so hungry now and my stomach can hold so much more. But I need to eat a lot to get big, right? How am I ever going to get that massive upper body if I start trimming down now? I decided that the trim down can wait; I don’t mind having a bit of a gut and really, what’s the worst that can happen? 11AM Saturday, July 9 A couple of buddies and I were walking through the city, heading towards the baseball stadium. The sun beat down on this already hot day. I was looking forward to the game. Not many other fans were here this early, but we wanted to watch some batting practice and try and get an autograph or two. As we entered the parking lot, a young man rushed over to us. "Quick, dude; I really need your help," he blurted out, then looked me up and down, "Thank God you’re here. You’re probably the only one that can help. Follow me." "Hey, what’s going on?" I started to ask, but the man had already taken off. The three of us began to follow. "He probably need’s some help in lifting something super heavy and was hoping a stud like me would come by...it’s a curse really," I grinned as I said to my friends. We turned the corner and saw the young man standing next to a large trailer, surrounded by a lot of equipment. Behind the truck was the Budweiser blimp, which was sagging and slowly lowering towards the ground. "I can’t thank you enough, dude," he directed me towards one of the pieces of equipment, "We were up shit creek if you hadn’t come along." He suddenly grabbed a large hose that was attached to this machine and stuck it into my mouth. Somehow, he fed it down my throat so far I could not get it out. I watched him then step over to the machine and pull on a large lever. There was a loud whirring sound then I started to get a weird feeling. I looked down at my belly and realized it was growing. This guy was inflating my already huge stomach! "I didn’t know what to do when I saw our blimp deflating. We’ve got to have one ready for the game. It’s a good thing you came along," he explained, and put his hand on my already much larger belly, "You’ll make a good blimp!" "Guys! Hey guys, help me out!" I yelled at my friends, but both of them were laughing so hard they couldn’t move. They just watched my belly rapidly expand until it appeared that it would surely pop. "What’s happening?!?" I asked, as a strange sensation began to overcome me. I was getting lighter, not heavier, even though my stomach was so gigantic. Slowly, I felt my feet lift of the ground and my whole body tilted forward. I was now hovering about six feet above the ground with my enormous belly continuing to expand. The young man began to tie a rope around each wrist and each ankle in order to hold my helium inflated body in place. As I continued to expand to cartoon-like size, I also drifted higher off the ground. People began to gather around and watch as I hovered about ten feet off the ground. My belly was so huge that my body had basically become a large ball with arms, legs and a head sticking out of it. As I looked down at the crowd, I saw my buddies pointing at me and still laughing. "We kept saying you were turning into a blimp," one of them said while still laughing, "And now it’s time for your launching!" I opened my eyes and tried to adjust to the bright light streaming next to my face. A solid white area was slowly coming into focus. I blinked once; then twice and realized what was happening. I was lying on the sofa looking up at the ceiling of my house! My mind was clearing now. Going to the baseball game, the helium hose, the inflation wasn’t real. It was all just a dream. I’m not really a blimp! I lifted my head up slightly and began to sit up. But sitting up wasn’t as easy as it should be. I noticed what appeared to be a large brown ball resting on top of my midsection. "HOLY SHIT!" I nearly yelled to myself, "That’s my belly! It’s gotten fuckin’ huge!" I grabbed the top of the sofa in order to pull myself up. I managed to get into a sitting position and put a hand on each side of the very round ball. "Man, oh, man, what’s happened?" I tried to stand, but it took some pushing on the couch itself for me to get up. I looked around the room and noticed in one corner was a beer keg laying on its side, and in the other corner was what looked to be about ten empty pizza boxes. I could also see into the dining room, which was full of empty McDonald’s and Taco Bell bags, pizza boxes and several more drained kegs. "Have I really been eating that much?" I thought to myself, then looked back down at my belly, "Yeah, I guess so." I maneuvered over near the full length mirror in the foyer. An incredible site greeted me when I turned sideways to examine my profile. I looked like a professional bodybuilder that was nine months pregnant with twins. There was no other explanation for my new build. My pecs were very well developed, reflected in a chest measurement I knew was about sixty inches, but just underneath them began the perfect half sphere that my belly had become. Not only was my gut itself unbelievably protruding, but the belly button was enlarged as well. I had on a pair of jeans that were buttoned somewhere down below that I couldn’t see from above. I could still see the jeans in the reflection though, as my gigantic gut stuck straight out. This was enough for me to witness. It was time to give that guy a call that supposedly helped out bodybuilders with big guts. What did I do with that card with his address? I went up the stairs with a walk that was both strut and a waddle. The size and weight of my gut was very noticeable as I reached the second floor and went into my bedroom. "Now where did I put that card?" I kept mumbling to myself as I glanced around the room. I opened the top drawer in the desk and tried to see around my belly to search for the information. The new size of my gut forced me to turn sideways and look into the drawer over my shoulder. The search was a success though and I had the name and address. The next step was to decide what to wear. I thought I should wear something loose, so I sat down on the edge of the bed to take my boots off and then change out of the jeans. This proved to be a much more difficult task than expected. The size of my gut made it hard for me to bend over and reach down to remove my boots. I eventually surrendered to my huge belly; I was going to have to wear what I already had on. Now I only needed to find a shirt that would fit. While scanning all the clothes hanging on the bar, I spotted an old XXL sweatshirt. It was gray, with a "Big Gorilla" logo on the front and had the neck, sleeves and bottom cut off. This must be the largest shirt I’ve got, I thought to myself, and pulled it over my head. I watched myself in the mirror as I pulled the shirt over my huge pecs and down. The bottom of this very big garment stopped just above my walnut-sized belly button. "Great!" I said sarcastically as I examined the reflection of my profile, "I look like I swallowed a fuckin’ beach ball...and even this huge maternity shirt doesn’t cover my gigantic belly!" I ran my hand along the distant curve of the exposed portion of my huge belly then turned from the mirror and left the room. The front door of the house was locked upon my exit and I got in my red Ford F-150 pick-up. "Just enough room," I thought to myself as I noticed my belly button was less than an inch away from the steering wheel. "Juusstt enough!" The name on the card read "Jim Mongo" and the address was for a well know gym called the "Muscle Factory" which catered specifically to very big bodybuilders. It took less than fifteen minutes to get there and I parked at the edge of the lot that the gym shared with a shopping center. As I was walking towards the main entrance, it seemed as though the people that passed by were staring at me. Had I seen a few double-takes and heard a few chuckles as I went by? Nah...must be my imagination. The entrance was a simple set of double glass doors, with dark tint so that you couldn’t see through to the other side. I went inside and found myself in a small foyer with a wall on the left side and a large desk on the right. An older man, probably in his 50s, was standing behind the desk. His short gray hair gave away his age, but his body was thickly muscled. "Hey, excuse me, I’m looking for a Jim Mongo," I said to the man that had "Mike" stenciled above his shirt pocket, "Is he around?" "Yeah, he’s in the back. I can...," Mike began to answer, then looked up and noticed my new build. "DAMN, son...what happened to your belly? You look like you’re about to give birth to a five year old!," Mike exclaimed as he walked out from around the desk and stood next to me. "My, uh, it’s just a ‘roid gut that’s gotten a little out of control," I noted, "That’s what I’m here to see Jim about!" "I have never seen a ‘roid gut this huge," Mike commented as he reached over and lifted up the bottom of my oversized shirt, exposing more of my ballooned belly. "Are you sure there’s nothing in here?" He gave it a couple of thumps. "I’ll admit its firm though...what have you been eating?" Before I could reply, or make something up actually, Mike let my shirt down and started to walk down the hall. "I’ll show you where Jim is. Hopefully he can help you get that fucker deflated down to normal size!" I followed Mike through a doorway and into a very expansive free weight room. There were several bodybuilders training in various areas of the gym. Several of them raised their eyebrows, smiled and nudged their buddies as I walked by. Since I was walking beside one of the outer walls perpendicular to where they were standing, their view was of my pregnant looking profile, though I was sure they also noticed my twenty inch guns. We entered another hallway and had only gone a few steps when Mike stopped. "Jim’s in there," Mike said, pointing to a open door. Then Mike gave my belly ball a pat and said, "Good luck! Hope they’re boys!" I knocked on the open door and stepped inside as a man turned around. He was wearing khaki shorts and a red polo shirt that had the word "Jim" written in script above the word "Muscle Factory" where a pocket would be. Jim was muscular but lean, with his flat stomach very apparent in the tight shirt. His eyes grew wide as he saw me walk into the room and I noticed his gaze shift down to my belly. "Hey, I hear you can help a guy get his big ‘roid gut under control," I noted, then put my hand on top of my protruding belly, "And I can really use the help!" Jim walked over to me and stuck out his hand. "Name’s Zach," I said and completed the handshake. "I’m Jim," he replied, and began to poke my belly, "That’s quite a gut you’ve got there. Let me take a closer look and I’ll see what I can do." Jim instructed me to remove my cutoff sweatshirt and I complied. He let out a slight whistle when I had the shirt completely off. "Damn, that thing really sticks out," he patted my belly again, "How big around is it now?" "I don’t know for sure. All I know is that it keeps gettin’ bigger!" Jim walked over to a counter and opened a drawer. I began to look around the room a little. Kind of a combination of a doctor’s office and a workout room I thought. there was some exercise machines in one end of the large room, but some medical looking devices in the other. A few tables and benches were scattered about the middle of the room. Jim came right back with a tape measure and positioned himself directly in font of me. "What size jeans are you squeezed into?" he asked. "Uhhh... I think thirty-eights," I answered. Jim then took the tape and wrapped it around the huge tan sphere that was now my belly. A slight grin spread over his face as he brought the two ends of the tape together and read the number. "Fifty seven and one half inches! That is one big belly!" He knelt down slightly and looked at my oversized gut from underneath. "It hardly sags at all; that’s really amazing considering the size of it," Jim noted and then began to thump my belly like he was checking a jumbo watermelon for ripeness. "It’s very firm like a ‘roid gut... but it is so huge, there must be something else happening here. Now step up on the scale there and we’ll check the numbers." I slowly walked over towards the tradition balance-driven scale and stepped on. But there was a problem. My belly wouldn’t fit against the post with my feet on the scale pad. Jim instructed me to turn around and he would read the number. "So, what’s the damage," I asked, facing away from the scale. Am I 300 yet?" "Man you’ve pegged the scale! It only goes to 325!"Jim replied. "Looks like we don’t have a big enough scale to weigh you! Jim instructed me to get down and motioned me towards a padded table. "Come lie down over here so I can examine that gut...we’ll see why it’s so big!" I got up on the large table. The back was angled at about sixty degrees, so I was sitting up more than laying down. I watched as Jim rolled a piece of equipment from one corner of the room out to the middle where I was. He attached a small tube that had a handle on the end and began to fiddle with some buttons and knobs on the machine. "What’s that for?" I asked, as he was still studying the machine. "I’m going to do a sonogram on your belly," Jim replied, "To see what might be in there." I wasn’t sure what to think of this. Did he believe that there was something growing in my gut? That wasn’t possible. Then I looked down at the perfectly round sphere with the enlarged belly button attached. Well, maybe... Jim moved the handle around on my huge gut. In spite of all of the jokes today (and other days recently) about the size of my gut, this was the most pregnant I had ever felt. Here was a specialist using a piece of medical equipment to determine if my hugely overgrown belly contained a baby or alien or watermelon or something! The procedure only lasted a few minutes and Jim wheeled the machine away when he was done. "So, what’s the verdict?" I asked, as I put my hands on the sides of my belly, "Am I about to be a father or mother or what?" Jim smiled then replied and tapped my gut near the belly button, "No, there isn’t a baby in there as much as it looks like it. I didn’t see any other kind of growth either but the machine is still analyzing the data. I want to try another test." He walked over to the end of the room behind me, so I couldn’t see what he was doing, but could hear the sounds of drawers opening and closing. I had my head turned back over my shoulder to try and see what Jim was doing when I heard a voice. "Shit, Mark come here! You gotta see this!" I turned my head around and noticed a young man standing in the doorway to the room. He had the stereotypical surfer dude look, with a deep tan, long blonde hair and was wearing a tight yellow tank top. He was much bigger than the normal surfer though, with hugely oversized, muscular upper body and thighs bulging out of his shorts. The big surfer had wide grin on his face as he appeared to be motioning to someone else in the hall. Another young bodybuilder joined the surfer. He had more of a preppy look with short dark hair and a clean shaven face. The preppy was also very muscular but did not posses the flat stomach or cuts that his surfer buddy did. A very large and loose fitting shirt appeared to have been chosen to hide an off season gut, though his muscular size was very impressive. The two walked into the room and over to where I was beached on the examining table. The surfer was the first to reach me and reached out to poke my belly. "Don’t touch it T.J.," Mark shouted, "IT'LL POP!" The surfer very gently began to tap the tan balloon attached to my body. "Get a load of the size of this fucker," he noted with a grin, then turned to his pal, "This is what you’re gonna look like!" Mark snarled, "There’s no way in hell my belly could get that big even if I tried!" The two young bodybuilders were now standing beside me, staring at the hugely swollen belly, one on each side. Jim had finished whatever he had been doing and walked back to the center of the room. "Hey, Jim, what’s the deal with this dude’s belly? Is he pregnant with twins or triplets?" the surfer asked. "Man, haven’t you guys ever seen a ‘roid gut?" I asked, as I started to flex my biceps, "I was just building up these guns and grew a gut along the way." Both of the young bodybuilders began to laugh. "Yeah, your biceps look like melons," Mark stated, "But your belly looks like a beach ball was over inflated inside of it!" "All right guys, move over, I’ve still got another test to do," Jim stated as he nudged the young men away. "We’ll see what’s causing this poor guy’s gut to stick out like it does." The two big bodybuilders started to walk away, but not without one last pat of my belly ball. Just before they reached the door the surfer turned around and said, "Hey if turns out just to be a huge beer gut, call us; we can stick a tap in that belly button and have enough brew for the whole gym!" Meanwhile, Jim had already begun to attach these small wires to several of my fingers. I recognized the set-up as a test to message bodyfat percentage. Jim lifted up the bottom of my jeans and attached another patch with a wire coming out of it. Jim went back behind me and pushed some buttons on a machine. I had not even felt anything when he announced that the test was completed and he started to remove the wires. "Well, what is it?" I asked, wanting to know my body fat percentage. "Hmmmm," was all that Jim said at first. Then he added, "I think I’m beginning to see what has happened here." With that Jim went back over to the counter and looked at some readings from the first test. He then walked back over to me with a confident look on his face. "Your body fat percentage is thirty-nine percent, which is really high for a guy with so much muscle as you have. Your sonogram revealed an extremely thick abdominal wall and something else very unusual... your stomach itself is quite large. My thinking is that the steroids significantly increased the size of your abs and your internal organs, and this combined with the amount of fat you are carrying is why your belly is so huge, yet so firm. The tremendous eating you must have done to gain the weight, the muscle and the fat, has really stretched out your stomach; I’ll bet you can really put away the chow." Jim explained. "So, this really isn’t a ‘roid gut?" I asked, placing my hands on the side of the brown sphere. "Well, sort of. I think the steroids are responsible for the shape and feel, why it is so hard and so round like a ball; but the size of it is mostly your own overeating." Jim answered, and continued, "You basically have a super-fattened ‘roid gut!" I got up and started to reach for my shirt. As I pulled it over my head I said, "Well, thanks for your time, Jim; at least I know what’s going on now." "Sure, Zach, I’m glad I could help you find out what has happened. You know this means you have about an eighty pound belly on you," Jim noted, and patted my gut, "You’re going to have to eat more sensibly to get this down to a reasonable size." "Yeah, maybe it is time to trim down some. It’s gettin’ harder just to move around," I said as I made my way through the door. "Take it easy and thanks again." "Sure. Good luck!" Jim said, and I was heading down the hallway. I had only taken a few steps when a another weight-lifter turned the corner. I recognized him right away as a friend that I used to work out with. "Zach?, Hey is that you?" Chris asked, then continued after I acknowledged him, "Dude you’ve gotten so huge!" Chris looked bigger too. He had always had more of a swimmer’s build in that he was muscular in an athletic sense, but not really thick. Now however, not only was his upper body wider and more solid, but his midsection clearly had a roundness to it that it did not have only six months ago. After a long firm handshake, Chris’ hand quickly traveled to the top of my new belly. "What in the hell happened?" He asked, continuing to poke my oversized gut, "You look like you’re entering your forth trimester!" "Uh, I’ve been bulking up," I explained, " See the size of these?" I pointed to one of my oversized biceps. "Yeah, you’re bi’s and pec’s have gotten really big," Chris noted as he kept his hand on my spherical gut, "But your belly has blown up incredibly! I’ve never seen a gut that big and round. And I didn’t even know you were a gainer." "A gainer?....," I asked, not exactly sure what he meant, "You mean, did I grow this belly on purpose? What makes you think that?" "Well," Chris began his explanation with a grin, "First of all, not too many guys would spend hours in the gym developing massive pec’s then just LET their belly turn into a giant beach ball. Second," Chris continued as he bent over slightly to see under my protruding barrel, "I don’t know how you squeezed into these jeans, but it certainly makes your gut stick out even more," Chris stood back up and grabbed the bottom of my shirt, "And finally this shirt stops just about where your belly is at it’s biggest and roundest, showing it off perfectly. You certainly wouldn’t wear a shirt like this if you didn’t want everyone to notice what a huge pregnant belly you now have." As Chris spoke, I thought about what he had suggested. I had always wanted to be unusually big; so big in fact, that people gave me a second look as I walked passed. And that was definitely happening now. Also, when the gorgeous young bodybuilding surfer kept thumping my belly, I had to admit that it was a turn-on. The idea of getting so much attention because I was oversized, even if it was mainly my belly, was still exciting to me. So maybe I really am a gainer; just trying to get incredibly big in every way. "Okay," I said with a smile, "I did want to get big." I placed my right hand on top of my ball belly, " I didn’t expect to get this huge though ...believe it or not, almost all of this has come in just the last few months!" Chris’s eyes widened, "How did you grow so much so quickly? I’ve been trying to develop a gut myself, too." Chris put his hand on his own rounded stomach then began to pat my gigantic one. "But I can’t even imagine gettin’ as big as you are." "Yeah, I noticed that you’re a lot thicker...you look good!" I complimented Chris on his accomplishments, while still leaving my hand on top of my gut, "I’ve been eatin’ a hell of a lot of food and washing it down with protein shakes and beer. Also, I tired a new steroid that I think made it easier to overeat and direct a lot of the extra weight to my belly." "What did you take," Chris asked. "Gorditol," I responded, "I got some from a buddy in Mexico. I didn’t know much about it but it sure worked!" Chris looked at my biceps and then back at my enormous belly. "It sure did. Are you still growing? You look like you could pop at any minute!" "Oh yeah, I’m still growing," I answered, "The effects of the steroids will start to diminish soon. In the meantime, I’m gonna keep on eatin’ and keep on liftin’. Say, you want to get something to eat?" "I just ate, but I wouldn’t mind watching you put it away," Chris replied, "Are you telling me that this thing is empty?" He poked my gut at it’s roundest part. "I haven’t had anything to eat today....really!" I said. "There’s a place for us to eat is right here," Chris explained, "It’s a small restaurant that is part of the gym, and they feature pasta. There’s always have some kind of all-you-can-eat special." He had a gleam in his eye as his hand was still resting on the top of my belly. "That should be perfect for you!" "LETS GO!" I said. 2pm Saturday, July 9 I put down my fork and looked at the now empty plate of what had been spaghetti and meatballs. I glanced over at the tall stack of dishes balanced at the far corner of the table. Did I really eat eight orders worth? It only took one quick look down at my belly to get the answer. The huge round ball was noticeably larger. My oversized shirt was no match for my oversized belly, now riding higher up the bloated sphere. I noticed that Chris was staring at the more expansive exposed curve of my stuffed gut. "I’m beginning to see how your belly got so big so quick," Chris observed, "You eat like a hog! I’ve never seen someone pack in the food like that!" With the last comment, Chris gave my ballooned belly a sharp poke. "It’s tight as a drum. If you’ve been eatin’ like this regularly, no wonder you’re so huge!" "Brrrrpppp....hey..., take it easy... on the gut," I said to Chris, who quickly removed his finger, "I’m gettin’ close... to maxin’ out!" Just then the waiter stopped by the table. He looked to be a high school student, with a freckly face and a shock of red hair. "Here’s your check. You can pay up front when you’re ready," the thin teenager stated. "Uh..., I think I’ll have... brrrppp... one more plate of spaghetti," I said to the waiter, "And another large Coke." "Sir, are you sure?" the waiter began to ask, then put his hand on the top of my engorged gut, "You look like you’re about to bust already!" "Nah, he always looks like that," Chris noted, "Just bring him another plate and stand back!" With that, the waiter went back into the kitchen and shortly brought out another plateful of spaghetti. As he set it down in front of me he spoke to Chris, "If you hear any ripping sounds let me know and I’ll try to evacuate the place before he explodes!" I did manage to eat that last serving of pasta without my stomach popping. I stood up from the table and staggered forward for a moment. Chris reached out to grab my arms and help steady me. "Looks like you’re even more front heavy than before," Chris said, "You’re gonna have to get used to this!" I leaned back a little further to improve my balance. "There. That’s not... brrrp... so bad," I noted and put my hands on the sides of my now even more swollen gut. "Shit, I’m sure gettin big though!" Chris chuckled and helped me waddle out of the restaurant and back into the gym. We had just entered the main hallway when Chris turned to me and said that he had to take care of something. "You wanna hang out until I get back, or are you gonna head on out?’ he asked. "Oh, I think I’ll head on. It’s been great seeing you again." "Yeah, me too," Chris replied and put his hand on top of my belly sphere. "You’ve got an amazing gut here buddy; I’d like to get back into workin’ out with you again!" "Sure thing man, I can always use a partner. We can do a little liftin’ and then some serious eatin’!" I said with a grin and put my hands on the bowed out sides of my pasta balloon. "And maybe you can get a gut like this someday!" Chris smiled even bigger. "I sure hope so but I don’t think that it’s physically possible," he answered then gave my belly one last solid poke. "But I’d sure like to try!" Chris then left the main hallway. I began to slowly make my way towards the front entrance of the gym to leave. Of course, I had to carefully watch my balance, arching my back to support the weight of the growing monster gut. I had only taken a few steps when a couple of guys came around the corner. "Hey, T.J. take a look at your boy," the young man said, "Looks like somebody attached an air hose to his belly button and turned it on full blast!" It was the preppy looking bodybuilder that had come into the room while my oversized belly was being examined. Wasn’t his name Mark? The next figure to come around the corner was the muscular surfer. T.J. had somewhat of a surprised look on his face, as he walked up and stood directly in front of me. "How the hell could a belly as big as yours keep growing?" he punched my very protruding gut a couple of times, "You look like you’ve swallowed a barrel!" "Oofff...." I responded to his punches, "Hey..., take it easy man; I was at the Pasta Palace and was making sure I got my money’s worth at the all-you-can-eat spaghetti special." "You must really be full," Mark commented, than began to thump the side of my very bloated gut, "Your belly sticks out so far yet it’s still solid!" "Dude, looks like you need to lie down and rest that fucker; there’s a room over there where you can relax for a minute." I didn’t expect T.J. to make this kind of offer, but it was getting tiring just carrying the even larger belly around. I wouldn’t mind lying down for a few minutes before I left. So after accepting T.J.’s invitation, I followed him into a large room just down the hall from where we were standing. This room was what you would expect to find in a gym. There was weight training equipment in one end and several exercise mats in the middle, but no one was around. The other side contained a large counter with a few stools where it appeared juices, energy bars, protein shakes and the like were sold. Mark and T.J. helped me get down on the dark red mats. I lay flat on my back with my large round belly ball sticking straight up into the air. Both young bodybuilders poked my gut as they stood up then went to the far side of the room. I could not see what either was doing, as they were behind me. I could, however, here some noises and wondered what they were up to. The two were in the end of the room with the juice bar, but I didn’t know what they were involved with. There was a slight rumbling noise followed by some grunting. I turned to the side and saw T.J. put down a large metal barrel-looking thing. The container was about the size of a small keg, gray with a bright blue label stating, "Max Gainer 4000". "So what are you going to do with that?" I asked. The two bodybuilders were standing close together and replied in unison, "We are going to PUMP," they emphasized this word with a loud CLAP, "YOU UP!!" I recognized the mimic of the old "Saturday Night Live" skit. "But... but... I am already pumped," I noted and put my hands on my uniquely oversized belly, "My gut can’t hold much more." "I’ve never seen a belly like yours before," T.J. said as he began to attach a hose to the top of the container of weight gain formula, "I’m curious as to how big you could get!" The thought of these two gorgeous young muscle men pumping my big belly even larger was definitely a turn-on. I realized though that the current size of my belly would not allow for much more growth. It probably wouldn’t hurt anything if they just pumped in a little bit, so I decided not to protest too much. Besides, in my already bloated condition I couldn’t resist too well even with my considerable strength. T.J. walked the few steps over to where I was lying down and pulled my shirt off then stuck the hose in my mouth. He didn’t stop there though and kept feeding the large tube further down my throat, until it was all the way into my stomach. I looked up at T.J. inquisitively, wondering why he needed to stick the hose in so far for just a few gulps of the gainer liquid. He didn’t notice my puzzled expression and quickly went back over to the barrel. The handle on the pump was raised then forced downward by T.J.’s powerful arm. This motion sent a shot of the thick liquid into my already stuffed stomach. The pumping had begun. I could watch as T.J.’s hand went down, the top of my belly went up and out slightly. Down. Up. Down. Up. And my oversized gut continued to swell. "Hey, he’s really gettin’ huge!" Mark noted, then knelt down next to me. He moved his hand closer to my ballooning belly and began to thump it. "Fuckin’ awesome, man, its hard as a rock and a lot bigger than one of those Coors Party Balls," he observed. T.J. continued to pump, not showing any signs of stopping or even slowing down. "Still got some to go, dude" he said, "This poor bastard’s not done yet!" "I don’t know, his gut’s so unbelievably swollen... I don’t think he can take much more!" I raised my head a little and could see the enormous mound in front of me. Even though the hose sticking out of my mouth was partially blocking my view, it was obvious that my poor belly was ridiculously huge. It was difficult to see anything else in the room. "Just a little bit more," T.J. said, "And we’ll see just how big that fucker can get!" "He looks like a pregnant horse," Mark commented, "And check this out; his skin is stretched so tight it’s getting a slight bluish tint around his belly button. This don’t look good man; his gut’s gonna explode!" I sure could feel the pressure now. The entire spherical mass of my stomach was sore and felt tighter than after the biggest meal I had ever had. Surely he will stop at any minute! "Hey, it’s getting harder to pump," T.J. said, "Dude, come over here and give me a hand. Mark walked over to the keg like container and began to help T.J. with the pumping. "Shit, he’s so full it’s gettin’ hard to stuff more of this in ‘em," Mark noted, "He’s almost at the burstin’..." POW! "OMIGOD! What was that? Did he explode!" Mark exclaimed and rushed over to squat down next to me. Soon as I had heard the loud noise I had put my hands around my belly to see if it was still intact. Mark put one hand on top of my gut and began to feel around with the other. "Hey, its okay.. another button on his jeans must have given way. I just figured he had busted out of all of those a while back!" Mark said. T.J. began pumping again, now slowly and with significant effort. I started watching my belly to see if it could stand up to this last bit of stuffing or would the whole thing blow open like a Jiffy Pop container after ten minutes on the stove. Mark backed away from my now planet sized gut with a worried look on his face. "He’s... gonna... EXPLODE!" Mark noted and continued to move back, as if afraid the blast might injure him. With one final mighty push, T.J. had pumped the last bit of weight gain shake into my towering belly. He put the handle down and stepped over to where I lay beached on the floor. Mark also moved back closer and knelt down next to me. They each began to poke and pat the obscenely large balloon now attached to my very muscular body. T.J. slowly pulled the hose out of my mouth. "OOOOHHHHHHHH," was all that I could say, as I lifted my head to get a better view of the pumping results. I emitted and audible gasp when I saw the size of the mound before me. My poor belly stuck at least three feet into the air. The tan sphere blocked my view of the rest of the room. I could only see the top half of Mark as he was standing near what I assumed were my boots. I moaned again as T.J. gave my enormous belly a sharp poke. "Daaaammmmnnnn...this is the biggest thing I’ve ever seen," TJ noted, "It’s so tight yet so fuckin’ huge!" He continued to tap the over inflated ball belly, then stood up and leaned down towards my face, "Hey, blimp boy, lets see if you can get up!" I tried to stand up in the traditional way, by leaning forward to get into a sitting position. The difficulty began almost immediately when I realized that I was going to have trouble just sitting up. There was simply too much belly to fit between my over developed chest and thighs while in a seated position. "Hey, I’ve got an idea," T.J. said as he moved towards my right side, and said to Mark, "A little help here okay?" Mark moved over to where TJ was standing and they knelt down together. I wasn’t sure what they were going to do at first, then I understood when they put their hands on my side. "Just one helluva push and we can roll him up onto his belly," T.J. said, "And then he can get up from there." I felt the very strong force on my right side which did indeed move me to the left, onto my side and then up onto my belly. However the push had been too strong and I kept going, rolling over onto my other side and then back to a face up position. The size and perfectly spherical shape of my belly had caused me to roll completely over, 360 degrees until I ended up on my back again. Both men broke into hysterical laughter and started more sharply poking my giant gut. "Its too big, dude," Mark referred to my belly, "I think you’re gonna have to lie here a while" "Yeah, he’s a small planet now, locked into place. We’d better head out before we are drawn in by his gravitational pull and can’t escape." With one final pat on my obscenely swollen stomach, the two bodybuilders left the room. Now I had to find a way to get up and out myself. I knew that I couldn’t sit up straight, but maybe I could roll back up onto my belly then push myself up from there. It took a couple of tries, but I did get my muscular body balanced up on top of the enormous ball. My hands just barely reached the floor, but I was able to tip myself forward and push up with my huge forearms. If my legs and arms were not so strong I don’t think I could have made it, but I finally reached a full upright position. "Whoa," I thought to myself, as I swayed with the hugely heavy belly sticking out so far in front of me. "I need to get a handle on this." It took a minute or two to steady my unnaturally front heavy build, but if I leaned way back, I could carry the belly forward. I slowly waddled towards the open door, steadying my mega-bloated gut with both hands. I peeked around the door frame and found the hallway empty. I stepped through the opening and began to walk towards the front of the gym. All I had to do was make it down this hall and through the edge of the free weight room and I would be out of here and on my way home. I tried to move a little faster, but noticed an increase in discomfort when I did. The mild pain did not come from my unbelievably heavy belly sagging down, but from it bouncing upward when I took too quick a step. I had one hand underneath my giant gut to support it, and placed the other on top to get the upward motion to subside. When I reached the end of the hallway, I decided to go a little slower and keep the bouncing to a minimum. Now came the tricky part. I needed to carefully but quickly move through the far end of the large workout room and get to the front entrance of the gym. I didn’t hear much noise, so it sounded like there were not many guys working out at that moment. I made my move. Looking straight ahead at the opening at the other side of the room, which led to the main entrance, I walked into the huge free weight area. I was about halfway across when I heard a loud voice. "HOLY SHIT!," the voice said, "Look at the size of that GUT!" I turned to see a huge bodybuilder approaching me with a large grin on a recognizable face. He was wearing a tight light blue T-shirt and shorts that accentuated his oversized muscles. I realized that it was Greg Titan, a well know professional bodybuilder. "Daaammmnnnn," Greg said, still smiling, "What happened to your belly?" He reached out and gave my gigantic gut a sharp poke. "What are you growing in there?" "Nothing... man," I replied, still reeling from my incredible pumping session, "I’ve.... just been... bulkin’ up... and got a bit... of a ‘roid gut." "That can’t be just a ‘roid gut," Greg was still examining the enormous sphere, "It’s so huge...like the stomach of a pregnant hippo or something!" Greg then motioned to someone else at the other end of the room. "Come here man," he shouted, "Check this out!" Another huge bodybuilder approached, but this one looked a little different. He had the massive upper body like Greg, but he was wearing a billowy sweatshirt apparently to cover a thickening midsection. I recognized him as Steve Columbo, another popular professional bodybuilder. Steve though was almost as well know for carrying a gut even when in competitions as he was for his incredible size. "Look Steve," Greg said as he put his hand on top of my ballooned belly, "Its the only bodybuilder in the world with a gut as big as yours!" "Fuck, man!" Steve answered as he got closer, "I’m nothing like that. This dude’s about to give birth to a ten year old!" Steve reached out an also began to poke by gut. "Be... careful... guys," I said as the pats and pokes got a little harder, "I’m...awfully full" SSSLLLLOOOSSSHH!!! Steve had lifted up my belly, let it go and the liquid inside had been heard. "What the fuck?" Greg exclaimed, then began to more gently poke my gut, "What the hell is in that thing?" "Uh... well...," I started to say, "I... uh...drank a whole keg of protein drink... I’m still a little... bloated." "Dude, that is unreal," Steve said, as he bent down and more closely examined my super stuffed gut, "You’ve turned your belly into an incredible blimp, just to get a huge upper body. You musta really wanted to get big!" "Hell, anyone that would grow a six foot gut just to get huge bi’s and pec’s is okay by me. What say you join us for a workout?" Greg asked. I smiled big. A couple of professional bodybuilders were impressed enough by my size to invite me to lift with them. It was my dream come true, even if I did have to somehow carry around the world’s largest muscle gut. "Sure...lets go!" 3pm Saturday, August 12 Glug...glug...glug...glug... "AAAHHHH," I said, and put down the now empty pitcher on the counter, "Give me another!" In order to work out with Greg and Steve regularly, I had joined "The Big Boys Gym", a popular training facility and hang out for professional bodybuilders. I generally lifted in the outdoor free weight area, in order to enjoy the fresh air and maintain my tan. Today was no different than most. I was outside, wearing only a tight pair of cutoffs which allowed a complete view of my obscenely over developed torso. Twenty-two inch guns, a massive sixty-five inch chest was anchored by my balloon belly, now nearly seventy inches in circumference. I was squeezed into shorts with a forty-four inch waist, giving my belly an even more inflated look. "Are you sure you want MORE?", the staff member behind the counter asked, "You’re still blowin’ up! What are you up to now" "Oh about four and a quarter," I answered, referring to my weight of 425 pounds. "But I can carry it. I need it to keep up my strength!" He turned back to the machine on the counter and began to fill up another pitcher with a high calorie protein shake. The pitcher was filled again and he brought it back to me just as Greg walked up. "Your buddy here’s put away about half a dozen pitchers," the staff member said to Greg, "Looks like the poor bastards gut is about to pop!" Greg grinned and began to gently poke my oversized belly. "Nah, he’s got a long way to go before he busts. I’ve seen a lot more in there than that!’ We exchanged greetings and then I began to chug the pitcher. "Man, he’s swelling up right in front of us," the staff member noted, as I continued to drink. "That gut’s gotta be six feet around!" "Ahhhhh," I financed off the last few drops and placed the empty pitcher on the counter. After placing my hands on the bowed out sides of my mammoth belly, I stated, "Now, I’m full and ready to go!" Greg and I walked over to one of the flat bench press benches. Just as we arrived, another bodybuilder walked by. "Greg; Goodyear; what’s up?" he said, referring to me by one of my nicknames, then continuing, "Greg; where’s Steve? Goodyear, did you eat him?" Our buddy then reached out and poked the side of my bizarrely oversized gut. "Looks like he would fit!" "He said he’d meet us here," Greg replied, "I haven’t seen him in a long time. Supposedly he’s found a new ’roid and has been working out hard, but I’ll believe it when I see it." The bodybuilder kept on walking, and soon was out of our area. Another bodybuilder started to pass when he reached out and brushed by belly on the way by. "Hey, T.N.T., how’s it goin’?" he said with a grin, but didn’t stop walking. I nodded "okay" and Greg asked, "Hey, why’d you call him T.N.T.?" The bodybuilder turned back as he was still moving away and grinned, "Because he looks like he’s about to explode!" Greg laughed and I just smiled at this remark. I didn’t mind the jokes about the size of my gut. I knew it was hard for people not to say something or resist the impulse to touch it as they passed. "Well, enough fartin’ around... let’s get started," Greg stated and turned to load up the bar with weights for our workout to begin. We heard a familiar voice and both looked around to see if it indeed was Steve. Finally, he showed up! As I turned to where the voice came from, my eyes focused on the largest bodybuilder I had ever seen, walking towards us wearing only a pair of tight sweatpants. He was dark and so thick, every muscle was grotesquely over developed. His whole body was a series of big spheres, including an incredibly protruding belly. Greg and I looked at each other with mouths open. "W-E-L-L... F-U-C-K... M-E!" stammered Greg, "What the hell have you done to yourself!?" A big smile crossed the thicker but familiar face of our buddy Steve. "Just found a new source for size," he answered, and then went into an impressive double bicep pose, "I’ve been liftin’ like a madman for over a month!" I grinned back at Steve. "You fucker...You’re on Gorditol!" I yelled, realizing what he was doing, "You want to get bigger than me!" Greg put his hand on my gigantic belly and said to Steve, "Oh my God, you’re going to get one of these," He continued to pat my ballooned gut. "Hell, you’ll probably get bigger since you had quite a gut goin’ already!" Steve had continued to walk over to where we were standing and now was right next to us. I reached out and started to pat the big brown ball where his abs had been. He also had the extreme belly button development like I had. His gut looked like an oversized beach ball with a tangerine glued to it. "Welcome to the club man," I said, and continued to tap the protruding but firm balloon. "You are gonna’ get bigger than me!" Steve and I were facing each other now, both shirtless, and Greg was in between us but off to the side. His eyes were as big as plates, staring at the two huge mounds before him. "Dudes... I feel like I’m in a maternity ward at the vet and you’re about to give birth to a calf!" He looked at my giant orb and the one belonging to Steve. "You’re not gonna be able to move soon. What are you gonna do about your gigantic guts?" "I don’t know about you man," Steve said to me, as he put his hand on his own enormous belly, "But I think I’m gonna have me a protein shake...Goodyear...care to join me?" I replied in the positive and followed Steve over to the counter. He ordered to "Mega Huge Blasts", one for each of us. The staff member had a stunned look on his face as he created the drinks and handed each of us a thirty-two ounce pitcher. He stared at the two giant balloons attached to the bodybuilders in front of him, but was too dumb founded to even speak. Steve and I faced each other. Even though we were standing much further apart then two guys talking to each other normally would, our amazingly protruding bellies still nearly touched. "A toast," Steve said and raised his pitcher, "To gettin’ BIG!" I raised my pitcher as well and gently tapped his while up in the air. "To gettin’ BIG," I replied with a grin. Glug... Glug... Glug...
Roid Gut Part 2 Artwork by Warren Davis
Real Estate Developent by Unknown
I was tired of being poor. I was tired of being a student. I had spent one entire year quite unsuccessfully looking for an academic position with my English degree, and despite all advice to the contrary, I had decided to forego the pittance of a post-doc fellowship or worse, a job teaching high school, for what seemed at the time to my advisor and all friends utter madness on my part. I took a job as the office manager for a small real estate management and investment firm in the city. Being glib, I managed to convince the incredulous lot of them that it was the steadiness of the income, the short commute, the relative lack of demands on me which would give me time to write, and indeed, these were reasons. Some of them. I did not lie. It is just that I did not tell the whole truth. It was the interview that decided me, the interview with president and the founder of the firm, Larry Houseman who bounded in that day, after keeping me waiting for more than half an hour, cutting off the receptionist who tried to tell him I was here and grabbing my hand. "You're Raymond, right? I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but in a way it's good because that's the way it is around here. Always something." He was a large man, well over 6'4" and very stocky, bordering on fat, probably about 15 years older me, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes, looking very much the over-the-hill fratboy who had settled into a comfy, plush middle age. He was wearing a lightweight tan summer suit which grabbed here and there around his chunky chest and his preppy cotton poplin button-down shirt revealed a belly that had spent quite a few hours at the finer restaurants around town. He looked quite well-upholstered, that was for sure, something that up to that point in my life I had always found extremely erotic about a man but which I had never spoken of to anyone. I smiled my best smile. "Well, then, I'm getting the full introduction, aren't I?" He waved me into his corner office, with a great view of the bay and plunked a big white bag down on the desk in front of him. "You eat your lunch yet?" I rubbed my stomach. "Oh yes, sir. I did. But thank you." "You young guys. Look at you, skinny as a rail." He began to unpack his deli run in front of me, a big corned beef sandwich bulging with meat, a quart of potato salad, a quart of macaroni salad and a large bag of chips. "After I turned 40, the minute I look at food it goes right here." And he slapped his stomach, popping a big handful of chips in his mouth a minute later. "I know, it's not very professional of me, but shit, I founded this place and I run it any damn way I want. So you might as well get used to it. Sure you don't want a chip? I'm supposed to be on a diet." I immediately liked his bluff friendliness, but what I liked far more was the completely unapologetic way he plowed through his lunch right in front of me while we talked, gradually tanking up to the point where by the time we had begun to discuss why I wanted a job like this given my educational background, he was leaning back in his high back (and very expensive-looking) executive leather desk chair, hands folded on his stuffed belly, listening to me contentedly. I had always had a bad weakness for overweight guys, especially the cleancut fratjock type, and I had spent plenty of time sipping cappuccinos at the cafe across from the Greek houses on campus, watching big rich whiteboy asses wedged into their Bermudas and Izods as they lumbered about spending their parents' money on beer and burgers. And now here was Larry, same species, only 20 years later, rich and getting rich, fat and getting fatter, knowing it and seemingly not caring. I was my most charming, intelligent and personable self at that interview, you can bet, especially when, halfway through he informed me, before he laid low the first of three copiously frosted chocolate brownies, that this position of "office manager" would actually function more or less as his own personal assistant. "We have secretaries and a receptionist and all, I but I need a guy Friday, someone who can think and take initiative, and not just type or answer phones. The filing system needs to organized, the whole flow of work around here needs streamlining. That why we need someone who's smart, someone like you. You up for that kind of job, working directly under me?" I was up for it, yes, indeed. I was definitely up for it. "Absolutely, sir." He licked off some chocolate off his fingers. "No 'sir' please. Makes me feel old. Call me Larry. Might involve some personal errands, you know. . . ." I was bold but it paid off. "Like getting lunch for you when you are too busy?" I really wanted to say "/being/ lunch for you," but I knew enough to keep that part of the interview subtext to myself. Nevertheless, he smiled, double chin prominent on his big handsome face. "Really, it takes a guy to do shit like that nowadays. You can't ask women to do that stuff for you, get coffee, serve you like that. They get all bent out of shape. But guys don't seem to mind." I wondered if he was picking up on the erotic energy between us, but between his wedding ring, the picture of the wife and kids on the credenza behind him, and his thoroughly all-American demeanor, I figured it had to be just me. So that was my interview at CMI. It was without any doubt the first interview I had ever had where I had to stop by the men's room on the way out and jerk myself off before I spent the subway ride home dripping down my leg, thinking about Larry's big hairy mouth chewing on huge bites of corned beef, replaying over and over the sight of him slapping his gut or sucking chocolate frosting off his thumb in front of me. And it was definitely the only job interview I had ever had which had continued to remain a distinct pleasure for the ensuing week as I waited. All I needed to do at night was think about his moustache smeared with mayonnaise or conjure up the sight of that gut pressing against the blue shirt at his waist, and boom, I came like a rocket all over my sheets, sometimes two or three times in an evening. When I got his call the following week that he wanted me, I reported in to CMI that Monday quite happily. New jobs are always stressful at first, but this one was a challenge, since Larry's whole way of being in the world was like most entrepreneurs, very full-steam-ahead. I'm an extremely quick study, though, and so I kept up just fine as he rattled through everything he wanted to see get done around the office. It also became quickly clear to me that he had the rest of the staff pretty thoroughly cowed--all the managers and staff would sort of fall silent as we went by and obsequiously say hello to him, so I figured taking a collaborative approach rather than trying to toady up to him would be the best, and I was right. Luckily for me, the respect they showed him they also showed me, correctly assessing that if I worked for Larry, word about their treatment of me--cooperative or noncooperative--would quickly get back to him, so really the whole thing worked out just as I had hoped--a fairly lucrative job, with lots of responsibility but nothing truly challenging, under the direction of a man I found overwhelmingly attractive. Why none of my friends could understand the appeal of this job, I found a source of endless amusement. Coming back from lunch one day fairly late, I walked in the office all set to start on the filing system revision when I saw Lucille the receptionist, a notorious busybody, loitering about the conference room, shuffling papers, but very clearly listening in to a conversation going on in Larry's office next door. Seeing me, she scurried back to her station and said meekly, "You might want to go in and introduce yourself. Mrs. Houseman is there." I raised my eyebrows--all I knew of Mrs. Houseman was what I seen of her from the ten-year old picture on the credenza and suffice it to say, I was curious about her--but before knocking lightly on Larry's door, I caught but a snatch of conversation, a woman's voice, in a chiding tone, saying "I'm just saying that it's a matter of health, that's all." "Come in. Oh, Raymond, yes. This is Edith, my wife." Larry stood up and introduced me. "Edie, this is Ray. He's whipping CMI into shape." She was a very genial lady, slim and elegant, and from her manicure, hairdo and jewelry, I could see she filled the role of CEO wife easily and naturally. "If only you could do the same for my husband, Raymond." I stared quizzically. Larry plopped into his chair, half-exasperated, half-amused. "Oh, Edie, here is giving me the monthly diet lecture. She's afraid I'm too fat and will drop dead of heart attack on her. But I keep telling her I'm worth more dead than alive." "Larry, you are impossible. Really, Raymond, please take this man with a grain of salt." "Made me eat a salad today at lunch, she did. Says I need to set an example for our kids." He pouted like a little boy, looking up at her. "He's put on 40 pounds in the last year." She said to me. "He'll really be a Houseman pretty soon." "Oh Edie, I have not. Please. Don't you have some shopping to do? I really don't think our new office manager wants to hear about my weight problem." "Aha, so you admit it." He rose to his full height and girth, and with insistent grace, gave her a kiss as he ushered her out, a big fake smile planted on his chubby face. "I'll be home early tonight. You can thank Raymond for that." She gave me a friendly wink. "Please keep an eye on him, would you?" I nodded very obediently and with equal grace, shook her hand. "I will, Mrs. Houseman, don't you worry." Larry closed the door with a definite bang and immediately the smile faded. "Man, oh man. Women! I hate it when she comes for lunch in the city. Feel like I got the goddamn nutrition gestapo on my ass. The whole lunch, she's sitting there watching everything I put in my mouth." I sat down in the armchair across from him. "It's not like that at home, is it?" "Shit, no." He laughed. "It's worse. Why do you think I eat the way I do here? At home it's like fruit salad with yogurt dressing for dinner and if we are all good, we get a scoop of nonfat ice cream. I don't know what my son Randy's going to do when he goes out for wrestling. He's got my build and they are definitely going to want him in heavyweight class. Anyway, she's gone. . . ." That was when I saw my opening, the chance I had been looking for with Larry, and here it was. "Well, say, Larry, I was just going down to Fred's for a sandwich. What do you want?" His eyes got big, and in less time it took to blink, he had flipped a pair of twenties at me. "Christ, thought you'd never ask. I want a corned beef, of course, but a roast beef, too, today. Shit it's two o'clock no wonder I'm starving. Lots of mayo, you know how I like it." "And macaroni and potato." "Absolutely." "Looks like they got some great coconut custard pie, too." I thought he was going to drool on his desk. "Oh, boy, and I love coconut custard. Edie used to make a great coconut custard pie. Until she got on this weight kick. I've always been big. I can't help it." He rubbed his underbelly. "And so what's 40 pounds anyway?" "Yeah, really. It's not like you're fat or anything," I said. "Women are kinda of obsessed with this weight thing, aren't they?" "Tell me. I'm a big guy. No way I'm going to be thin as, say, you, huh, Ray?" He kept rubbing his gut and I heard it rumbling from across the desk. "So I figure why try." "Don't worry about it, boss, I'll be back in a flash." He had given me $40, so I decided what the hell once I was there, and I bought twice as much of everything he had told me to, four sandwiches, four quarts of salads, and not just a slice of the coconut custard, but the entire pie, leaving Fred's with enough food to fill up a grocery bag that I had to use two hands to carry. "Having a party?" the countergirl asked, as she handed it all to me at the cash register "Nah. It's the boss's lunch," I replied, getting off on watching her mouth drop open and my mind racing with the fine afternoon I was going to be having. "Now, that's my man," Larry said the minute I walked in with it all, digging into the bag like he had spent a year on a desert island, and then letting a huge whistle when he got a load of the pie. "You didn't!" I just stood and smiled innocently. "You said it was your favorite. I figured we could share it was the staff, you know." "Staff. Heck with them! I treat them well enough as it is." And with shameless abandon, he took one of the small plastic forks and began to shovel the pie into his mouth, not even bothering to sit down, holding the tin over the open bag so as not to get crumbs all over his desk, mumbling with his mouth half-full the whole time, "I'll show her. Who does she think she is? A man's gotta eat, keep his strength up. Goddamn weight problem, she ain't seen a weight problem, I show her a weight problem." He was opening up one of the mile-high roast beef sandwiches with one hand, cramming his face full of pie with the other, when in the midst of his pig-out, he looked up at me, grateful and conspiratorial at the same time, and gave me a friendly wink. "Hey Raymond, you think we could add to your duties as office manager?" I was hoping this would be the effect. "Lunch detail?" His cheeks bulged and he could only nod. "No problem, Larry. Like you said, it's not the kind of thing that women do these days." "But not a word to my wife." He was breathing heavy, setting down the pie tin and preparing to tackle the sandwich, flipping open all the containers in a line. "No problem. In fact, why don't I just go out there and tell Lucille to hold all your calls? I don't think there is any reason you need to be disturbed, is there?" He laughed and when he sat down, I could hear the chair groan from the weight of him. "Not unless Fred has a Boston cream he can't get rid of." I stood in the doorway. "Well, why don't I just go see about that? Oh Lucille, Larry's got his hands full with a lot of stuff this afternoon. Just send his calls to me and I'll handle them." And as I closed the door behind me, the sexy sounds of him feeding, lips smacking with delight, papers rustling, chair squeaking, were the last thing I heard. That day began my career as surreptitious encourager, a calling which, like Larry Houseman's enormous bulk, I grew into gradually over my first months at CMI. Lunch detail, as my boss called it, immediately did become part of my everyday duties, and the most ironic thing about it was that far from distracting Larry from his work, the fact I saw to providing ever more abundant and varied luncheon spreads for him day after day allowed him to stay put and work harder than he ever had before he had me helping him. I was aided, however, by the sheer variety of food available downtown and around about 10 or so, I'd fax in my orders and from about 11:30 to nearly 3, the stuff would start arriving--some days it would be cartons of Chinese, a dozen potstickers, heaps of greasy noodles, huge chunks of kungpao chicken glistening with sauce, deep fried shrimp coated in mayonnaise, all the white containers lined up around him with a few cans of diet coke to wash it all down--his only concession to health. Other days I'd decide he needed some barbecue, just to watch him suck the sauce out of his moustache and lick his fingers, that is, when he wasn't dipping cornbread in milk gravy or slurping up greens and bacon. I'd make up various excuses for having to go over things with him while he ate, saving up sheafs of things for him sign and making idle conversation, watching him scarf up his supermeatball sandwiches from Tony's, melted mozzarella running down his chin, or the roast pork dinner with mashed potatoes and green beans swimming in butter from the hofbrau down the corner. From the looks of it, his wife seemed to be missing the boat on how to make this big guy happy, because given my solicitous provisions and easy-going encouragement, Larry would do nothing but sit at his mahogany desk and pack in the grub most days, sometimes so full by mid-afternoon, he'd have to lay down on the couch and take a short, digestive nap, which I of course also encouraged, assuring him I'd deal with whatever came up. "You sure, Ray? I mean, I don't want to burden you." He'd say, loosening his belt and laying back with a big "oof." "Absolutely not. That's why you hired me, isn't it?" He looked so sexy, the big fat daddy I'd always wanted, his dress shirt gapping open between his tits, legs spreading as he relaxed and I drew the shades. "And you are doing a bang up job." He yawned loudly. "My wife can't figure it out. Here I am eating nothing but caesar salads and poached fruit at home and still I'm putting on weight. She just can't figure it out." He smirked and closed his eyes. "Wonder why?" Given my success with this lunchtime campaign, I took it to the next level after that, figuring why not stretch lunch hour back to breakfast, and with the pretext of wanting to "get in good with the staff" I started a tradition of making little treats for everyone--cookies, cupcakes, brownies--some kind of sweet which I would bring in and leave in the kitchen area. Not wishing to be especially obvious, I neglected at first to tell Larry about the fact I was doing this, and so, while he was on the phone in the front office, the staff would be coming in and out of the kitchen, munching, chatting, thanking me profusely for the creamcheese cookies or the marzipan pound cake, whatever it was that day. But in as small an office as ours, secrets like this I knew couldn't be kept for long, plus as Larry rapidly approached what appeared to me to be the big 300, he seemed to develop a nose for anything edible. However, it was Lucille who spilled the beans, unthinkingly beginning to offer various clients and investors some of my treats within earshot of Larry's open door: "Would you like a homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookie while you are waiting? Our new office manager made them and they are delicious." My big boss immediately materialized in the break area where the coffee machine and refrigerator were, as I was going over a lease with one of the managers. "Hey, what's this?" he said in his loud voice. The manager I was talking to wiped a few crumbs off the corners of his mouth and looked up sheepishly. "Coffee break, compliments of Raymond." Larry swooped up three cookies and popped one whole into his mouth. "No way, you made these?" I played dumb. "Sure. I thought it'd be fun to try my hand at some recipes I've had." The manager chuckled. "You ask me, Lar, I think Raymond here is trying to make us all fat. I mean, he brings this stuff in every day, and it's great." "You can't work on an empty stomach, my grandma used to say." Did I sound innocent enough? I wondered. Faux naivete was beginning to be a habit with me here at CMI. "But then again she grew up on a farm." "Man, Ray, these are great," said Larry, barely gulping down the first three before swiping another handful. "Guess the old boss doesn't know everything that's going on here." I looked up at him sweetly. "You need to practice your delegation skills more often." Well, from then on, I noticed how Larry seemed to be spending a whole lot less time shut up in his office and far more time circulating around, managing about every half hour or so to pop into the kitchen to see if this or that staff member happened to be there, and then, not finding them, just happening to grab a handful of the praline bars I had made or a couple of slices of marble cake. From how quickly the stuff I made began to disappear, I found that I needed to double and triple my recipes--and yet, somehow, even after eating most of the goodies I was bringing in the morning, my boss still managed to tuck away the same gargantuan lunches I had gotten him into the habit of eating on a daily basis. The effect was more than I had hoped for, and by late summer, the talk of the office was how fat Larry had gotten. He had been stocky when I started, but after months of such eats, he was now just full-out undisguisably fat, filling up the various chairs in the manager's office with his broad hips, suit pants slung low under belly that not only jutted out but hung down, seductively swaying as he walked. He had sent me out to pick up some new sports jackets he had ordered, and with all the fetishistic energy I had about watching him grow enormous, I peeked inside the garment bag at the label: noticing that he was now wearing a size 54 required that I stop by the men's room on my way back and "relieve a little tension," as I termed it to myself. I tried not to think too much about the hopelessness of this whole situation of mine, how pathetic it was to be secretly drooling and panting over my now obese middle-aged boss. No one more than I knew that the closest I was probably ever going to get to gratifying all my hidden lust for him would be this, to bury my face in the tweed of his new sports jacket while I came in my own hand, jacking like a piston in the further stall of the men's room on the floor below us. And of course, now and then, I would be seized with some truly insane moments of fantastication: perhaps his wife would get so disgusted with him she'd leave, and there I'd be, faithful Raymond, and perhaps he'd turn to me for comfort and I could feed him and seduce into fulfilling my fantasy. Mostly, though, I managed to just relax and enjoy my handiwork, all that manfat jiggling around in front of me, knowing in my own heart that it was my indefatigable lust which had created it. Around about August, I began to hear scuttlebutt concerning a "boat trip," and when I asked Lucille about it, she said, "Oh, yes. Mr. Houseman takes us all out on a charter on the bay for a party, first weekend after Labor Day." "Charter?" "A chartered boat, you know, one of those afternoon parties, with a sit down dinner. It's usually very fun. We close the office on a Friday, put on our shorts and just go sightseeing on the bay." She giggled. "Some of the younger folks like yourself actually go swimming, when we dock at Angel Island. Even Mr. Houseman." The effect of this was quite electric on me, as one can imagine, and sure enough, when I mentioned it to Larry, he smacked his forehead with his palm. "Now that's my fault. I should have told you, not only because it's a tradition around here, but because you've got to arrange it. Completely forgot, with this Market Street deal going down. If I don't take them all on their boat trip, there will be mutiny. Here's the number. Talk to Jack, he knows the whole routine. One thing, though, this year. . . ." "Yes?" I asked. "Make sure they give us enough food. Last year was some damn appetizer buffet, with about three pieces of sushi and a chicken wing per person. I don't care what we spend. I just don't want to be going home hungry--I mean, I don't want any of the staff going home hungry. It's their big treat from me to them." He wagged a chubby finger at me and went back to proofing a contract, Milky Way bar firmly in hand "Count on me, boss," I replied. For the ensuing month, I prayed that the day of boat trip would be viciously, horribly, uncompromisingly hot, a September day in the best tradition of the San Francisco indian summers, for without such heat, I really doubted that I would get a chance to see all my hard work in a bathing suit dipping into the cool waters off Angel Island. A hot day would be my only chance. And in the office buzz about this upcoming outing, I was very happy to hear the trip referred to almost as frequently as a "swim party" as a "boat trip." The gods were with me that morning. It was a windless day in the high 80', when we all met at Pier 13, and it was quite a hoot to see everyone so casual, some of the secretaries in sundresses, some of the uptight managers in running shorts and straw hats. Larry was the last to arrive, wearing an enormous Hawaiian shirt opened halfway down to his navel with matching floral shorts, for which he earned the nickname the "Big Kahuna" for the day. All dressed up in his work clothes, he looked big, of course, but that day the full extent of his 75 extra pounds was in evidence in these informal duds: big mantits sitting on top of his gut, nipples sometime poking out through the open shirt, his thighs and butt wider and more solid than I expected in shorts that his ass would eat as he walked or sat down. And he was running around a lot that day once the boat shoved off around noon, playing the host for all he was worth, making sure everyone had a drink and plenty to eat. The sun was deliciously hot, and though I wasn't the first, I followed suit as I took off my shirt and went to the upper deck to get some tanning in with some of the other staff. I was glad I had worn my tightest jockstrap under my bathing trunks, for about a minute later, up popped Larry, shirtless and pink, roughly rubbing his skin with sunbblock, cupping his tits, caressing his nipples, pulling up the legs of his shorts and coating his jiggling thighs until they were greased and shiny. He plopped down on the lounge chair next to me and said "Guess this is tanning deck, huh? If I don't put this stuff on, I'll be a fucking lobster." He handed me the tube. "You mind?" he asked, pointing with his thumb to his back. If he only knew how much I didn't mind, I'd have probably lost my job, but given this gift by a kind fate, I certainly didn't rush it, laying on the cream with brisk motions, watching all the blubber at this waist undulate, taking the side of my hand and making sure to get the lotion into the three diagonal creases of flesh running down from his shoulder blades, gently smoothing it on his wide shoulders and the soft backs of his arms. He was easily over 300 at this point, a huge mass of well-tended manhood and between the motion of the boat, the heat of the sun and the luxurious feel of of the creamy sunblock, he sat there with his back to me for longer than he needed to, eyes closed, enjoying the pampering. I rubbed the excess lotion on my chest and legs, and with a poke in his flab, told him, "That's it, boss. Massages are extra." He flopped on to the lounge chair, put his hands behind his head and sighed. "I've been working too hard all these years. I shoulda hired a guy like you years ago." I pretended to drift off to sleep, but really I was hoping that my raging hardon wasn't poking out between the plastic slats of the chair. Between my unbridled lust and the heat of the day, I couldn't wait to dock at Angel Island and take a quick dip to cool off, so after watching some of the managers descend the stern to the diving platform, gingerly lowering themselves into the water, I decided to make a splash and egged on by an audience above me, raised my hands over my head and made to dive. I heard Larry saying something like "be careful" but ignoring him, I launched myself off, only to find myself suddenly under water and grunting with a sharp, crushing pain in my head. I knew immediately what had happened--I had hit my head on a rock--but disoriented and a little panicky, I couldn't quite figure out which way was up to the surface and so I began to kicking wildly in all directions. There was a big whoosh somewhere next to me and then, feeling like a ragdoll, a pair of huge arms grabbed me from behind and I felt like I was being swallowed into a big pillow. I don't know how long I was out, but the first thing I do remember was the feel of his moustache on my mouth and a pain in my nose. Coughing up water, I opened my eyes to see Larry's face hovering about one inch from mine, his mouth wide open, his huge body shading me on the diving deck, his hands on my chest. "That was stupid," he said, visibly relieved. "Good thing I know what to do." Which was when I put it all together, the feel of his chest against my back, his soft arms around me, the warm mouth breathing into mine. I kept my wits about me. "Yeah, good thing." Then from above, one of the wise-assed staff members said, "Hey, enough kissyface you two, or I'm going to tell Edie." He was kneeling next to me, mammoth pecs and belly hanging out, dripping water, smiling though still a bit white in the face. "No more tricks, Esther Williams, ok?" I patted his stomach in ostensible gratitude. "Good thing you got your own flotation device here." He laughed. "Oh, so that's why you are fattening me up. I see. Next time I'm going to let you drown." My accident and Larry's heroics were naturally the topic of conversation for the rest of the day, and despite a little stiffness in my neck, I didn't seem to be worse for the wear. It did, however, provide everyone with the perfect excuse to drink like fishes, and by the time dinner was served, there was drunken singing, silly party games and all-out foolishness--very much the archetypal office party, only on a boat at sunset. Every now and then, Larry would reach over and with a paternal touch, rub my neck or pat my back, working through leftover anxiety about nearly losing me there to a rock in the bay, and the two of us managed to keep up with the rest of the general carousing and do our own share of imbibing the fine Italian white wine I had insisted that Jack serve us with the three varieties of cheesecakes that was to be dessert. The city at sunset looked very romantic through the haze of our enjoyment and as all the lights came up on the bridges, they twinkled like little stars on the dark waters of the bay. Whatever illusions I had about what might happen that night came to an expectable end once we docked--I don't really know what I anticipated, of course. It wasn't exactly as if I could ask my boss back to my crummy apartment for a nigthcap, nor could he invite me home to his place with Edie and the kids--even if he were bent in my direction, so to speak, which he most clearly wasn't. I did get an avuncular hug, however and he patted my face tipsily before getting into his car. "No more diving off ends of boats for you, bub. We're keeping you on land," he said, shirt still open and belly hanging out as he drove away in his Mercedes. I did have fine memories though of that day--the smell of him--cheesecake, mingled with suntan lotion, sweat and dessert wine--carried me through that long and somewhat tortured weekend, as did the little bit I could remember about him holding me in his big arms and giving me mouth-to-mouth. But all in all, waking up about every two hours that night, realizing that my success in fattening him was destined to lead to nothing but heartbreak for me, I began to doubt whether or not I would be able to keep working there. After all, the bigger he got, the more intensely I wanted him, and this was even before the holidays. The way he ate, he'd be easily 350 or 375 by the time January 1 rolled around, between the Halloween candy, Thanksgiving dinner and endless Christmas feasting. Visions of him slowly expanding, navel deepening into a huge cavern, enormous breasts reaching out and covering my face, hearing the sound of him licking his lips, loud as a jet engine in the stillness of the night--all these spun around my head that weekend and gave me no peace. Thus, fully intending to resign that Monday and spare myself any future torment--after all, being vastly overqualified for the job gave me the perfect excuse--I walked in, exhausted but determined, only to hear Lucille chattering away in the kitchen with someone whose voice I didn't recognize. So, acting matter-of-fact, I sauntered in to see who it was. "Oh, hello, Raymond. I don't believe you've met Randy, Larry's son, yet, have you?" It was a very odd sensation, seeing what looked for all the world like a version of my boss about 20 years and 100 pounds ago, as if someone had flipped the "after" page back to the "before" page without warning. "You're Raymond!" Randy grabbed my hand with a big strong shake and began to effuse. "Pop says you are like the best thing that's ever happened to the company. Man, he has nothing but great thing to say about you." Randy was a looker all right, shorter and squatter than his father, with a fireplug of a build, and the same brown-haired, blue-eyed All-American look. His size made him look older than 19, though, broad square shoulders busting out of a knit shirt, and thick thighs trapped in too-tight khakis. He even dressed llike his father. "Likewise, Randy," I said, pouring myself coffee, suddenly feeling light-hearted. "You're the wrestler, huh?" Lucille grabbed his biceps and he flexed, vain and self-satisfied. "Doesn't he look it? I've known this boy since he was 9 and now look at him, almost as big as his father." "And got to get bigger, Lucille. They want me up at about 250 for the team. Figure if I'm heavyweight, then I got to be, you know, heavy weight. No pussy-footing around. The other teams have got big old bruisers. In fact, that's why I am here, isn't it, Raymond?" I peered at him and raised an eyebrow. "Why you're here?" He flashed a big white toothy, heartmeltingly handsome grin. "Sure, Dad's been talking about it all summer." Lucille excused herself as the phone rang, leaving Randy and me by ourselves. "About what?" I asked. "About the way you are going to fatten me up." He said with all the innocence of a child. "Just the way you did him. He says you bake some mean cakes and cookies, and know just about everywhere to get a good meal in this town. Just what I need for my training." I tried not to choke on my coffee from surprise or from lust. "Oh, I guess he didn't talk to you about it. Well, I need to do an internship this year for my business degree from the community college, so I'm going to working here at CMI this semester, and Dad figured if you could give me the same treatment as you been giving him, then I'd make weight no problem." He stuck out his belly and slapped it. "What do you think, Raymond? You think I got potential?" I managed to say something innocuous and hearing Larry walk in, I quickly excused myself from Randy and followed the boss into his office. He settled his bulk into his chair and wore a smirk. "No goodies today, Raymond? Still stiff from last Friday's party, huh?" "Met your son," I said drily, running my finger around the top of my coffee cup. "You might have told me." "You know how I am," he said, pretending to flip through his phone messages. "Things slip my mind." "Uh huh." I leaned forward and in a tone that meant business, I asked, "When did you know?" He looked up, assessing the seriousness of the situation, and then looked me straight in the eyes. "Try at the interview, Raymond. I'm fat and rich, but I'm not dumb. English degree. Likes to bake. Hangs around my office a lot. This is San Francisco." "And Randy? I mean, Larry, he's your son." "Exactly. I figured why not kill two birds with one stone." At that moment, Randy's face peeped around the corner. "Where's the stuff?" I was confused. "What stuff?" "The stuff Dad says you make and bring in all the time. I'm starved. We had breakfast like hours ago. Didn't we, Dad?" I looked at his father who sat there, Buddha-like in his serenity, hands folded on his belly, and then looked back at Randy. "So what do you say, Raymond? You think we might be able to work supervising Randy during his internship here at CMI this semester into your job description? I can't think of anyone better he could learn the ropes from than you." I had to admit he was going to look quite fine topped out at 250, this big old jock boy of the boss's son. "Lemme guess. Cinnabons," I said with a sigh, realizing that I was probably not going to be resigning just yet. "Your dad can polish off a dozen at a sitting. How about you, Randy?" The kid was salivating already. "No way. Really?" He was looking at his father who was just sitting there laughing. "Mom never lets have shit like that at home." "Yeah, yeah. Well, Randy, there's a lot of stuff your mom doesn't know about and doesn't have to know about. Welcome to the big city." "Then get me a dozen, too. I can keep up with Dad, no problem" Randy said to me, following me out of the office, "And make sure they are really well-iced, I like them, you know, just dripping with that sweet white icing they got. And how about like some milk, coach says nothing but whole milk, and I don't know, if you see some donuts, too, get a few of them, too." He paused for a moment, when I pushed the button for the elevator. "You don't mind this, Raymond, you sure?" I couldn't keep my eyes off his belly, thinking of it all bloated and hard from the food he was going to putting it in today, and the next day and the next, thinking about him getting all big and soft, thinking about the holidays, wrestling season, his father's moustache, what Randy's basket would look like in those khakis once hhe had socked on 50 pounds, and a million other erotic fantasies that I've never told anyone about. "I'm sure, Randy. Not a problem," I said, stepping into the elevator. "No problem at all."
Italian Cousin by Unknown "Aoh, Giancarlo!" He walked off the plane, heard my voice over the announcements and flashed his beautiful smile, walking quickly over to me and giving me a huge warm bear hug, still holding his carry-on bags. "Come va?" I asked, after the requisite three kisses, one on each cheek. He held up his hand. "No Italian. No. I come for English. All English." His big dark bearded face was very serious about this and his accent was thick; I had to smile. "No problem. I just hope I understand you." He thought a moment and laughed. "Me, too. All very hard. But will get better, no?" "Let's hope. That's why you're here." We started walking to the baggage claim. "When's school start?" He peered at me quizzically, thinking hard. "When's?" Then I understood. "Oh right. When does school start?" I was going to have to get used to slowing it all down, otherwise he'd be lost. "Yes. I understand. School starts Monday. I do not see the hour." My turn to laugh at my cousin. "We say, 'I can't wait.' " He took the correction in stride. "I can't wait," he repeatedly dutifully. Waiting for his suitcases to pop up, I got a chance to take Giancarlo in and discovered that the years had treated him quite well indeed. He and I hadn't seen each other since we were teenagers, nearly 15 years ago, when my mom took us all back to visit the Italian side of the family outside of Siracusa, and really, to tell the truth, he and his brother Marco couldn't really be bothered with us Americans much then, preferring to buzz around on their beat-up Vespas with their friends, while my sister, mom and I made conversation with greataunts over endless lunches. I would have loved to ride on the back of a Vespa with him but I was only 12, he was 16, and he had better things to do than hang around with us little kids. So it was a bit of surprise when my mom called me to ask if I wouldn't mind putting him up for the summer in my apartment. It seemed Giancarlo had enrolled in a summer English language program at UC and when Mom got word of it, in typical Italian fashion she offered my apartment to him first, through his mother, her cousin, and then asked me afterward. Not knowing what I was getting myself in for, I said yes - my roommate Fred had taken off for his own summer vacation in southeast Asia and wouldn't be back till August. Yup, Giancarlo looked pretty fine to me, standing there, hoisting a big old valise off the track--a solid 6'0", dark skinned and tremedously hairy like most of the Sicilian side of my family, close cropped beard, nice fleshy lips (another family trait - I had them and so did my mom) - quite different than the skinny, hyperactive teenager I remember. "We've grown up, Giancarlo," I said, getting my point across by raising my hand by his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows. "Here," he said, meeting my hand, "and here," he continued, spreading his palms down by his waist. I shrugged, trying not to look too obviously lascivious. He was chunky, but by no means fat, and I took the opportunity present to drink in the sight of that lovely chest and belly, with the tufts of dark hair sprouting up out of his collar and down by his shirt cuffs - a big Sicilian boy looking quite ripe and handsome. It was going to be a fine summer, I decided. "I take you to dinner tonight, yes?" He emerged from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, shaking his glossy hair dry with another towel. This sexy sight of him catching me by surprise, it was all I could manage to lift my eyes up from those thick tree-trunk legs of his, his huge calves, the slight roll of soft flesh hanging over the towel at his waist. He had always had a drop-dead smile. I was melting. "Good dinner. No hamburgers. To say thank you, for this." He waved around the apartment, indicating my hospitality, but frankly, his appreciation was lost on me as I saw nothing but the deep, dark fragrant furrows of his armpits. I must have been smiling back like a goon, staring at his plump nipples nestled in the forest of his chest hair, but I did get it together enough to squeak out an affable, "Sure. Good dinner." "Yes, on me." He looked quite self-satisfied, mastering the idiom and winking seductively, I watched the sway of his cheeks underneath the clinging, wet towel as he walked into his bedroom and slipped on a pair of very tiny Italian thong style underwear that they all wore, no matter how big they were. "American dinner," he shouted from the other room, with me peering around the corner trying not to drool. "No Italian. Nothing Italian. All American. Going to be American." He slipped into a tight white T-shirt that barely covered his stomach, pulled on a pair of tightly fitting khakis and a snug little button-down. "Do I need tie?" My mouth was open and a brief chill of fear ran through me when I thought about having to deal with this level of erotic stimulation for the next two months under my own roof. How ever would I manage? "No tie. California is very laid-back." His big brown eyes peeped around the corner and he pulled his belt tight in the doorway. "Laid-back?" "Relaxed. Easy. Casual." He thought for a moment and then nodded. "Oh yes. Like me." My turn to roll my eyes and lift my eyebrows. Let's hope so, cousin. Let's hope so. If you ever want to commit suicide easily and quickly, I suggest you try to get between an Italian man and the dinner table. Italians have none of the niggling, self-denying, prissy, guilty Puritanism about enjoying themselves that Americans do, and that night at dinner, I saw the Mediterranean taste for pleasure in action in spades, when I took Giancarlo to Alfred's in San Francisco, one of the oldest and more opulent steakhouses in North Beach. Even allowing for the long flight and the poor airline food, Giancarlo dug into the extensive menu for me and for himself like he had never eaten before and was never going to eat since. We kept our elegant elderly waiter quite busy. Starting with a couple of martinis, I watched him put away two baskets of sourdough rolls, accompanied by at least 4 dishes of butter, munching away contentedly. "No bread like this in Italia. Very good. I like a lot. What is?" "Sourdough." "You buy in store?" I nibbled on my olive, wondering if I'd leak through my underwear by the time we were through. "Sure. For you." His mouth was full and he nodded. "I like. For me. Please." The next course was appetizers, not one but four prawn cocktails tossed in remoulade sauce and served with a half dozen tiny new potatoes - three for Giancarlo, one for me. He slurped down the dozen and a half prawns with great gusto, a man born to eat. "I like shrimp, too. Always grilled in Italy. Never eat enough of these. Can you make?" He pointed to the cocktail. "The sauce you mean?" "Yes." He dipped a wad of bread in the dressing and popped the whole rich nugget into his mouth, a tiny drop of sauce caught on the edge of his lip which he flicked away with his tongue. "Sure, remoulade sauce. No problem. I worked in restaurants in college." He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "Perfect. I like to eat. You cook for me." I tried not to squirm but was so turned and breathless, I crossed my legs and trapped my aching erection between my thighs, just so I could answer. "You name it, Giancarlo. I'll make it. But aren't you worried about getting fat?" He stared a second, not understanding, and then it dawned on him. "Fat. No. Fat is good. Italian women like fat. Fat men strong. Rich. That's why I come here." "To get fat?" "Learn English, get rich. Be fat. Become an American. Like you! Then I go back, and I pick any woman I want. Make babies." He pulled his belt beneath his slowly expanding belly and patted it. "You help me become American? I need help. Too thin. Americans all fat, rich, happy." I gulped and nodded. "Sure. Giancarlo. I'll help." I didn't dare contradict him by pointing out that I indeed was far from fat. As far as I was concerned, if he wanted to be a fat American, I'd do my part for the cause. That night I watched in lustful wonder as he polished off Alfred's special 20-ounce chateaubriand, replete with an endless quantity of mashed potatoes, beans swimming in butter and garlic, all the while tossing down glass after glass of the very expensive bottle of French red. He sat back, took a deep breath, and then ordered another bottle for the two of us, as the waiter tossed a Caesar the size of Kansas at our table and served Giancarlo a mound as high as his nose. I was amazed. Hadn't he eaten for months? But it was with dessert I saw my Italian cousin came into his own. "We have nothing in Italia like this," he said, waving the dessert menu around liberally, round bearded face red with effort. "What are these things? We have a little fruit and basta. Here all kinds of things. You eat?" I understood what he meant. "You mean, do Americans always have dessert?" "Big dessert, after big meal?" I nodded solemnly and figured a little fib wouldn't hurt. "Absolutely. To be American you always have a big dessert. Say, why don't you order everything on the dessert menu, try it and see what you like." The buttons on his shirt were tugging, and his belt was taut and stretched under the heavy bellyfull he had managed for himself thus far. I found it hard to believe he could fit another thing in, no less all six of the desserts on the menu, but I thought he was just drunk enough and expansive enough to do it, and my own selfish lust, my own desire to see him step over the line and really indulge himself on his first night here in the States with me, spurred me on to challnge him. "Good idea." He waved the incredulous waiter over to us. "All," he said, handing him the menu. "We want all dessert." The waiter looked at me for confirmation. "He just came from Italy and he wants to try everything," I said, finishing off the last of my wine, and the explanation seemed to satisfy the waiter who wasn't used to having a table of two eat a dinner for six but was undoubtedly thinking of his tip. "And coffee. Lots of coffee," addded Giancarlo. When the procession of desserts arrived on a silver tray a yard long, I saw Giancarlo's eyes widen with delight, and once they were on the table in a clutter of dishes all around us, as if some bakery had exploded in front of us, he caught my eye. "All American, yes." "Yes, Giancarlo." I pointed to them individually. "Brownies. Cheescake. Lemon meringue pie. Pecan pie. Devil food cake." "Oh, I see." And then, pointing himself at the last one, he proudly said, "Apple pie." "A la mode," I added, taking a taste of the ice cream. "A la mode?" I maintained my teacher's tone of voice. "With ice cream." He nodded. "Yes. I like a la mode. You make everything a la mode for me, OK?" It was a wonder to behold as Giancarlo cheerfully piled pretty much every bit of every dessert into that handsome, hunrgy mouth of his, slow and steady, tasting every morsel, rolling his eyes, sighing like a baby, licking his lips, sipping coffee. He raved about the brownies - "Please make for me every day, Ricky. We do not have in Italy and I really love." He was ecstatic about the lemon meringue - "Sweet and sour. Meringue very soft. Tastes like a kiss, no?" I squirmed some more and wondered which of my lemon meringue recipes I was going to be using in the weeks to come. "Devil food. Good name. Makes me feel like a devil. They say eat too much is sin, and I want to be the devil!" By this time, what with the cocktails and the wine, he was flat-out drunk and talking loudly, punctuating every statement with a huge heavy paw on my arm or shoulder and leaning close to me over the table, eyelids droopy, mouth propped open in a perpetual, fatboy grin. I could feel the heat of him through my shirt, and his breath smelled of sugar and spice. It was all I could do to keep from kissing him. "Pecan. What is pecan? Where from? We do not have." He munched contentedly, leaning back and pushing his stomach forward as if to make more room, running his thick finger on the plate to get the last little bit of sweet syrup up. "Tastes good this way. On finger. I like to suck," he said, not really knowing how that sounded in English and having no idea of the effect of it. That was it, I had reaching my breaking point watching him suck his finger covered in molasses and pecan crumbs across the table from me, beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face into his bushy beard, pushing his plate away like a pasha and reaching for the apple pie with a huge spoon in his hand. I hurriedly excused myself and tried to refrain from breaking into a full-out run for the bathroom, slamming the door to the first stall, hoping I would make it in time, and with trembling fingers hauled my long-suffering cock out of my soaking wet jockeys. It took me three quick strokes, no more, and with a big loud "oof" I blasted a load of cum against the wall over the toilet paper dispenser, half a dozen healthy jets of seed that just wracked me from my balls to the tip of my dick. Still hard and breathless, unable to move, visions of Giancarlo shoveling in the ice cream and starting on the cheesecake, cherry cheesecake no less, dripping red and sensual down those big soft lips, it wasn't even a minute before I worked myself up into another fine lather and shot again, my whole body shaking with excitement. The last time I had been able to do shoot twice in a row like that had been high school, and despite the surreality of being sprawled on the toilet in the restroom of Alfred's on Broadway, it felt stupendously fine: two quick hard orgasms in honor of my Italian cousin who looked like was going to be this encourager's summer-long personal and private project. The real question was: would I survive it without losing my mind from sheer pleasure? I awoke the next morning and stumbled into the bathroom to find a considerably bigger-bellied Giancarlo standing on my scale and muttering "Miseria," under his breath. He was wearing but a miniscule pair of bikinis, today in see-through white cotton pulled transparent by his wide ass, his generous underbelly still firm but more pronounced after last night's introduction to American cuisine. "What's wrong?" I asked, thinking he might be regretting his gluttony, but happily found out that all plans were still full steam ahead. "How much kilograms in pound?" I stared at the scale which read a bright digital 243 and did the calculation for him. "2.2 pounds to a kilogram, Gianni. So, 111 kilos." He shook his head sadly and looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing his stomach from below. "Not enough. Only 2 kilos. I gain only 2 kilos." "Five pounds?" From one night at Alfred's. Clearly, my cousin was made to be a gainer. "Ah, 2 kilos, 5 pounds. That I remember." He stepped off the scale and I marveled to myself that he could weigh as much as he did and still not really look fat - most of it looked like it was in muscle mass around the thighs, calves and hips. Sure there was a healthy tummy, but he was still firm. "You must help me, Rick. I only have two month." "For what." "I must be - " he paused, doing a bit of quick math in his head, "300 pound before I go back. Otherwise, no one will believe I am in America." He put that heavy arm of his I was growing to love around my shoulders in a buddy-buddy gesture and pouted his full lips seductively. "You help your cousin, yes? I will be, how you say, grateful. Americans all fat. Me, too." Good thing, as a teacher, I had the summer off, because I had little idea what I had gotten myself into, but frankly, having always fantasized about doing precisely what Giancarlo was asking of me, taking some incredibly hot man and fattening him up to blubberhood, I found it easy to agree. "Sure. No problem. I love to cook and bake." "Every night I want something delicious. For my belly." He thumped his gut and let out a laugh. "I make you work, no?" It was easy to agree. It would not be easy to hide my hard-on. So that summer, I got busy. Giancarlo would be at English class most of the day, which gave me plenty of time to do what was necessary. I started with all my own personal specialties - enormous dinners of beef and pork, every once in a while, for variety a huge chicken or small turkey stuffed with savory fillings, usually served with boatloads of gravy, every form of potato imaginable, from mashed with butter and sour cream, to homefries dripping with grease and sweet onions, to twice-baked packed with cheddar and bacon bits. Giancarlo would come home ravenous, of course, despite having systematically sampled what seemed to be every fast-food outlet within walking distance of the school, reporting in to me, as he sat down, loosened his belt, tucked in his napkin and began on dinner what new sort of burger, fry or shake he had had four or five of during the course of the day. In his considered Italian opinion, Big Macs won the prize, because as he put it, "do not cost much, you can eat three quick and slide down throat easy." He had fallen hopelessly in love with our french fries and often stopped by one of the various places to pick up a couple of large orders to tuck in on the way home, almost always washed down with a mikshake. I marveled that he could be packing away such fare walking in the door and yet sit straight down to dinner, eager to continue. The first night of this routine, having made a really wonderful pot roast, I learned my lesson, because having polished off what had been a 3 pound roast and after nibbling perfunctorily on the salad I served, he looked up and said charmingly, "Very good, Rick. Dessert?" Alas, I hadn't made dessert, and when I said so, he gave me that pout. "You say Americans always have dessert." Yes, indeed, the summer was going to be a busy one, I said to myself in the kitchen, taking out the chocolate chips, the two sticks of butter and the tin of flour for the cookies I was going to have to make him. Never again would I forget dessert, not after watching him bloated and ecstatic feeding himself one cookie after another, swigging down chocolate milk - another American treat for this European - till he finished off all thirty of them, falling asleep in front of The Simpson's and snoring like a bear. We had just about everything I could think of to make that summer. Because Giancarlo rapidly developed the ability to eat an entire pie at a single sitting, downing a whole lemon meringue or coconut custard without batting an eyelash, the way the rest of would pop an afterdinner mint in his mouth, I took to making pie crust in bulk at the beginning of the week, going through cans of Crisco and boxes of butter like I was running a bakery. Likewise, I could have kept a small dairy in business, since Giancarlo had discovered a special fondness for custard in all forms - chocolate, vanilla, caramel. From there, I branched into mousses, which of course allowed for even more fat, and from mousses, we preceded to cream puffs and eclairs. His gustatory prowess was formidable: when having only half the whipped cream I needed for a particular parline mousse I had wanted to make, he took one taste of the finished product, served to him personally in one of my larger serving bowl, and looked at me in a somewhat imperious manner, declaring, "Not as smooth. Less cream, no?" Why did I subject myself to this servitude, one might ask. It was not hard to explain, indeed. Not hard at all, for after a couple of weeks what had once be food was now quickly becoming flesh, and Giancarlo began making exactly the sort of progress he had envisioned. The stomach that lay large and satisfied after all this nightly feedings soon permanently acquired the wide, heavy sag it only once exhibited at the end of dinner, and around his waist a generous roll of flab inflated itself into a spare tire to rival the one I kept in the trunk of my car. Likewise, his thighs had begun to spread noticeably, the seams of his once loose Bermuda shorts puckering and pulling, framing a rump that now jutted high and wide from behind. His face rounded and relaxed, a scrumptious and cherubic double-chin under chubby pink cheeks that now constantly looked as if they were munching on pecan pies or Twinkies. The worst part for me, though, to maintain a semblance of composure was during the morning weigh-ins, which had become a ritual at which my attendance was tacitly required. At these, he had begun to face the mirror and cup his full, hairy tits, bouncing them lightly and saying, "Eh? Eh? La Loren would be jealous, no?" I just silently stared and hoped he couldn't read my mind. When I wasn't cooking, I was jerking off. Never a slouch in that department, good for at least two loads a day, I discovered as Giancarlo swiftly blimped before my eyes, that my entire life had quickly became a treadmill of masturbation and cooking. Barely able to get through that infernal morning weigh-in, I sometimes managed to hold off until he finished his required dozen donuts and quart of milk at the table, or the occasional foot high stack of waffles I'd make him when I was feeling peppy, but the moment that door clicked shut as he left for school, I'd dive into my pants and start pulling. Watching him weigh-in, fondle himself, complain that 260 wasn't big enough yet, and pack in breakfast for five was worth two orgasms alone for me, after which, cleaning up and showering, I'd start preparing our dinner. As the house filled with the fragrance of whatever it was that day - pork roast stuffed with prunes and apples, lemon poppyseed poundcake, Swiss steak smothered in peppers, pear tarts, nutbread, you name it, I made it or learn how damned quick - I would of course pop yet another wicked boner, thinking of how everything on the stove and in the oven was going delight him, how he'd walk in, hungry and happy, eager to chow down, spreading into a huge fat sexy man, how my food was destined become his flesh. That was when I usually had the best orgasm of the day, going into my bedroom while everything simmered away in the kitchen, and placing a couple of pillows under my crotch, I'd close my eyes and begin to fantasize humping his beautiful soft belly, his enormous thighs, putting my rock-hard, dripping wet cock between those massive cheeks and impregnating him with my seed from behind, filling him from below the way I was filling him from above. He was straight, I knew he was straight. He was my cousin, and yet, all the millions of fantasies of my whole childhood and adolescence, all the times I had wished to pleasure and revel in some tremedous fat man I had seen on the street or in class, all of it came to focus on Giancarlo. This third orgasm, humping the pillows, not even touching my cock with my hands, Giancarlo's image in front of my mind's eyes in some seductive situation - gravy dripping from his lips, shorts splitting down the side, pecs bobbling out from under a tank top, nipples broad and dark and erect, rubbing against the edges of the shirt - this third orgasm always lasted forever, just wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me until I was laughing and crying at the same time. Then I'd wait, lounging around the house, making sure the pies were cooled, the pots ready, the roast moist and ready for slicing, the table set, the beer chilled ("No wine. Americans do not drink wine. Beer. Only beer," he announced early on), waiting for my beautiful gainerman to come home and feed some more, get bigger, waddling over to the TV or going to his room to study, a tray of walnut squares or Rice Krispy treats in one hand, his books in the other. That was when I tried to get some sleep, jerking off sometimes two or three times in a desperate attempt to exhaust myself, and yet my whole mind and body still whirring, thinking about what I was going to cook for him tomorrow, what would I need, how would he like, what part of him would show the extra weight next - his neck? his ass? his arms? his tits? And driven to the brink with lust, I had sex with him in my mind a thousand times that summer and consequently got very, very little sleep. One day in mid-July, Giancarlo came home from class and gone was the usually cherubic smiling face of a man eager for dinner, replaced instead by a noticeable pout. "Hey, Gianni, what's up?" I asked, stirring pot of chili I had made and checking to make sure the 40 flour tortillas I was warming weren't burning. "I am mad with you," he said, popping open a beer and waddling into the easy chair in the living, which at 275, he quite easily filled. "What did I do?" I followed him in with a beer of my own. "You do not tell me important things." He was entranced with the TV clicker and flipped around absent-mindedly, not looking at me. "Like?" He stared straight at me, with a boyish scowl, then pulled open his bag next him and held up a jar of Skippy's extra crunchy. "Like peanut butter. We do not have in Italia. You should have told to me." Was he serious? "Well, I don't like peanut butter, that's probably why." "You no like?" He shook his head disbelievingly. "No fucking way." (Unfortunately some of the American slang he was picking up was stuff I hope he wouldn't use in the wrong places at the wrong time, but he was too cute, I couldn't correct him.) "I go to cafe by school and there is cookie, with marks. I eat. Is delicious. I ask, 'What is?' They say, 'Is peanut butter?' And I think, hmm, what is that? And they show me. So I go buy. This is ambrosia, Ricky. Food of the gods. But you know what?" I could barely contain myself. "What, Gianni?" "You Americans, you do not eat right. You put on bread with marmalade, no?" I waggled my head. "Usually." "Ah, no, see. This is the way you eat." And with a quick twist, he opened the jar, dipped a fat finger straight into it and popped it into his mouth, sucking away at the peanut-butter covered finger of his, happy as an overfed bear. "Now you tell me if I am right." And before I knew what was happening, he had drawn up another healthy fingerful of peanut butter and stuck the whole glob of it right straight into my mouth. In all my feverish fantasizing that summer, of course, I had imagined sucking every part of him, but somehow even in my wildest imagination I hadn't gotten to envisioning this - sucking Skippy's extra-crunchy off my cousin's hefty finger, working my way through the thick sweet paste, feeling the tip of his finger stroking the very back of my tongue, and watching him smile impishly. "Now you've done penance. I'm not mad no more." I gulped what I could of what was left in my mouth and simply looked at him in amazement before closing my eyes and savoring it, the feel of his finger in my mouth, the intimacy of the gesture. "Good, eh? I told you. You Americans. . . .. bah. Need to eat with fingers. That's why you don't like." He continued to scoop out the peanut butter for himself and flipped around to the evening news. "So what you feed me tonight? Still not fat, look." He pulled up his shirt and rubbed his belly. "Much bigger, Rick. But not big enough. Feel." He took my hand and thumped it against the middle. "This is why I need peanut butter. So slow. Too slow. So dinner?" I steadied myself and got onto my feet. "Coming right up," I said, "Right after I go to the bathroom." Around about the middle of August, the little red digits on my scale at last rolled over to read an even 300 on one fine Monday morning. Having been discouraged the Friday before by what he considered his slow progress into American culture with the scale reading 295 at the pre-weekend weigh-in (though I thought a ten pound a week weight gain since his arrival was stupdenous), he put his hands together in a gesture of supplication and shook them at me, big hairy tits bobbling between his arms. "No. Must be bigger. Too slow. Why, Ricky? Why?" Consequently, he made up his mind to spend the whole weekend literally cramming in the best of our junk food in front of the tube, watching, of all things, baseball. Sacks of potato chips, tortilla chips, cans of Pringles, a few dozen hotdogs hurriedly heated by the half dozen in the microwave, bowl after bowl of popcorn drenched in butter - all disappeared down that insatiable Sicilian maw which grew rounder and rounder by the hour. He had set his sights on a goal and nothing was going to keep him from it. I marveled at his dedication and, not so frequently as to call attention to myself, ran off to my own bedroom again and again, as Giancarlo ballooned before me, food-stuffed rotundity cradled in my easy chair for three days straight. However, having socked on 5 pounds so quickly, clapping his hands in glee at the scale that Monday, we quickly realized that he had reached the point of no return with regard to his wardrobe. Even lifting up his gut over his pants and letting his shirts hang out, he stood naked in front of his mirror that morning with a serious face and said as I took in the overflowing sight of him from the back, "You know, Ricky, we need to go do some spendings." "Shopping, Giancarlo. We need to go shopping." I said, patting the big soft lovehandles on either side of him affectionately. "But I wear? Nothing goes." That indeed looked like a problem to me, too. "Nothing fits. We say nothing fits." He lumbered over to the drawer and pulled out his cotton drawstring shorts, stepping into them and wiggling his abundant asscheeks with a great deal of effort into them, practically having to stuff the fat in behind him like a shirttail, and even then, the seams spread precariously up the deep crack. His crotch stuck out almost obscenely from the tightness of the shorts and the large swatch of belly that now hung completely obscured the waistband. Yes, indeed, he was literally bursting out of his shorts. "These are the best," he said sheepishly. "Wait. I try. Let's see," and moving his thighs carefully he walked into the kitchen, picked up a cheese danish and a mug of coffee and came back. "Sure. These OK," he said reassured. "I buy new clothes anyway. These OK to go to store. No?" Speechless at the sexiness of him, I nodded and cleared my throat, trying hard to keep myself from taking both my hands and running it all over all hat new soft flesh. "Just be careful. I don't want to get arrested if they explode off you." That he didn't understand completely, but he smiled, wriggling himself into a dark blue polo shirt which looked painted on him, his rolls of fat creasing the shirt all the way down to his waist where, when he walked, his belly bounced just enough to reveal a seductive slice of manflab. If I could get him to the Gap before all the stitching gave way, I knew I'd have accomplished something at least. But, as always, Giancarlo didn't make it easy on me, for on the way out the door, he grabbed a pile of coupons for Dunkin Donuts and said, "Snack. I love snacks. Italians do not eat snacks. But you, yes, many snacks. We stop for snack on the way, OK?" I don't think the twinks at the store had ever quite had their hands as full as they did with my cousin that day, who insisted on trying everything on in order to familiarize himself with American sizes, modeling it in front of the mirror for me, and then making two huge piles in the dressing room - keepers and leavers. Naturally inclined to wear everything skin tight in true Italian style, each article of clothing thus that fit, he would then insist on trying in two successive smaller sizes. So, for example, starting with a roomy pair of khakis walking shorts in a generous size 48, he would then shuck them off and start squeezing himself into a ridiculously small size 44. "Just want to see, Rick. Have patience. Never know," he say, the two of crammed into a dressing room he himself practically filled, while he jumped up and down and went through various contortions to get his bulk into the pants, sometimes planting his huge hands on my shoulders to hold himself upright. More then once, having succeeded in actually buttoning or zipping up various pairs of jeans, slacks and shorts, the poor button or zipper would disappear into the vast overhang of his stomach and I would then be required - oh Lord - to actually kneel in front of him and find the clasp or button and undo it, with all his belly cascading out before me, ripe for the nibbling, while he stood there, proud as punch, hands on his hips, every bit the prince. Thank God I had had the foresight to wear my tightest jockstrap to this outing. Well, I managed to get Giancarlo out of the Gap with a serviceable wardrobe of shirts and pants for the rest of his stay, urging upon him the wisdom of buying things a bit looser rather than too tight since he was planning to continue to grow. "You are genius, Rick. Yes. Many beautiful clothes," he thanked me as he settled into the car, rooting around the back seat for the donuts he hadn't managed to scarf up before our arrival. "Now, bathing costumes! Where do we go?" I looked at him, incredulous. "You mean, bathing suits?" "Oh yes. California is beach, no? I need bathing cost - er, bathing suits. If I am not brown when I go back, it will be humiliating." He barely caught the dribble of grape jelly down his chin before it hit the shelf of his upper belly. "And no loose, this time. Tight. Speedo. I want Speedo. I must be brown all over." I gulped, modestly re-arranged my now oozing hard-on unobtrusively and decided to myself, "What the fuck! Let's put on a show," and headed for the Castro. Giancarlo seemed not to care and why shouldn't I give myself the thrill of a lifetime. The musclequeen at the counter looked at me as if I had three heads when we arrived, Giancarlo making a beeline for the skimpist suits on the rack near the window, while I asked, trying to maintain some semblance of normality, "Do you have swimmer style suits in his size?" He was blond, built and disdainful. "We don't have tents in his size." From behind me I heard a large, heavily accented, "Perfect. I try. Yes?" and turned around to see Giancarlo with a selection of what looked like a bunch of Lycra handkerchiefs. The gymbunny at the counter handed me the key, eyes wide, and I accompanied Giancarlo to the back. "I feel sorry," Giancarlo said to me under his breath, pulling the curtain across, hanging up the half dozen or so suits on the hook and pulling his white tank top off inches away from me. "Sorry?" "Well, you know, that guy is so thin. You think he's sick?" I had to laugh. Only Giancarlo would look at a bodybuilder who probably had legions of men running after him here in the Castro and find him undernourished. "I think you should give him a donut when you leave." "Good idea. You are smart, Rick." I knew at the time that the swimsuit episode would be one of my fondest memories of Giancarlo in the years to come. With complete and absolute unself-consciousness, my huge Italian cousin tried on at least a dozen of the sexiest fucking suits they had in the store, a bright red thong style which accented the superb, manly jut of his cock and the round sexy fullness of his hairy ass; a square cut black and white checked number which made his thighs look like tree trunks and pushed all the flesh of his underbelly up into an enormous jiggling ball of a gut; a tan-through tropical print - you name it, Giancarlo wiggled, strained, stretched and pulled it on to him that afternoon, always throwing open the curtain and walking half-way through the store to look at himself spilling out every which way in the three-way mirror. By about the fourth suit, when I noticed Giancarlo's cock as fat and round as a sausage, his balls so tight against the base of it that he looked like he was wearing a cockring, that was when I realized that indeed I was not the only one who found this whole scene incredibly exciting. "Having fun?" I said, when he came back to the dressing room, trying to keep it light but not wanting to miss my opportunity, staring down at his very obvious erection rearing up against taut pink of the bikini. He smiled sheepishly, looking down and then looking up at me, as he pulled off the suit and his dick popped up, gleaming with precum. "Many days, no sex," he said softly, hanging the suit up and looking at me with a cute smile. "Maybe that's why I eat so much." I rubbed my own crotch and reached out to stroke his deep navel with the tips of my fingers. "Maybe that's why I cook so much," I answered. It was a moment of understanding, me looking up at him naked and huge, him boyish and horny, full of his new life, and without saying a word, we knew the shopping trip was over. "We go home, OK?" "Sure. Let's go home." It wasn't until much later that each of us realized he had forgotten to leave the gymbunny at the counter the donut. He was on me in a flash the moment we walked in the door, all of him pressing me into the wall in the kitchen, covering my whole face and neck with wild kisses, the fur of his beard sending chills through me. I gasped for breath, trying to grab his hand and mustering up the shreds of my self-discipline decided to up the ante a bit further. "Not yet, Giancarlo. Not yet." He had pulled up my shirt and his, and his belly was as hot as blast furnace against my own stomach, yet, with a gentle but firm shove, I managed to back him off enough and catch his attention. This shocked him a bit, and he looked at me questioningly. "You no like men? Me, I like men and women. But in store, you say. . . ." I put my fingers on his lips. "It isn't that, Gianni. I want you to do something for me." "What?" "Something I have always wanted to do." I led him by the hand and walked him into the bedroom. "Here. Take off all your clothes and wait, OK? Va bene?" He rolled his eyes impishly. "No English. I understand OK. No clothes?" He was furiously rubbing his crotch, very turned on, nipples flared, mouth open and practically panting. "Please, you hurry." I had to laugh. "Don't worry, I will." And with a flip of my wrist, I pulled out the container of lube and a pack of condoms from my dresser drawer and threw them on the bed. "Prepare yourself." My fat cousin wiggled his eyebrows and saluted me. "Yes, sir. I wait ready." He looked like every fantasy I had ever had when I returned - big dark eyes glittering under long lashes, swarthy fat face, bright red lips, and a huge soft body sprawled on his back on the bed. He was as big and as comfortable as a bed himself, abundant cushions of fat, pillows of flesh waiting to take me, hold me, caress me, swallow me up. He was trying masterfully not to get himself to close to cumming, but he couldn't take his hands off his big uncut prick sheathed in a rubber, shining bright in the afternoon sun, and with every stroke, the delicious blubber of his belly, thighs, tits and arms would undulate. He heard me return and seeing what I had, he bust out laughing. "A la mode," he said. "Yes? With ice cream?" I was mock-casual, taking off my own clothes and straddling his thighs, placing the apple pie I had made earlier on one side of him and the gallon of vanilla ice cream on the other, positioning my ass just in front of his cock and rubbing it with the small of my back. "So this is your fantasy, eh?" I tried to be light-hearted but by then I was so washed out with lust, I could barely talk. "Oh yes, for a long time." "You like to give men this pleasure, your body, your food." He was stroking my thighs, spreading them open, tenderly jacking my hard cock, licking his lips. "You make me fat, Rick, you know. Big fat American. I maybe weigh 300, 350 by end of summer, if you feed." I took the serving spoon I had brought and dipped it into the ice cream and then scooped out a generous helping of pie, feeding him tenderly with my hand cupped under his furry chin. "Maybe more?" He closed his eyes in sheer pleasure, mouth filled with the food I had made and slowly, inexorably, I lowered myself onto his cock, filling myself with Giancarlo until he moaned. "Good? Feel good?" He couldn't talk, savoring every sweet bite, every ecstatic stroke but he answered with his body, throwing his hips forward and taking me, making me groan and writhe, looking me suddenly right in the eyes. "More. I want more. Give me more, Rick. Give me everything." And opening his mouth so wide I thought I myself might just fall in, I leaned over and kissed him. He tasted like ice cream. He tasted like love.
Merlins by Unknown Part One: The Beginning: This is a quite a story to tell and the best place to start is at the beginning. I am reporter for a gay newspaper in South Florida. Months ago, I was sent on assignment to scope out some hot new bar in a little town in North Carolina. It was getting quite a reputation, but no one was willing to comment about it personally. Such a mystery. I took a taxi to this bar in the middle of the woods on the outskirts of a town called Hogshead. At the end of the dirt road sat a tiny bar called Merlin's. Not much more than a shack, a glistening neon sign with a giant wand over the name that looked like a huge cock, made it stand out like a sore thumb. As I entered, there was the figure of a large man behind a large partition. I couldn't make him out and he growled at me, "You gay, fella?" I told him I was and he allowed me entrance after I laid a five dollar bill in his meaty palm. I had never seen such large, thick fingers in my life. Like sausages. Anyway, as I entered the bar, I saw in the gloom that it wasn't much more than a bar with a few stools. The music was loud, but there didn't appear to be a dance floor anywhere. I could barely make out a group of guys on the far side of the bar, talking. I pulled up a stool and sat down. My eyes, after adjusting to the poor light, caught sight of the shirtless bartender. The man was amazing! He stood on the far side of the bar, his broad, heavily muscled shoulders rippled as he turned. I guessed him to be about 210 pounds packed with muscle. Not to mention a beautifully round "bubble butt ". Watching him turn, I caught sight of his enormous gut hanging below an expansive chest! No wonder he wasn't wearing a shirt. I doubted if he could find one that would cover that beefy torso of his. His belly looked hard like marble, as full and round as if he swallowed a basketball. His large hand caressed it lovingly as he smiled at me. "My name's Rick. What can I get for you?" he spoke with a deep Southern twang that sent chills up my spine. I noticed that his hand didn't leave his stomach the entire time. "My name's Jack. I'd like a gin and tonic, please." His grin got even larger as he told me they only served "sweetbeer". Before I could say anything, Rick had poured me a tall glass of beer. "This one's on the house. This is going to be a whole new experience for you, Big Jack." I lifted the glass to my lips and said "Cheers." Rick continued to grin as both his hands stroked his full gut. "Drink up, Jacky boy." he said under his breath. Part Two: Sweetbeer I had never tasted anything like the beer that big Rick had given me. It was oddly thick and very sweet, but the aftertaste was more like actual beer. It made my stomach tingle and grow warm. Without realizing it, I had guzzled down every drop of the sweetbeer. Subconsciously, my hand traveled over my stomach. It felt full, heavy. "How do you like it?" Rick asked, tilting his glass to his full lips. "It tastes great." I said dumbly. "Another, please." I went for my wallet, but Rick waved his hand and told me that it was "taken care of." I thanked him and took the beer he handed to me. Across the bar, the men who had been talking to each other were now getting it on with each other. One of the guys had gotten on his knees and proceeded to suck the other guy's cock. The man standing made Rick look skinny. He had dark hair with a thick beard and mustache. His T-shirt had ridden up his tremendous, hairy belly as his large paws stoked it. Every so often, he would place his hand on the back of the head of the kneeling guy, encouraging him to suck harder. I guessed the big guy had to weigh in the neighborhood of 350 pounds, mostly solid gut! He turned his face to me and raised his beer glass. "Drink up," he ordered. I didn't need any encouragement, Rick was pouring my fifth glass already. "You might want to slow down, Jack. Not everyone can handle the sweetbeer like these guys." Rick whispered. "Before you realize it, there may be no turning back." I looked at him bewildered and realized that I had to take a wicked piss. I excused myself from the bar and sauntered over to where the bathrooms were. I felt strange and light headed, but at the same time happy. I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Staring into the mirror, I realized that something was happening to me. I looked the same, maybe a little punch drunk. That's all. I stood at the urinal and relieved myself. It felt like I was pissing a river! Just when I thought I was done, here came some more! Finally, I finished and went to button up my 501's. They wouldn't button! I pulled and tugged at them, but they refused to close over my waist. I stood before the mirror again, turning sideways. My stomach has grown rounder and jutted out away from my body. As I rubbed it, I noticed it felt hard underneath it's fleshiness. I'd always prided myself on my physique. Having worked out most of my adult life and even running ten miles a week. Most guys were turned on by my trim, hairy body. Look at me now! I'm a fucking pig! I thought. No sooner had I realized what was happening to me, then I let out a long, loud belch. My stomach, in response to my piggishness, began to expand like an inflatable inner tube. Buttons popped off of my denim shirt and clattered to the floor. I was getting huge! I ran my hands through the dense, brown fur on my swollen gut. "Wait till they see the new and improved Jack," I said under my breath. Part Three: Here's Jack! I exited the bathroom, my heavy gut leading the way. My shirt hung open, exposing my big belly hanging over my unbuttoned jeans. Rick saw me and a huge grin spread across his handsome face. "Beautiful." he said stroking his own paunch. Was he bigger too? He certainly looked it. I waddled over to the bar to get more of the sweetbeer. I noticed that the two guys across the bar had stepped away from the bar and were now continuing their fun at the pool table. The smaller guy (I found out later that his name was Chris), was lying face down on the table, his arms stretched out to hold onto both sides of the table. His big, round butt was being penetrated by the huge hairy guy. He was called Bear. Bear had his large hands on Chris' bloated midriff and was plowing his ass with his fat cock. The man was enormous! Nude, his entire body was covered with dark brown hair. Bear's gut must've been at least 60" around. Hard and swollen, his belly pressed into the small of Chris' back as he fucked him. Both men growled, their pleasure reaching a climax. For the first time, I noticed that two other guys had entered the bar. One, a very large bodybuilder, was sitting on a stool drinking the sweetbeer. The other, a cute blonde guy who looked very out of place because he was so slender, was busily massaging the bigger guy's huge muscles. "Who are they?" I asked Rick, taking the beer from him. "That's Big Dave and his boyfriend Mark. The bossman made sure that Big Dave got an invitation to the party at the gym he works out at. He's obsessed with size and will do anything to get bigger." Rick smiled. "He's in for a big surprise, huh Jack?" "I'll say," I answered. Subconsciously, I was rubbing my own hairy gut. Rick leaned forward and placed both hands on my widened belly. "You've gained at least thirty pounds, Big Jack." he admired. "Will my muscles grow like yours?" I asked Rick. I began to play with his hard pecs. "Not unless you intend to do some heavy duty bodybuilding. The sweetbeer didn't build my muscles, only my gut. I used to be a professional bodybuilder until I packed about 40 pounds on my gut." Rick didn't look disappointed, he liked that he had grown fatter. From across the room, Big Dave yelled, "Who do I have to fuck to get a beer around here?" He was leaning his large frame over the bar trying to reach the beer tap. I noticed that the rippled abs he had sported when he walked in were beginning to fill out considerably. "Who needs that washboard stomach, huh Big Dave?" I thought. Mark had come around the bar and was busy attaching a thick hose to the beer tap. Instead of stopping him, Rick sauntered over to him, his large gut pulling him along. "You like big guys, don't you Mark?" Mark answered, "The bigger, the better, Rick. Wanna watch me make Big Dave even bigger?" "Hell, yes." Rick moaned, grabbing his swollen crotch. I noticed that my cock had grown erect in anticipation of Dave's stupendous growth. Part Four: Bigger Dave No one needed to twist Big Dave's arm to get him to get his fill of the sweetbeer. At first, Mark teased him by giving him just a little bit at a time. Dave seemed to be angry and demanded to have it all! He wanted to drain the tap! "Okay," Mark said, "but you'll have to get on the pool table." Dave looked confused. "I don't care where I get it, I just know that I want it!" Dave barked. I noticed that his washboard abs had disappeared and his gut was beginning to spread. Dave obliged Mark by lying on his back on the pool table with his head closest to the bar. "Do you have a long hose?" Mark asked Rick. Rick produced a brand new garden hose which Mark quickly attached to the beer tap. "Hurry up, Mark. I need it. I've got to have it all inside me!" Dave pleaded, holding his rounded belly. Remarkably his muscles remained unaffected. They were still firm and cut, especially his arms and chest. The others gathered around the pool table to see what was going to happen to Dave. I can't speak for the others, but I was getting a huge hard on! Rick seemed to notice and handed me another glass of beer and positioned his large body in front of me. His round bubble butt pressed against my cock as he smiled up at me. My free hand reached around Rick's expansive gut and began to caress him. He moaned in response. "I'm going to want to fuck later," he whispered. "Anytime," I answered and belched in his ear. He laughed and pressed his ass harder into me. Dave was really getting impatient. Mark tried desperately to find a way to keep the hose in Dave's mouth. "Just hold it. I won't miss a drop." Dave assured. With that, Mark had Bear turn the tap on. It was time to fill up Dave. At first, the men thought Dave wouldn't be able to do it. Sweetbeer dribbled out of the corners of his mouth as he gulped it down. Soon, Dave got a momentum going and was consuming the beer in huge mouthfuls. The guys stared as Dave's gut began to expand bigger. Part Five: Monster Gut! For nearly two hours, Big Dave guzzled gallon after gallon of the sweetbeer. Every time Mark went to pull the hose out of his mouth, he would growl and try to say "NO!" Mark looked both scared and excited. "He's getting too big!" he yelled at the others, watching as Dave's shorts split exposing his beefy thighs and crotch. His shirt had already ridden up past his pecs and was beginning to tear. Dave's stomach was extending up towards the ceiling and filling out to the sides of the pool table as he drank. At one point, he tried to lift his head and noticed that he could no longer see his feet! His stomach had blown up like a balloon filled with liquid. The most amazing thing was that his muscles were still firm, not an ounce of the sweetbeer traveled to the rest of his body. His belly was holding all of it! Rick disappeared into the office for a minute and returned with a tape measure. "Let's try to measure him," he said excitedly. "I think we should have thought about that before. We'll never get to the underside of him to be able to wrap the tape around that enormous gut." Chris said. Everyone now stood in amazement as we watched Dave grow visibly. The sides of his gut had grown to the width of the table and were now starting to grow over. It continued to stretch towards the ceiling! Finally, the sucking sounds Dave was making ceased. He had slurped up every drop of the sweetbeer and it sloshed inside that massive, hairy gut! Mark walked around to the far side of Dave and disappeared from my view. Dave's stomach had stretched so big that it someone could stand on the opposite side of him and not see over or around! Bear and Chris went over to Dave and soon everyone was rubbing and caressing his gut in awe. It was firm, like a watermelon. Rick and I joined in and soon we were all admiring Big Dave. "He must weigh over 400 pounds." Chris suggested. "More," Dave whispered repeatedly. It seemed the only thing he could say. "There is no more," Mark replied. "You've sucked the tap dry." From behind the group a voice bellowed, "There's always more!" Part Six: The MAXimum I turned towards the voice and nearly fainted. In the doorway of the office stood a mountain of flesh! At nearly 7 feet tall, the man had to weigh in the neighborhood of half a ton. The most amazing thing was that he was even standing. His stomach, even bigger than Dave's, seemed to sway before him as he walked. Rick and Mark were grinning from ear to ear at the Incredible Bulk. "I was wondering when you'd show yourself, Max" Mark said and went to the gargantuan man. He tried to wrap his arms around Max. Totally impossible, so he settled on grabbing as much in his arms as he could. Max looked as firm as Big Dave and as wide as the side of a barn! "I couldn't let my guest of honor down." Max said crossing over to the pool table. Everyone stepped back to let these two behemoths have some room. I noticed that Max's legs were thick and muscular and assumed they had to be strong to support his great size. Dave's legs were twigs by comparison. "Are you ready for the final mouthful?" Max asked Dave. "Give it to me. I need it so bad." Dave pleaded. His muscular arms tried to stroke his massive belly, but it was hard for him to raise them high enough to catch hold. Max produced a vial of pink liquid and tilted it into Big Dave's waiting mouth. He drank every drop greedily. We all stood by anxiously to see what Dave's transformation would be. In minutes, Dave's gut actually began to shrink. Mark looked visibly disappointed and Dave moaned, "No, I want to be hugely fat!" "Be patient," Max answered, "We're just making some more room." A huge smile spread across Dave's face. The weight wasn't evaporating, it was redistributing itself in other areas of Dave's bulk. Mark caressed one of Dave's thighs as it hardened and grew larger. I stared in amazement as Dave grew longer his big legs extending longer than the pool table. In minutes, we were all looking at a much bigger Dave. "Get up." Max ordered and Dave obliged easily. His gut gave him some trouble and we all thought he would fall forward with it's incredible weight, but he merely threw his broadened shoulders back to balance his corporation. He tilted his head back and laughed loudly as he caressed his monster gut. Part Seven: Epilogue It's been six months since I've been to Merlin's. I still receive cards and letters from all the participants that night describing their continued growth. Chris and Bear are now lovers and together weigh nearly 900 pounds! Chris says he's stopped gaining (at around 350 pounds) mostly because it was getting harder and harder to get the sweet beer away from the 600 pound Bear! Mark and Big Dave moved onto Max's farm. The letter I received described Big Dave at 1250 pounds! His gut measured about 160" around! More amazing still, he was still walking. Mark admitted that Dave preferred to just lay around gorging himself on the sweetbeer, but with the huge muscles that Max had grown on him, he made the Incredible Hulk look like a 98 pound weakling! Max himself had let Dave outgrow him. He only tipped the scales at roughly 1100 pounds, but he was making plans. He was going to distribute the sweetbeer and the magic potion to college coaches all over the country. I could just imagine the size of some of the new football players, basketball players, even the gymnasts! As for Rick, well he lives with me now. I've lost most of my belly weighing in at a trim (Not!) 240 pounds. Rick is a different story. His muscles help him to maneuver his nearly 500 pound bulk around our house while he works out at home. I get horny every time I think about Rick lying face down on our king size bed, his enormous bubble butt stretching to the sky inviting my hard cock to come visit. Which reminds me, it's time to satisfy my huge lover! Until next time, Happy Growing!
The Lord of the Pies by Kyaada Part One "He's here again," Jennifer told me as she motioned to the front door. I turned to see his masculine form moving powerfully towards the "The Waitress Will Seat You" sign. "You go ahead, I know better than to try to seat him in my section," Jennifer sighed, rolling her eyes. "You have a heart of gold, dear. I'll remember you with something special on your birthday." I walked over to where the six-foot-two stud had taken position by the sign, trying not to stare at his amply-packed faded jeans and the sensuous way he filled out an old tank top stretched gossamer thin around him. His chest was sparsely covered by soft, straight black hair which seemed to be almost too perfect in their placement. My eyes were temporarily drawn away from the chubby bulge under his button fly to his wide smooth shoulders that seemed to glow with a honeybutter hue. The young hunk's softening pecs swelled when he shoved his hands in his pockets, and his tender round belly stuck out shyly centerstage between his thick arms. There was a beginning layer of fat covering his carved six-pack as his chunky middle bowed out over the taut waistband of his old stonewashed 501s. "Funny, you don't look like much of a waitress," he said in a deep, velvety voice as I led him to his booth near the kitchen. He scooted his meaty ass in the booth with his back towards the restaurant. "Yeah, that sign can be pretty misleading, huh?" I offered, holding back the urge to direct his attention to the fact that he had always said that to me when he came to the diner and I sat him. "Hope you're not too disappointed." He just looked up at me with a smirk. He'd been to the diner several times, and managed to eat well each time; some less tactful folk might have said that he had "made a pig out of himself." He always cleaned his plate, and I liked the way he rubbed his belly after he would finish his dessert. I was always very attentive to him, if for no other reason than to make sure that he never wanted for anything, and he always left generous tips. He got comfortable in his booth and looked up at me. Long eyelashes the likes of which I'd not seen drew me into his deep brown eyes, and I was embarrassed when he had to repeat his request for a big glass of water. "Sure." I shifted focus to the dimple on his chin and the strength of his jawline to avoid looking in his eyes. "I'll be right back." "Hot in here, huh?" Jennifer whispered to me, fanning her face. "Shut up," I said. She laughed under her breath as I shot her a playful look of disgust at her pointing out my quickened pulse. Grabbing a large glass, shoveling some ice into it and filling it to the rim, I hastened to his table where he sat scrutinizing the menu. "What's your pleasure, sir?" I cheerfully requested. He looked at me for a moment and caused a chill to go down my spine. Worried that I had overstepped the border of tolerance, I corrected myself, "...er, what can I get for you today?" A coy smile curled on his lips and then two perfect rows of pearly whites showed narrowly in a friendly smile; he ran his fingers through his wavy jet-black hair. "Well, I guess I'd like to start off with one of your Chef Salads..." "What kinda dressing?..." "Ranch." "And, ummm, a bacon cheeseburger, the half-pound one..." "How would you like that cooked?" "Medium's fine." "And that comes with fries, or I can get you a side of onion rings, I have an 'in' with the cook..." "OK...how about some of both..." "OK...gotchya..." My heart thumped in my chest. "...a chocolate milkshake..." He paused and looked up at me industriously writing on my little green pad. "And...then I'll see if I have any room left for a little dessert." "OK, great. Let me see if I got that right..." I began to read back his order, feeling my cock getting thicker and thicker in my tight jeans. I watched as his eyes shifted down to my crotch; quickly I thanked him for his order, told him it would be a couple minutes, and turned abruptly to head for the kitchen. Placing my order with the cook, I mentioned that this guy looked extra hungry and for her not to skimp on the portions. My next stop was at the freezer where I scooped volumes of chocolate ice cream into a silver blender cup, whirring it up with some whole milk to make an extra-thick frosty shake. Making enough for two blender cups, I was sure that there was nearly two quarts of fattening milkshake. Filling up a tall fountain glass to the top and covering the mountain with a cloud of whipped cream, I placed a cherry on top for speedy delivery to his table. He licked his lips in anticipation and watched me set the additional full blender cup on his table. "Thanks." He said, smiling. Before too long, his Chef Salad was ready. I instinctively trudged toward the kitchen when I heard that little silver domed bell ding, and nodded to myself at the sight of the mountain of greens and meat piled on the elongated white platter. Filling a soup cup with Ranch dressing, I delivered the first course to his table. The heap of lettuce, tomatoes, turkey, ham, sliced hard- boiled eggs, black olives, and shredded mild cheddar was presented in front of his beefy form. He reached for the dressing and a fork, and began work on his substantial salad. "Looks really good." "Great. I'll bring your burger in a bit." Meanwhile one of my other customers had worked himself up into a froth wanting some more butter for his dinner rolls. Jennifer had appeased him, but I knew that I was going to get stiffed on the tip. It was just fine, because I was already quite stiff. From a distance, I watched the hunky stud devour salad with hungry dedication, pausing every so often to drink some of his enormous chocolate shake. I had made it so thick that he had given up trying to suck it through the straw, and I was sure his cheeks were going to touch in the middle at one point. When he had plowed through most of his salad, I casually walked over to his table. "How's everything?" "Excellent." "Great, I'll go tell the cook to light a fire under that beef in there." He chuckled with his mouth full of a big bite of turkey, and covered his mouth for fear some would dribble out. I couldn't help but notice that his stomach had ventured out every so slightly under his ribs, making his middle look a tad wider and a bit thicker. The air in the kitchen smelled of grease and uncalcuable calories; a small fan sucked out some of the fattening atmosphere through a circular vent in the wall. The cook smiled when she saw me. "OK, extra big patty for this one. Lots of bacon. And do me a full side order of fries and onion rings. This guy is nearly through that whole pile of salad already, and I think he's got a hollow leg." The cook laughed in her gravelly way, "I'm sure he's starving. Knowing you though, the poor guy is going to have a hard time rolling out of here." "Now I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Shirley." She just smiled at me and shook her head as I went back out to the seating area. The young beefy guy had completely emptied the soup cup of Ranch, devoured his Chef Salad, and drained his fountain glass of chocolate shake. He was reaching for the blender cup as I intercepted his reach and went to pour it for him. I swirled it up as it had begun to melt a bit and watched the thick glops of ice cream pour into his fountain glass again. "Oh, this is getting thin. I can get you more if you like." "Thanks," he said, leaning back a little, "I'll think about that." His stomach seemed to swell as I stood there, and I could tell that it had become rounder. He slowly put a hand on his belly and lazily pulled it across its bowed-out front. A belch seemed to come suddenly, and the air expelled through his pursed lips in a hiss. "Excuse me. Oooh, that really hit the spot." "Well, our aim is pretty good around here." I shifted my gaze to his heftier belly. "It sure helps if we have a bigger target to shoot at, though." The well-fed stud smiled and arched his shoulders back a little more while he playfully patted his protruding belly. He rested his forearms on the back of the bench. I left him in that position and found that I had a few tables to clear, as Jennifer was busy taking a few customers from my section because she knew I was very busy myself. The little bell called me to the warming counter where I found my customer's giant hamburger and sides of fries and rings. Peeking under the bun, I saw that Shirley had slipped in an extra half-pound hamburger patty, and she winked at me when I shot her a grateful look. The hungry young guy leaned forward as I approached with the three plates, and I watched his eyes widen as he surveyed his mega-burger. "Wow." "Don't worry. My mistake. You don't have to pay for that extra patty." "Oh...OK. It sure looks good. Looks like an official gutbuster! You don't have to do that for me, I can pay for it." "No, I insist. I always get orders right. In fact, let me buy your lunch." "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yes. I'll get your order right next time, I promise." "No worries, guy. That's mighty generous of ya." "My pleasure." "Say, my name is Arlen...and you're Brian." He held out his hand, still staring at my name badge. "Nice to meet you, Arlen. Enjoy your lunch." "Thanks, I will!" I left Arlen as he set upon the magic act of making that huge one-pound hamburger disappear, feeling the anticipation of returning to see how he was doing. From a distance, I watched Arlen shift his padded bubblebutt around until he was in the right position; he spread his chunky thighs apart as he leaned in closer to the table. Holding the giant hamburger ready in both hands, he eyed the juice that dripped down his forearms. Anxiously awaiting the proper moment, I approached after I saw him set the half-eaten burger down on his plate. Wiping his hands and forearms with several napkins, he smiled as he saw me walk up beside his table. Slowly he reclined and allowed his belly to bulge out in front; his hands went to his fatter rounder belly, holding it's newly acquired heft like a heavy bag of groceries. "This sure is good...my belly is gettin' full..." Arlen told me as he rubbed the rotund mass of flesh up and down. "Take your time, Arlen, there's no rush. You can sit there all afternoon if you like." "I'd love to, but I got to get back to the job site." "Oh, what job is that?" "Building this big ol' house on the outskirts of town. The guy must be made of money." "Wow." I checked his shake, and there was still a little bit left. "Can I get you some more shake?" "Not right now, I better try to finish this burger. Damn, it's good." So he tried. The well-fed round hunk pushed that big piece of beef into his mouth repeatedly, chewing man-size bites with a cherubic expression on his clean-shaven face. Onion rings and french fries jumped into his mouth alternately, as did an occasional swallow of melted chocolate shake. There were still a few lonely french fries when I came back to check on him, but he'd cleaned up everything else. The bloated-full young hunk was sprawled backwards in his booth, his thick arms once again draped across the width of the top of the seat. His belly had blown up like a balloon; its considerable spherical mass jutted out into space like it were a dirigible attempting to launch itself from a mooring rope. His old tank top was stretched to its absolute limit, and had begun to surrender a view of bare skin under its rising hem. I stood at the side of the table looking at the pumped-up table muscle, joining him in a Cheshire Cat smile. I leaned over to pick up his plate, and his right hand slid over from the back of the seat to rest atop the fat ledge created by his swollen belly. "Well, Arlen, got any room left in that belly of yours for some dessert to top off your meal?" "Oooof..." Arlen sighed, rubbing his big round belly from side to side. "I dunno. I'm so stuffed. I feel like a big fat ol' sausage." "How about you thinking about it while I go take these dishes into the kitchen." As I turned, I looked back at him. "We have fresh banana cream pie." "Really?" Arlen's big brown eyes lit up. "Yeah. Now that would slide down pretty easy...wouldn't it?" "You want me to get you a piece?" "Hmmm." I could tell he was really thinking about it. "I'll be right back." Taking the dishes into the kitchen, I surveyed the half of banana cream pie that sat in the pie case. Shirley saw me bring the empty plates in, and asked if that was from my hungry customer in the corner. "They sure are..." "He ate all of that all by himself?" Nodding my head, "Uh-huh." "All of it? Good God, he must be..." "He is, trust me. Go look." Shirley walked to the counter window and peered out into the restaurant over by where Arlen sat admiring his protruding stomach. I joined her to catch him just as he put both hands on his fat round belly and began to massage it; he appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Then, we both watched as he slid his beefy butt over and then pushed himself up. I casually headed out from the kitchen to see him walking toward me. He had a sexy wobble to his walk, and his belly bulged out in a firm ball over his extra-tight waistband. "I'll be right back," Arlen assured me, pushing the restroom door open. I cleaned up his table more as I waited impatiently for him to return, picking up more napkins he'd stashed in a corner. Finally, the restroom door creaked and Arlen's belly seemed to peek around the corner at me. I couldn't help but stare at his buttonfly as the top button was wide open to let his fat belly push out his waistband in a "V". He smiled at me and patted his belly. After what seemed a slow-motion sequence of him modeling his bloated belly as he walked toward me, he stood in front of me with one hand poised under his belly bulge. "Excuse me..." he politely asked. I realized I was standing right in the way of his seat. "Oh!" I nervously laughed, "sorry about that." "That's OK." Arlen sat with a bit of a grunt as he bent in the middle to fit in the booth again. His belly bumped the edge of the table, and he pushed the table forward a bit. "After careful thought, and...well, unbuttoning my jeans to get a little more room, I've decided that I'd like to take you up on the offer of that piece of pie." "Great. I'll go get it. Some milk?" "Oh...sure!" Returning momentarily with a more-than-generous slice of tall cream pie, I sat the plate in front of him with the milk. Leaning forward on an elbow, he spread his thighs again to let his belly hang over as far as it needed to. As I left to check on a customer, Arlen was shoveling in hearty forkfuls of pie. Despite the load of food already in his swollen stomach, Arlen polished off the piece of pie and glass of milk in a surprisingly short time. When I came back to his table, he was in the process of pushing his plate away and leaning back to stretch his belly lengthwise. "Oh, that's gotta be the end. My belly's stuffed top to bottom." Arlen told me, as his hand felt around his belly. "Thanks for the great lunch, Brian. I better get my check." "Oh, no...remember, this is my treat." "I can't let you do that." "Sure you can. I insist." I watched his hand travel along the contours of his fat round belly. "I want to make sure you feel welcome enough to come back." "No problem there, guy." Arlen shifted his weight and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. "God, my belly's so damn big I can barely move." He pulled out a ten dollar bill and shoved it half-under the pie plate. "Well, I'll see ya soon, Brian." "Yeah. You take care." Arlen got up slowly and maneuvered his big oversize-full belly through the restaurant. My pulse raced as I drank in the heavenly sight of his heavy round gut pouring out over his popped- open jeans. Budding love handles stuck out on each side of his too-tight 36" Levis, and his padded bubblebutt swung hypnotically as he vanished out the door. Part 2 In the days that followed, I anxiously awaited Arlen's next visit. Every time the front door swung open, I was hoping that it was Arlen stopping by for another bite to eat. Jennifer told me that he had come in on my day off, and had asked about me. I almost resolved myself to working 365 days a year to avoid missing one of his visits, but thought it may be a somewhat desperate measure. I looked up at the greasy clock on the wall and prepared myself for the dinner crowd. Shirley had told me that we had plenty of the family-style chicken dinner special, and to be sure to give everyone the hard sell. I was filling sugar dispensers at the counter, looking up just in time to see Arlen closing the front door behind him. He looked over at me, nodded his head, and gave a friendly smile which I returned. Jennifer greeted him, looked back at me, then back at him, and then led him back to his usual booth in my section. Arlen was squeezed into a skin-tight grey T-shirt and well-worn black Wranglers. His jeans looked a mighty tight fit, and it looked like it had required much effort to get the top button fastened. His grey T-shirt, stretched smooth, looked soft and warm to the touch. "Hello, Arlen." "Hey there. How's it going?" Much better, I thought. He smiled as he saw me shift my weight to try to redirect my hard-on, which seemed to grow up insidiously like ivy at Yale. "Say, is this your day off?" "Yep. Not much to do around here except eat. Well, and drink beer. Since I ran out of beer, I thought I'd come eat." "Well, I'm glad that you stopped by." "What can I get you tonight, Arlen? We've got this great all-you-can-eat chicken dinner special for only $3.99." "You recommend it?" "Sure do." "OK. Sounds good." "What would you like to drink?" "How about makin' me one of your famous too-thick milkshakes. I'll try vanilla tonight." "Great." I left him sitting there in his casual sprawled position, slowly spreading his thick meaty thighs apart and leaning back to rest his muscled arms on the back of the seat. Not wasting any time, I hastened into the kitchen to prepare a generous milkshake and gather up a plate of chicken, a bowl each of corn and mashed potatoes, and a gravy boat. Tossing up a mean salad and filling up a soup cup of Ranch dressing, I began to take everything out to him. The family style bowls surrounded him and hinted at his insatiable appetite. Filling a fountain glass full of vanilla shake and placing a giant plate in front of him, I left him to gorge himself. Suddenly remembering that he was supposed to get dinner rolls, I rushed into the kitchen and brought back a plateful of four with more than enough butter. The more-than-generous portions given to Arlen disappeared at an impressive rate, considering that I had given him enough food for a family of four. My first check on him revealed that he had eaten his way through a large breast piece, a drumstick, a giant serving of mashed potatoes, about four big spoonfuls of corn, and two of the dinner rolls. Arlen had sucked down a good three-quarters of the fountain glass of thick vanilla shake, so I poured him more from the blender cup. He smiled as he chewed, letting me know that he appreciated my dedication. Time passed, and Arlen got heftier and heftier. He'd leaned forward and straightened his back to let his fat belly hang while he shoved food down into it, and his casual stance with a beefy forearm on the table made him look like he was right at home. A sizable pile of chicken bones had replaced the dinner rolls, so I asked him if I could take that for him and fill it up with some more hot, fresh rolls. Arlen nodded his head to the offer, so I committed myself to a quick return with more rolls. After a while, Arlen rolled himself back into his favorite relaxed position, letting his fattened belly bulge out in front. A nice round chunk of belly swelled out under his very meaty pecs, and his painted-on T-shirt stretched even thinner around its burgeoning circumference. Seeing him all sprawled back and rubbing his thick belly in lazy circles, I ventured over to his side to see if he'd finished all of his food. A hot rush come over me as I realized that he had eaten everything-- even the additional dinner rolls and eight pats of real creamery butter. Arlen turned his head slowly to look up at me as he sat there enjoying his bloated belly. "Now that's what I call eatin' good," he said, thumping his belly. "I take it you enjoyed it, then?" "Ohhh, yeah." A deep belch surfaced as his stomach contents began to settle. "Delicious." "Can I get you some more, Arlen?" Arlen thought about the idea of more while his hand caressed his bowed-out belly. "Man, are you tryin' to fatten me up or somethin'?" We both chuckled, and I thought it better not to answer at that particular time. Arlen continued to survey his rotund belly. "As usual, I'm bustin' out of these size 36's." He reached under his gut that spilled over his tight jeans waistband and bounced his firm mound of tablemuscle up and down. "The bun in the oven is still risin'. Shoulda wore my 501s-- coulda unbuttoned them..." "Well, you could unbutton those too, guy, but I think they're gonna come unzipped pretty quick." He smiled at me. "Yeah, guess I should just do that at home, huh?" "So, what do ya say, can I get you some more?" Arlen indicated that he found the chicken most tasty and juicy, and loved the mashed potatoes and gravy. Telling him that there was a fresh apple pie back in the kitchen widened his smile, so I kept that in mind although he didn't say anything about dessert yet. After a couple more extra-large plump chicken breasts, another serving of mashed potatoes, and two swallows of his second vanilla milkshake, Arlen could do little more than just sit there with his distended belly bumping the edge of the table. Arlen was intimately aware of his belly size, so he pushed the table away from him a little so he didn't look so crowded in the booth. Rubbing his rounded belly from top to bottom, he looked like he was somewhat surprised at far out his hand went before it curved to vanish under the fattest swell. As I returned to check on him, he put his hand to his mouth to muffle a substantial belch. His cheeks puffed, and then his hand fell away to reveal a satisfied smile. Resting his hand atop the tight ledge under his pecs, he let out a soft moan. "Jesus, my belly feels like it's gonna bust. It's so tight you could bounce a quarter off of it." Not knowing what to say, I watched his slow caressing movements that traversed his broad middle with a mischievous smile. "I've gave up doing sit-ups at the gym, and my abdominals have loosened up a bit. They used to be so damn hard that I couldn't get much food in my stomach. Now," he began by thumping his fattened belly, "I don't seem to have that problem any more." He looked like he was waiting for me to say something. "No problem at all, Arlen. I think you did rather well tonight, if you don't mind me sayin' so." I couldn't help but reach down to pat his fat round belly a couple times; the sound was amazingly deep and meaty. "Guys like me kinda have to stop and take notice of a respectable appetite like yours, Arlen. On that subject, can I interest you in a piece of pie for dessert?" "Well, it's true that no meal is complete without dessert. I just don't know when to stop eating until I get something sweet." "Great. I'll be right back." I took his empty plates and bowls, and refilled his fountain glass with melting milkshake. Arlen draped his muscled arms across the seatback, letting his fat round belly bulge out in front. Stretching the big tablemuscle lengthwise allowed him to get out several more manly belches, and he even twisted his hips a little to rock his tight round belly from side to side. Arlen even found it necessary to scratch his belly in several different patterns. Eager to devour the generous slice of tall apple pie I brought him, he leaned forward and used his fork like a trowel to shove bite after bite in. Melty still-thick milkshake followed each bite down his gullet. The ample dessert continued to fill his belly out and stretch it into an even tighter-looking beach ball. By his last swallow of shake, Arlen's belly looked much too big and much too good to be true. He sat there staring at the clean plate and empty fountain glass with a dazed expression on his face. His stretched-thin gray T-shirt had inched up slightly to bare a thick strip of belly above his strangling tight waistband, and his belly button was partially visible. Returning to close view to remove his dishes, I couldn't help staring at his belly. Arlen had gorged himself far past my expectations, and the heavy round protrusion that sat in his lap begged for attention. "Excellent dinner-- good recommendation." "Oh, thanks. I thought you'd enjoy it." "I sure did. I enjoyed it so much that I don't think I can move." He playfully tried to push himself off of the seat, letting his belly bounce as he allowed gravity to quickly suck him back down. Leaning back into his favorite position, he began to caress his bloated belly. "That's OK, Arlen. You just sit there and relax; let that big ol' meal digest a bit. Take all the time you need." "Great. I think I will. Got nowhere to go except home to go belly up on the sofa and watch some T.V." He kept running his hand up and down the front of his well-bloated belly with a friendly smile on his face. "Not much else I can do, ya know, with a bellyful this size." "I imagine you're right, Arlen. I've never been that full!" "Really? Not even at Thanksgiving?" "Nope." "God, I love it. Just love the feeling of a tight, full belly." "Well, I kind of thought you did, Arlen. That's why I try to bring you enough food." "You do a damn good job, too." "Thanks. But you know, there's a byproduct of enjoying a tight, full belly regularly, Arlen..." I hinted, watching him rub his belly from side-to-side. "Oh! Yeah!" The thought seem to hit him like a small electric shock and he thumped his belly in earnest. "I'm gettin' fat." We both chuckled. "Hell, I don't mind getting fat. I've always had a linebacker kind of build, so it's about time to fill it out a little." "Looks good, Arlen." "Thanks, guy. I'm glad you approve." So he sat there with his bubblebutt spreading and his belly swelling as all of that family-style dinner settled while I waited on my other customer. His nipples were erect from his constant massaging, and they peeked over his paunch like two landing beacons. I had to stop what I was doing to watch him push himself up and out of his booth to go use the restroom. His belly led the way and wobbled back and forth like it were a heavy beachball strapped to his front. His cowboy boots were heavy on the floor as he languidly strolled into the back. When he came out, I went back over to see how he was doing. He smiled when he saw me coming, and just stood by his table as if he were waiting for me to say something. His second skin of a T- shirt had inched up a bit more, and I could see his bellybutton plainly. "Well," he began, "guess I'll go home and sprawl." "OK..." "How much do I owe ya?" "Oh, $3.99..." "What about the milkshake? And pie?" "Naaah... forget about it. The pie was included and you needed something to wash down your dinner." "Well, I suppose." He grunted as he got out his wallet and handed me a ten. "Say, you want to go see a movie sometime or get some dinner?" "Sh-sh-sure. That'd be great. Wait here while I go get your change." "Oh no, that's yours." He gave me a big smile and held back a hearty belch. I gave him my number and then watched his exit; my mind drifting Part Three Arlen seemed to be with me all the time. I saw him in his booth at the diner, and I saw him in my dreams; I guess I didn't want to think about anything else. The sight of Arlen sitting in his booth at the diner gorging himself to immensity was etched in my memory for all time, and the the pleasant surprise of him asking me out put hope back in my life. My pulse raced every time the phone rang, but was always disappointed that it wasn't him. Then, the Sunday after his last visit to the diner, my phone rang a little after eleven in the morning. The connection wasn't great, but I could still hear. "Hello, Brian?" "Yes?" "Hi, it's Arlen. Say, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call you, but I'm in Italy." "Italy?" "Yeah, it was real short notice. My construction outfit decided to pull me off of that job there and send me over to Italy. I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be gone for about a month over here, and that I still want to go to that movie or dinner with you when I get back." "OK. I was hoping you still did." I closed my eyes and drank in his deep velvety voice. "How's Italy?" "Hot, really hot-- my ass is bakin' over here. But the food's in-cred-ible." "Great! I suppose it's 'Eat, Eat, EAT!' huh?" "That's been the theme so far." "Enjoy yourself, Arlen, just sit back and let those Italian chefs stuff you with continental delights, pasta, and cakes." I heard a muffled belch on the other end of the phone. "What time is it there?" "A little after eight o'clock...shortly after dinner time for me. It's pretty amazing how much I can eat when the food's delicious, charged to an expense account, and when I wear loose-fitting pants--" he paused, "well, they were loose before I went to dinner." "So, Arlen, are you all stuffed?" "Yep. I did a little sight-seeing, but all I really did today was eat. Now I'm laying on this hard hotel bed like a big fat beached whale, belly sticking up like a mountain. I should call downstairs for a massage. Have someone come up here and give me a rubdown." My cock was throbbing at the mention of a rubdown, and I tried to even out my breathing. "You like that?" "What? Rubdowns?" "Yeah." "Yeah, I do. You know, being in construction and all. My muscles get sore. The guy here was a little surprised at first when I told him I wanted my belly rubbed." Arlen belched again, this time treating me to hearing the raw gutteral noise that escaped from his full belly. "Well, I'm gonna take a nap. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I hadn't flaked. I'll call you when I get back." "OK. Bye." "Bye." The next couple weeks passed horribly slow. Days at the diner were hopelessly ordinary without Arlen coming in to feed, and both Jennifer and Shirley had asked about "the handsome young guy with the big appetite". I mean, there were interesting guys stopping in, but none as interesting as Arlen. Even Shirley's son Brent didn't seem as entertaining as he'd once been. Of course, he had continued to gain weight since his marriage last year, and his belly had grown into a small planet; nonetheless, his gutstretching marathons back in the kitchen were an inadequate replacement for Arlen. Then, on Thursday, in the middle of a rented video, my phone rang. "Hi Brian. It's Arlen." I could barely contain my enthusiasm for hearing his deep sexy voice. "Hey! So, are ya back?" "Yep. Got in late last night. Been sleepin' all day. I was wondering if you would like to go to grab a bite to eat and see a movie tomorrow." "Sure-- sounds like fun." "OK. I'll pick you up around five-thirty. Where would you like to go for dinner?" "Any place is fine with me, but you must be hungry for something different after a month of Italian food, huh?" "Well, variety is good; however, there are worse things in life than a solid month of Italian food. Say, we could go to Dos Amigos for dinner, how's that sound?" "Perfect." I gave him the directions to my house. "So, I'm dying to hear about your trip to Italy..." "Is it OK if we talk about it tomorrow? I'm really lagged." Even before saying goodbye, I knew what I was going to dream about that night. I worked the early shift at the diner, and then went to the market to pick up a few things. I decided to get a twelve-pack of beer and the makings for a fattening banana cream pie which I intended to whip up with Half 'n Half; I couldn't wait to get home and prepare for the evening's festivities. I really didn't know what to expect, but my hopes were high. Trying not to think of it too much, I treated myself to a couple shots of frozen Stoli to feel the warmth come across my face. There was a knock at the door at thirty-five past five, and my heart thumped in my chest as I ventured toward the front. The knob seemed to sink back into the horizon as I reached for it, but I clumsily grasped it and swung the door open. A sensation shot through me that made me feel like a kid again at Christmas opening the "best present"; Arlen towered directly in front of me, poured into black Levi 501s and squeezed into a white tank top so tautly stretched that it might as well not have been there at all. He wore black cowboy boots that made him even taller, and his black cowboy hat made him look taller still. A smile curled onto his lips as my eyes ventured along his impressively curved sphere of fattened belly, and he politely cleared his throat. "mm-hmm... Hi, Arlen. Come on in." "Thanks." I watched as his beefy form passed, carefully noting the increased bulge of his love handles and the fullness of his bubblebutt. His Levis were new-- 38" x 34", and he packed them with perfection. He took off his hat and sat it on the table. "Good to see you, guy," he said, holding his hand out for a friendly shake. His soft, moist hand gave a firm handshake. "You too, Arlen." I was still getting an eyeful of his big round belly, calculating the inches and pounds in my busy little head. His fat ball of flesh was unmistakably and most delightfully larger. "Can I get you a beer?" "Sounds great." He followed me into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter. I handed him the can while still entranced by his fatter belly. "So-- you checking out my souvenir from Italy?" he asked, thumping his solid round belly. "Yeah. I have to admit that I was, Arlen." "Can't blame ya. It's hard to miss. I tell ya, all that gourmet food and my generous expense account did wonders for the size of my gut. This waiter at my hotel took a liking to me and suggested some very tasty dishes. Usually, several at a time." Arlen chugged some beer. "Cool. So, you had a very memorable experience, huh?" I asked, going to the freezer for another shot of Stoli. Since I hadn't eaten anything that day, I was really starting to feel uninhibited. "Yep. Several very memorable ones, in fact." "Oh, really?" Arlen hastily finished his beer, proclaiming that warm beer is a waste and cold beer should be enjoyed quickly. After getting him another, I turned to probe deeper into his memorable experiences. He started talking as I went to the freezer once more for a double shot of Stoli. "You're going to get drunk, Brian." "Oh not really," I giggled under my breath. "Well, let's see. I started to tell you about that night I really overdid it..." As he went into detail about one evening's neverending dinner, I found myself getting hotter and hotter for all sorts of reasons. I became anxious for him to finish his beer, and let him know by tipping the can when he put it up to his lips. He chugged it all down and then treated himself to a raucous belch. Going to the fridge, I pulled two beers from the cardboard case and handed him one. Arlen continued his story about how his Italian waiter had coaxed him into trying so many different kinds of fresh exotic pastas and sauces that his pants popped open one evening. "He tells me he likes my 'big American panzone', and goes and gets me dessert. I was already past the point of not being able to eat anything more, and I was sitting there in the restaurant like a budhah statue when he comes out with this cake. He says 'it's just a little cream cake' and starts to put it in my mouth. I mean the guy is practically forcefeeding me. After he'd made me eat the whole thing, he stood beside me and rubbed my full belly. He said I could grow my panzone at his table anytime." Arlen ran his hand down the middle of his rotund studbelly. "And grew I did. I fattened up about twenty pounds worth over there." "Twenty is a nice round number, Arlen. The weight looks right at home, too. Hmm. Panzone, huh? Sounds like Italian for 'fat belly'." I reached over and poked his belly. "Yeah...or 'paunch zone' or something. I know it had something to do with my gut." Arlen took another drink of beer and sat the can on the counter. He seemed to be opening himself up to me. "After all, it's getting hard to miss," he admitted, patting his fattened middle. "I know! I missed it quite a bit when you were in Italy." Reaching over and planting my hand on his middle, I began rubbing his big round belly in small, deep circles. Arlen's eyes closed. "Yeah..." As I rubbed Arlen's fat belly, I felt the distinct rumble of a stud-sized hunger pang. "Arlen, we should probably go have some dinner. I think you need to be fed." "I am pretty hungry. Let's go." Before he grabbed my hand to hurry me out the door, I stole another shot of Stoli. On the way out to his truck, the smile on my face grew wider as I stared at his wider bubblebutt. Feeling a bit silly, I sat there and stared at Arlen while he read over Dos Amigos' menu. He had already ordered a Corona and started in with the chips and salsa. Arlen was more tan than he'd been before he'd left for Italy, and his teeth looked even more perfect. He'd gotten his hair cut shorter on the sides, probably because of the heat he'd complained about so much. "Hey!" Arlen startled me as he looked up from his menu, "do you know what you want to eat?" "God, do I ever. Huh?" I started to giggle and dropped my head into my hands. "You're drunk." "I am not. I can hold my liquor." |"Yeah...by the ears, right?" " Oh, quit it," I joked, feeling my face get hot. "I like it when you turn red. You're like a big kid," Arlen said, looking at me in such a way which made me forget just about everything. "Waitress!" Arlen's arm went up. "Bring him a shot of Stoli." "A what?" "Vodka." "We don't serve hard liquor here." "Is a beer OK, Brian?" I nodded at him and smiled. "Two Coronas, please." "Are you about ready to order?" The waitress seemed a bit short on patience. "I think so, are you ready, Brian?" "Oh, definitely, " I answered, not having the slightest idea of whether or not the menu was even printed in English. The waitress turned to me. "I'll have a tostada thing. With chicken." "Uh huh, and you, sir?" She turned to Arlen, who had leaned back and started to scratch his belly. "Tell me about this Gordo Especiale?" "Well, you get some of everything. Really, it's enough food for two people, but you look like the kind of guy who's appetite is maybe big enough for two," she paused, watching Arlen's face light up as he ran his hand across the width of his belly. "Cool. I should get that." The excitement had a sobering effect on me, and I felt my cock leap up in my pants. "Sounds great, Arlen!" While we waited for the dinners to arrive, we drank our drinks, talked about tight clothes and how uncomfortable they can be in the heat of summer. Part Four
When Arlen’s dinner came, we had to laugh. Three plates, no less. Ridiculously piled with cheese enchiladas, beef taquitos, chile relenos, shredded beef tacos, and a fat ol’ burrito, the main platter was placed right in front of him; the two satellite plates, one containing ingredients for steak and chicken fajitas, and the other heaped with refried beans, spicy rice, guacamole, shredded cheese and sour cream, were crowded onto the table. Another container filled with warm tortillas was pushed to the very edge of the table, and a hush fell over the nearby tables as restaurant customers surveyed the feast with awe.
Arlen scrutinized the valleys of food, grabbed his fork, took a deep breath, and confidently dove into his dinner. As the minute hand lazily swept the face of the distant clock on the wall, Arlen’s dedication and stomach capacity were seemingly without limits. I picked at my tostada, unable to devote any time to it as I watched the extra-beefy hunk in front of me stuff himself with reckless abandon. While his belly had delighted me with its plumped circumference earlier, it now thrilled me with its increasing outbound swell. As he indulged himself in bite after bite of the fat-filled Mexican standbys, his belly stretched easily to accomodate more and more. When the china started showing through on the main platter, Arlen had to roll himself back in his chair to relax.
“Ooooooff-fff,” Arlen sighed, “this is a lot of food." He put his hand on top of his bloated belly and slid it down its bowed-out front. A look of surprise came over his face and he looked down gauging the extent of the protrusion under his ribs. Arlen thumped his belly a couple of times; the solid mass barely bounced under his strong hand. "Wooof. My belly is =big= tonight, huh?”
“Sure is beginning to look that way, big guy. Are you going to be able to finish all that food?”
“Jeez. I dunno. Probably, but there’s so damn much of those refried beans and rice.”
“Well, tell you what. If you finish all of that, I’ll make you a homecooked dinner sometime– anything you want. Bet?”
“It’s a deal!" Arlen’s spirits were raised higher with the challenge, and I got the impression he really wanted that homecooked meal by the way he leaned forward and dug in again.
With his tree-trunk thighs spread and big beefy belly bumping the table, he shoveled in food right and left. With the disappearance of the fajitas and last flour tortilla, Arlen leaned back to chew. The hungry stud’s belly had ballooned up nice and tight, mercilessly stressing the seams on his nearly translucent tank top. His tank top had inched up his swollen belly during his regular breaks, and it now had become necessary for Arlen to unbutton his top jeans button. A delectable bare expanse of his Italian sun tanned belly pooched out in his lap. **BURP**
At an adjacent table, a small family watched Arlen as though he was a channel on their TV. I had taken notice of how the young daddy had eaten his dinner, then helped finished his daughters’ dinners, and then went on to polish off his wife’s dinner. Although not nearly the size of Arlen’s prizewinning paunch, the young daddy’s belly had swollen considerably– so much so that he was forced to park his shoulders against the back of his booth seat and just let his big bellyful stick out. Crowded into a patterned polo shirt that had shrunk during his rich meal, the fattened daddy rubbed his rotund belly in lazy circles.
"Good place to eat, huh?" Arlen commented, making sure the fat daddy overheard. Arlen had decided to stop and rub his belly as well, enjoying the big job as his hand traversed the expanse of curved real estate.
"I’ll say– there are bellies poppin’ out all over the place in here!" I agreed with him. "So, Arlen, are you full yet? Are you going to finish that little bit of rice and beans?”
Arlen gave a big sigh and thumped his belly to sound off how solid it had become over the lengthy course of the meal; the fat daddy and I just stared at him. His handsome young face brightened up into a wide smile. “I really want to win this bet– I want that homecooked meal!”
“You don’t have to worry about that, trust me. Besides, if I won the bet, I was going to make you a homecooked meal– see, it worked out anyway.”
“Excellent." Arlen rested his hand atop his widened belly ledge and burped again. "My belly is pretty full to be stuffin’ more rice and beans down right now.”
The two young girls at the adjacent table were getting anxious to leave, and the family was soon in motion. The fat daddy seemed most disappointed that he didn’t get any dessert and wasn’t able to stay longer. As the wife and girls were already headed for the door, the fat daddy took his sweet time hoisting himself out of their booth. With a sort of dazed friendly look on his moustached face, he waddled over to our table. His stretchy knit shirt had pulled out of his beige denim shorts, and his pants zipper was halfway down; the fat daddy’s pants button looked perilously close to popping open.
“Excuse me, guy, but I just had to ask what you ordered. God, there is so much food!”
Arlen pulled his shoulders back to accentuate his swollen belly and then brought his hand across its broad expanse. “It’s called the Gordo Especiale.”
“Wow. Most impressive, there." The fat daddy reached over with his left hand and patted Arlen’s belly.
"Thanks. But you’ve got quite the overhang there, too, guy." Arlen returned the patting gesture by landing a gentle punch on top of the daddy’s firm protruding belly. "In fact, you’re probably only two tacos away from bustin’ right out of those shorts!”
The fat daddy began to laugh, and he had to hold his belly.
“Well, I better catch up with my family.”
“See ya!”
I was still a bit dumbfounded by the whole thing, but completely enjoying my hard-on as it throbbed in my jeans.
“Damn, that guy’s gut was full. It was like trying to push in on an overpumped basketball." Arlen tested his bloated gut. "Oh, I thought I remembered feeling something like that before…”
We both laughed. As Arlen had sat there relaxing, his belly had puffed up even more.
“Well, should we get goin’? The movie is going to start in ten minutes!”
“Tell ya what. We’re going to be late anyway. Why don’t we rent a video and go back to my place?”
“That sounds like a plan. There’s just one thing…”
“What’s that?”
“Well, I kind of made you a welcome home pie. It’s at my place.”
“That was really thoughtful of you! Ok, let’s get the video and go to your place!”
It was a night that went down in history at Dos Amigos. Arlen lumbered his way out the door with no less than two waitresses, the cook, the dishwasher, and the manager coming out to say goodbye to him and get a look at his bloated round belly. Once outside the door, Arlen unbuttoned a second jeans button in advance of having to climb up into his Chevy.
“You know, it’s Friday night. There’s bound to be something good on TV…let’s just go to your place.”
“Oh, Arlen. You just want to eat that pie!”
He smiled back at me, and grunted as he went to get in his truck.
Arlen seemed a little winded from making the journey from the pickup to the apartment, so I guided him into the kitchen and got him a beer. I had put out the pie to tantalize him, and he stood at the counter gazing down upon it. Holding up his can of beer, he playfully said “you are now entering the paunch zone” in his deep sexy voice before he guzzled half of it.
Since his back was to me, I was able to surprise him with a shoulder rub. His wide shoulders turned into putty and he leaned back against me. My hands soon ventured under his massive arms out to his pecs. Arlen’s meaty pecs were still full of muscle, but they had softened nicely with his added weight. The big well-fed hunk chugged the rest of his beer, belched loudly and proudly, and put the can down on the counter so that he could rest his arms by his sides. He moaned as I played with his big erect nipples.
“Another beer, my big round guy?”
Arlen belched again. “Please.”
Not willing to let go, I pulled him over towards the fridge; still leaving one hand on his chest, I reached in and rescued a cold brew for him. “Here ya go…”
Now repositioned so that my back was touching the counter, I felt him increase his weight against me. My hands traveled south down onto the outward expansion of firm round belly. I had to really reach as my hands smoothed over the fattest bulge, and Arlen moaned quietly as my hands slipped under the bottom of his big full belly where his jeans gaped open.
“Good God, Arlen, your belly is so big!" I whispered up to his ear.
Arlen swallowed hard as I continued to massage under his protruding midsection. He took another long drink of cold beer. "Yessss….but I’m not complaining any,” he truthfully added, closing his eyes as I rubbed his stuffed belly.
“Well, I’m not either, round guy." I shifted my hands back up to where his belly was the biggest around and shook it gently from side-to-side. "In fact, I believe that there was something about a pie to be eaten?”
“Oh yeah…" Arlen sucked his beer can dry and didn’t hold back on the belch that followed. "Say, I’ve got to use your…”
“Right through there.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
While Arlen was taking care of urgent business (he had drank more than a six-pack during the evening), I got out the can of whipping cream from the fridge. In the kitchen drawer I had stowed a measuring tape, and I got that out and placed in on the kitchen counter.
Arlen came out of the bathroom and waddled across the dining area to the kitchen. He had taken the time to actually roll his taut tank top up to the bottom of his pecs, and the rolled cotton looked so perfect that it could have been mistaken for a hemmed
cut-off. His jeans were still unbuttoned, and his solid round gut looked incredibly huge.
“Jesus. Is that scale in your bathroom accurate?”
“I think it is…”
“It just told me I weigh 245 pounds.”
“Really? That’s a chunk of weight. But you are 6'2”, you know.“
"Well, yeah– but I only weighed 205 pounds two months ago.”
“Been eatin’ good, huh, Arlen?”
“Awful good." We smiled at each other.
"So, how big of a piece would you like, Arlen?”
“Just get me a fork,” Arlen requested in confidence. “Cool. Whipping cream in a can!" He picked up the can and filled his mouth cavity full out past his lips and swallowed in stages.
I guess the pie seemed bigger than the plate suggested. Its fat-packed pudding vanished like lubricant at a Frat party. Arlen’s belly loomed in front of me, and I reached over to stick my finger in his belly button. "And how was that little pie?”
“Good,” Arlen told me, “very good. Rich." He reached his thick arms up in the air and gave his long abdomen a deserved stretch. My hand was there to thump his belly. "Like a watermelon, huh?”
“Yep. Ripe one.”
Arlen noticed the tape measure on the counter. “Hey, let’s measure my belly!”
“Sure!”
He didn’t have to twist my arm to toss that tape around his swollen paunch. Once I got it around him, he wanted to know what it said right away.
“Guess…" I teased him.
"Forty inches.”
“Bigger.”
“Forty-two inches.”
“Bigger.”
“Forty-four inches?”
“Bigger.”
Arlen’s eyes widened. “Bigger? My God, I only wear size 38 jeans!”
I pushed in against his firm belly. “Arlen. There are two buttons popped open on your size 38 jeans, and your belly is throwing some serious shade on your dick…”
He laughed. “Ok, Ok…Forty-six inches?” he asked with a certain level of uncertainty and anxious disbelief.
“Nope. That’s a bit much to hope for tonight." I removed the tape measure from around his bloated ball of flesh, and patted him several times where his belly appeared most distended. "Forty-five and a quarter inches there tonight, studpuffin.”
“Whew. That’s pretty large for me, guy. I had a washboard stomach in high school.”
“Things change, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Wanna watch that movie now?”
“Sure. What’s on?”
“Aaah, let’s go see what we can find.”
As we adjourned to the living room, I had to shift my uncomfortably stiff cock; it was almost more than I could bear. Arlen settled onto the couch, taking up the whole thing, and soon was fast asleep.
When he woke up, it was very late. I asked him if he wanted to stay at my place, but he declined.
“See you at the diner?” I asked.
“You bet.”
Part Five The sight of Arlen bursting out of those too-tight black Levis with his tank top rolled up to his nipples was still very much on my mind. In fact, I couldn't think of anything else back in the kitchen when I was getting another piece of pie for a customer. Friday night was still like a dream to me, though I knew for sure that it had happened. Not exactly as I had hoped, but I couldn't complain. I'd never forget that guy coming up to Arlen in Dos Amigos and thumping his gut. I'd never forget Arlen and that pie back at my apartment... The hours of masturbation spent vividly fantasizing about what I wanted to do with Arlen post-pie had left my cock sore but completely satisfied. I only had to picture Arlen in my mind's eye to spur on another erection. Saturday had passed. No Arlen. No phone call. Sunday had passed. No Arlen. No phone call. I was hoping he would have come in for the Sunday Dinner Special; Shirley got truly ambitious and cooked up turkey with all of the trimmings. Jennifer had asked where the "big jock guy" had gone to, since she hadn't seen him since before his trip to Italy. I gave her the scoop, and she told me she'd let me know if she saw him come in. On Tuesday, I was by the Diner's front door when I saw his truck drive up. He saw me looking out of the window at him and smiled at me. Throwing his hat on the seat, he got out and slammed the door. As he sauntered his way to the door, I walked up to meet him. "Hey there." Arlen greeted, smiling at me through the shadow of a coal-black goatee. "Hi!" His faded and threadbare 36" Levis were relaxed in front by one button, and generally appeared painted on to his skin. They looked to be ready to blow a seam at any moment; he must have spent some quality time squeezing himself into them. Up top, he modeled a perfectly ventilated yellow mesh half-shirt. The thing barely counted as a shirt, and loose interpretation of the "no shirt no shoes no service" policy allowed his undisputed entrance into the establishment. As I led him back to "his" booth, his hot presence caught the eye of Jennifer; her eyes got big like saucers as she looked him up and down. "Here ya go, Arlen," I said as I pointed out his favorite seat in the diner. "Here's a menu, guy. I'll be back in a minute." I felt rushed as Jennifer wildly waved at me to go in the kitchen with her. "Thanks, Brian." Jennifer was waiting over by the swinging door to the kitchen still staring at Arlen when I walked up. Before I could ask her what bee had relocated into her bonnet, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen. "So, tell me!" |"Tell you what?" "What's going on?" "I don't know yet, sweetie. This is the first time I've seen him since Friday night." "Oh. Right," she paused. "So, he looks like he put on a little weight in Italy-- gettin' a belly to go along with all of those muscles!" "Yep. That guy has quite an appetite for food. And he loves beer." "Sounds like a man, all right. His jeans are filled up and then some tonight; I saw how that top button was popped open. Doesn't look like he's ashamed of the size of his gut at all." "Not at all. Arlen's pretty comfortable with his newfound girth." "God, he's handsome, Brian." She winked at me and then pushed me towards the door. "Now, go get that guy's order. He looked hungry for something when he came in here." When I returned to Arlen's table, he'd sat the menu down and was looking for me. "Hey, Arlen. Do you know what you want?" He hesitated a little bit. "Umm...yeah." "Ok, guy, I'm a-listenin'." "Chicken Fried Steak, mashed potatoes, extra gravy..." Arlen trailed off as he looked at me. I smiled as I stood there with my order pad in my hand and pencil poised to capture every detail. "Well, I'll start with that." A little over an hour later, Jennifer and I stood in the kitchen peering out at Arlen in his booth. My heart was doing flip-flops, and I almost lost it when Jennifer patted my shoulder. "Should I go out there and poke him to see if he's done?" she offered. Not only had Arlen eaten the monster Chicken Fried Steak dinner, but he had also gone on to tackle the barbecued chicken special, a half-pound bacon cheeseburger with fries, a full order of onion rings, and sucked down a giant strawberry milkshake. "He does look full, doesn't he?" It was such an understatement that we had to muffle our giggling outburst. Arlen was sprawled back in his bench seat with his belly ballooned out to the table, somewhat able to breathe, but mostly just trying to be comfortable despite his enormously gorged belly. "Looks like he should be rolled off to the nearest couch." "Maybe connect him up to a nice big beer keg and pump cold brew into his belly until it's really bloated...turn his belly into a really tall mountain." She looked at me kind of funny. "Well, right now you'd better go ask him what he wants for dessert." Arlen seemed anxious for my return. As he shifted his amply padded bubblebutt around in the booth, his belly bumped the table edge several wonderful times. His middle had grown into the most perfect round firm bumper. "Hey Brian. I was beginning to wonder if you'd deserted me." "Desert you, Arlen? I could never desert you. Dessert you, of course. Speaking of which..." He hesitated again. "Is there something wrong?" "Umm. Well, I need to tell you something." "Ok." "Privately." "We can go back to the restroom, it has a lock." Arlen let out an extremely deep belch as he hoisted his weighty ass out of the booth. All of that food had filled his belly up so much that it stuck out like a torpedo in front of him. His jeans looked due to necessitate popping a second button, and I was even more grateful for his choice of the mesh half-shirt which showcased his gut like a gold picture frame. He motioned for me to go in front of him, so I led the way; I was reluctant to give up his rear view. I flicked on the light by the door as I walked in, and Arlen closed the door behind him. I heard the door lock click. Feeling his strong arms go around my waist, I turned towards him as he guided me over against the wall. Arlen pushed me flush against the wall with his firm round bellyful, squeezing the air out of me. My face flushed as my heart pumped blood faster and faster through my veins; my hands instinctively traveled up to his broad shoulders. Arlen's face seemed to float towards mine as our heads tilted naturally to facilitate the liplock that ensued. I felt absorbed by this big full beefy hunk as he pushed against me harder, relaxing his distended gut more and more. Feeling completely high, I relaxed myself; Arlen's tongue ventured almost forcefully deep inside my mouth, and I could taste strawberry from his milkshake. He framed my face with his strong hands as my hands ventured to his budding love handles. I gave each a good squeeze, finding each to be a good firm handful. As I massaged his fattened love handles, he shifted his attentions to my ear and drove me insane with his adventurous tongue. Our after dinner delight had reached a feverish pitch, and the hot smell of pre-cum and sweat filled the air as we heated up the small room. It had been a hot summer day, and there was the hot, dry taste of dust that lingered in the air; the only humidity around appeared to be right there with us. Breathlessly I whispered up to his ear. "I know what you like, Arlen..." Gently I turned him around, pulling his strong back against the upper part of my chest. My hands drifted down from his erect nipples onto his big swollen belly, traveling in circles over the expanse of hunkgut. His regularly spaced satisfied belches told me that he enjoyed my practiced massage, and he rested his head back against mine. "Wow, Arlen, feels like you really enjoyed your dinner tonight. The skin on your belly is stretched tight like a drumskin. I should rub some lotion or butter onto my big round guy's gut to keep it supple." I kissed the back of his neck. A knock on the door startled both of us. "You about done in there?" a deep voice asked from the other side. I covered Arlen's mouth with my hand before he could answer. "Just about." Both of us dashed for the sink and began splashing water on our faces. Trying to look as calm as possible, we opened the door and passed the large bellied trucker leaning against the wall with his legs crossed. "What the hell were you doing in there?" he asked in an impatient tone. Arlen and I looked at each other. I looked at the fat trucker and answered "...washing our hands." "For fifteen minutes?!" "We were very dirty." Then we both turned to leave, trying not to burst out laughing. Arlen reinstalled himself in his booth, resting his big round belly against the table edge as he assumed his favorite position. He just looked up at me and gave me a Cheshire grin. "Can I get you any dessert?" "I dunno. I just had something pretty sweet that would be hard to top." "You can have more of that later. As much as you want. But for right now, would you like a piece of pie?" "Sure." He said, nodding his head slowly in a self-assured way that sent tingles up and down my spine. Jennifer intercepted me on the way into the kitchen and dragged me back to a corner. "What the hell were you two doing in that bathroom? That trucker came out of there complaining that it was like a sauna in there." I just looked at her and smiled. She gasped and stated emphatically: "You are bad." "What possible excuse can I offer? When I'm good, I'm bad. When I'm bad, I'm better." "Well, you've just made out with a gorgeous guy in the diner's restroom. Now what're you going to do?" "Get him a piece of pie!" We laughed. "What? Like DisneyLand has rides that even compare. Silly girl." Arlen didn't seem to mind me bringing him generous slice after slice of homemade pie from the kitchen. As his belly continued to swell with tantalizing wedges of caloric dessert and glasses of milk, he became more and more stuck in his booth with his increasing depth. He appeared to enjoy the apple the most, and Shirley was cursing me at feeding the entire thing to him. "Now there won't be any for the other customers," she complained. "At least you can't say that it went to waste." She went over to the counter and peered over at where Arlen sat filling his booth with overstuffed belly. Arlen had sprawled himself again, spreading his legs wide and resting his arms across the ledge grown from his protuberant belly. Although she'd seen her share of round guys, she still appeared to be impressed. "Holy cow. He's getting fat!" "Just think. That's all of your cooking in there, Shirley. He could be the poster boy for the diner." "If he gets any bigger, we could post a billboard on his belly!" "Now see...that apple pie went for a good cause." "Along with half the coconut cream, a piece of rhubarb, a piece of cherry, a piece of pecan," Shirley rattled off on her fingers, "oh, and I believe there were two pieces of pumpkin, too." "Well, almost. The pumpkin pie was for another table." "What restraint!" "Nah, that had nothing to do with it. He got full." "Couldn't stuff any more into that pregnant belly of his, eh?" "Pretty much. I'd better go check on him." Arlen looked up at me from his slouched position and slapped his belly. "Check, please." We both laughed at the situation. I reached over and rested my hand atop his firm round bulge. Slowly I let my hand venture over the curved surface; Arlen was so gorged with food that his belly seemed immovable. "I seem to have lost your check, Arlen." I kept thumping his belly like it were a watermelon. "Besides, it doesn't seem fair to charge you by the entree or dessert. Charging you by weight or size would seem more reasonable. You know, weigh you in or measure your belly, and then do the same on the way out. Charge you a flat fee per pound or inch gained." "More like a fat fee. I can't believe how much weight I've gained in the last couple of months. I'm really starting to get fat!" "Well, I don't mind it at all. You look hot to me, guy." "Thanks, but I should probably get back to the gym. God, it's been months since I've been there. The guys probably think I died or something. Why don't you come with me tomorrow?" "Ok, that sounds good. I don't have to work, and hey-- I can make you that homecooked meal we talked about on Friday." "Cool." "So, what do you want, Arlen?" "Anything. I'll eat anything." "Sure. I'm counting on it," I told him, patting his luxurious expanse of studbelly. "So, that's tomorrow. What time do you get off tonight?" "Around the same time you get to my apartment. See you at ten?" "No question." Part Six Immediately I began to wonder if Arlen's workout shorts should have had a load limit posted on the tag inside the spandex waistband. Of course, spandex is built to stretch, but one can only wonder for how far and how long. There was nothing left to the imagination as far as Arlen's anatomy was concerned once he pulled up those glistening black shorts to ride below his fattened ball of muscle belly. You could tell for sure he enjoyed the fit by his semi-hard dick that announced itself with a detailed outline under the stressed material. Arlen painted on an old tee-shirt that more than adequately dumped belly out of the front of it and then stood there ready to go out to the workout area. "Are you ready?" he asked me. "You bet." We both walked out of the locker room and made our way to the free weight section where there was a grunting and sweating group of well-developed guys. The flat bench press was free, so Arlen led the way over to that as our first workout station. As I took another peek around, I noticed that the guys in the gym ranged from plain beefy to very well-fed, and I fought the constant urge to rub my crotch to tame my perpetual erection. Arlen decided to take his reps first, and he slowly positioned himself under the bar after I'd placed a 45lb weight on each side for his warm-up. One of the guys over at the dumbbell rack seemed very interested in the way that Arlen's belly button poked out of his mercilessly stretched old tee-shirt. Even lying on his back, Arlen's solidly muscled belly pushed up in the air like a tall round mountain majestically rising from a plain. While Arlen tossed the ninety-plus pounds up and down in the air like a bag of popcorn, the inquisitive young guy swaggered over our way brimming with self-confidence. He waited for Arlen to set the weight back down before planting his hand on the exposed part of Arlen's fattened belly and thumping it several times. "Well, well, well...what do we have here?" Arlen lifted his head up and gazed at the guy. "Josh, how the hell are ya?" Arlen's eyes shifted to the guy's middle, which protruded like he'd swallowed a basketball. Arlen sat up and slapped the guy's belly in a mutual belly admiration ritual. "Great! God, I haven't seen you around here for a long time. Where the hell have you been?" Josh asked him, not giving up on poking or patting Arlen's belly for even one minute, "And what have you been feeding this thing?" "Oh, lots of stuff. And how about this, Josh?" Arlen slid his hand under Josh's overhanging belly and gently bounced it up and down. "Oh yeahhhh, all married and fat now, dude." Josh reported, running his hands under his belly and shaking it a little, but Josh continued to gaze upon Arlen's welldeveloped midsection with interest. "So, that wife of yours is some good cook, huh?" Arlen queried, liking the solid controlled way Josh's belly shook under his hand. "Feeds me like a prize hog...it would have been hard for me to grow a gut like this alone..." Josh paused and put his hand back down on Arlen's big round belly and shook him from side to side. "What's your excuse, big guy? You've blown up quite the big fat belly since I saw you in here last. Hey Todd, come here a minute!" Arlen twisted his head in the direction in which Josh had spoke, and watched as another one of his former workout buddies approached with widened eyes. Todd was no lightweight himself, and was somewhere between just-beginning-to-gain and where Josh had congratulated himself on a job well done. "Whoa...Arlen?!" Todd played uncertain of their acquaintance with a pleased look on his face. I stepped out of the way to the end of the bench as Josh and Todd took up positions on either side of the still-reclined Arlen. "Hey Todd." Josh leaned over again and thumped Arlen's firm round belly. "Look at the size of this guy's belly. Go ahead-- feel this plump fucker!" Todd leaned over to take over where Josh had left off. Todd did a pretty thorough job in surveying Arlen's fattened gut with his hands, and I could see by the increasing pump on Arlen's cock that he enjoyed the attention. "Man, you're a fat boy now, Arlen. Nice gut, big guy," Todd moved his head around for different angles, "you've gotten b-i-g since I last saw you!" While Arlen had been quiet during his "critique", he broke his silence with a deepseated belch that had been stirred loose from all of the belly rubbing he'd received. "Ooof." "Excuse me! Yeah, I've been putting on some weight," Arlen told them, "too much food and beer." "Oh come on, there's no such thing as too much food and beer. Just gotta keep buildin' onto your belly to make sure you have room for it all, right, Todd?" Josh asked, taking a poke across the extra-beefy Arlen at Todd's reserved little belly. "Yep, it's an ongoing project. Some guys are more ahead than others, right, Josh?" Todd returned Josh's belly poke, exaggerating the depth in which his finger sank. "Yeah, well, we just need to find you a woman that'll strap you to a chair and force feed you until you've got some respectable ballast there in front." "So, what's your secret of success there, Arlen?" "I dunno. Just have had a big appetite lately, and I spent about a month in Italy." "Italy? What happened to that big construction job outside of town?" "I'm still there; I just got sent to Italy for something else." "So. A month of Italian food. That must have been pretty awesome, huh?" Josh asked, not able to resist thumping Arlen in the gut. "Night after night of huge bellyfuls. I was always ready to split out of my clothes like some big fat caterpillar." "Cool...I know what you mean about the caterpillar thing," Josh patted his belly as he spoke, "my wife and I went out to dinner the other night and she made me dress up. She made me squeeze into one of my old fitted dress shirts and a tie to go eat at this banquet for one of her organizations. I was like totally surprised when I found out it was buffet style and you could keep going back for more, so I did-- like five times. And it's like turkey, ham, roast beef, and mashed potatoes, so picture that my gut is like completely bloated about twice its size and sends one of the shirt buttons flying off into space. Believe me when I say I was *solid*. My tie covered it, but it was so obvious I was like seriously ready to bust at the seams. My wife kept poking me in the belly and handing me more desserts all night-- good thing there was plenty of beer so I didn't get too embarrassed." "That's quite a story," I spoke up. "Oh, sorry, you haven't met Brian!" Arlen grunted as he sat up on the bench. "Josh, Todd, this is Brian." We all said the 'hi, nice to meet you's and shook hands. They still looked at me like they weren't sure what to think, and I still looked at them with lust. "Well, we better get back to work here..." Josh tapped Todd on the shoulder and they were off. "Nice guys," I said. "Yeah." Arlen soon grew tired from the exertion of continually getting up and sitting himself back down. The weights were heavy, but nothing compared in effort to maneuvering his newfound bulk around a confined space. It seemed that Josh and Todd were never too far away, and ended up in the locker room at the same time we did. Arlen and I both showed miraculous restraint in the shower, as our cocks remained at a half-salute while they longed to be full-staff and bobbing up and down. When all was washed and done, part of the most interesting show in the locker room was Josh applying his clothing. While Arlen was putting on his brand-new pair of 40" Levi's and buttoning them up with moderate effort, Josh toiled at mating the buttons of his faded old pair of 501's; the crinkled patch on his waistband read 34" and removed all doubt concerning the age of his favorite denims. The padding of Josh's bubblebutt contributed to the level of effort required to button his jeans, but the main obstacle facing the top two buttons was pure solid belly. Still shirtless, Josh took a breather from getting his jeans buttoned all the way up and strutted around the locker area. Sucking copious amounts of air in and inflating his fat belly into a taut ball, he marched up to Todd and bounced his well-rounded belly against Todd's arm. "Arlen, look at this. Josh can't get his jeans buttoned around his fat belly!" Josh puffed his cheeks and shook his ass over to Arlen. Josh kept his belly inflated big as he pushed it into Arlen's bigger mass of well-developed table muscle. Josh let the air out in a burst as Arlen reached over and pushed in firmly against the married guy's belly. "C'mon, Arlen. Let's go out tonight and stuff ourselves," he said authoritatively. "That's a great idea, but..." Arlen looked over at me knowing that we had already made plans for the evening. Josh cast a look in my direction, "Oh, sure, your friend can come too!" I smiled at Arlen and he knew it was fine with me. "Sure! What place did you have in mind?" The line for the buffet was long, and it was to be expected that the kitchen staff was put behind in getting enough pizzas out on the lengthy expanse of counter. I still remembered Arlen's deep voice quietly suggesting Little Big Men's pizza 'n stuff buffet followed by quick acceptance from Josh and Todd both. Fresh hot pizza seemed to disappear from the three hunks' plates like a summer rain evaporates off pavement. Competition was fierce as hungry glances shot around the table in thinly veiled attempts of psyching out the eager contenders for the table's eating title. Slice after slice of pizza slid down waiting gullets lubricated by a constant stream of ice cold keg beer. Arlen decided to make things interesting by grabbing a heaping plate full of spaghetti and meatballs; Josh and Todd were incented to dish themselves the same. Arlen's gorgeous round belly continued to swell seductively beyond his new 40" jeans, ripe and ready for the most formidable competition. Clad in another old tee-shirt that he appeared to have fished from some deep dark depths of a forgotten closet, Arlen was putting the old seams to the test. The hem had slowly inched its way up to bare sinfully tanned belly as he'd inhaled pizza, and now piles of pasta. Josh had never gotten those last two buttons to reach on his painted-on 501's, and was thankful for the extra room it afforded his aggressive appetite. With most of a large pizza, a pitcher of beer, and a pound of spaghetti packed into his belly, Josh nursed his swollen gut with a protective rubbing hand as he got up again to go back for more. Todd had surprised me and probably everyone else with his capacity; his beginning belly had much more than a beginner's bulge. He got up right behind Josh and slid his hand around under Josh's heavily protruding belly. "All right, Sausage Boy, ready to give up?" Josh had to only reach down from where he stood to thump Arlen's well-fed belly. "Like I'm even competition for *this* behemoth. I don't care...I'm gonna keep eatin' anyway." Todd tried to pull up on Josh's tight gut, coaxing a startled grunt from the fattened hunk. "Jeez, Josh. Where are you puttin' all of this food? Your gut feels like a rock now!" Josh laughed as he turned to slip Todd's hand off of his gut to latch on to Todd's modestly grown bulge. He heartily smacked Todd's belly to sound out how thick and full it had become, noting "not bad, Todd, not bad." Sometime after we'd decided to adjourn to Arlen's apartment for more beer and sometime before Josh and Todd had reached their upper limit, it was agreed that we would play 'pizzabelly roulette' to determine who was buying the beer with Arlen being our gambling instrument. Each one of us would go get Arlen a slice of pizza, and at the point he couldn't pack any more in and quit on that piece, the person who brought that piece would get to buy the beer for the evening. After the first time around the table, Arlen's belches were getting louder as he began to chew slower and slower. Arlen was happily gobbling down the pieces I brought him, but teased Josh and Todd with their pieces as he put his hand down and let his eyes glaze over in ultimate over-satisfaction. Josh got anxious about being stuck with buying the beer and began talking to Arlen's belly. "Come on, s-t-r-e-t-c-h!! I know you can do it...just another swallow..." Arlen's incredibly bloated belly stuck out distantly in front of him, and he was so languidly reclined in his chair that I thought he'd break the back off of it. It wasn't until another complete large pizza had been successfully stowed away in Arlen's titanic tummy that he proclaimed himself 'full'. Josh was over at Arlen's side at that point, being that Arlen was attempting to finish engulfing the piece he'd brought, massaging the firmly gorged belly and egging him on. I thought that Josh would shove the rest down Arlen's throat forcefully at that point, but he gave up a good-natured laugh as he "won". "Nope, no more, Josh," Arlen breathed. "One more bite and you'll see what happens to a balloon when you blow it up with too much air." Todd leaned forward with awe towards Arlen, "My God. I can't believe how big your gut is, Arlen." Actually, no one could, but everyone was convinced that it was time for more beer. "OK then, let's stop at the Safeway on the way to Arlen's place." "Let's do it," Josh said, scratching his overstuffed belly THE END
Joining The Force By Bear Trainer Rico knew he was fucked as soon as he heard the siren, pulling over and breaking into a full-fledged flopsweat. No way was he going to get away from this traffic stop without being hauled in. He and Joe had been toking the new stuff he had gotten from upstate all night, smoke with one fucking powerful kick to it, which naturally meant round about now, at 2 a.m., his belly ached from the enormous quantities of munchies they had consumed while sacked out in front of the tube—starting with nachos, progressing on to two full-out pepperoni pizzas, one each, and then the two of them polishing off a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream like a pair of hogs. All Rico wanted to do was go home and sleep off the major buzz he had, literally lifting his belly up with hands to get in the car. And he thought he was being careful, going right on the limit, but there it was anyway, the flashing light, and Rico knew he was probably going to be sleeping off both the buzz and the binge in the holding tank downtown. In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of what looked like a mountain in a uniform approaching him, a tough-looking Italian cop, wearing mirror shades and carrying a big old nightstick. All the cops in town were Italian, thanks to Mafia connections and departmental politics, and they were also known for being mean sons-of-bitches, especially to Hispanics and blacks. Rico had been through this drill enough in high school, he just turned toward the wall without asking, spread his legs and stood still. “Good man,” he heard from behind him. “That’s what I like, in my boys. Obedience.” The cop’s voice was deep and self-satisfied. He enjoyed his work. “You been drinking, boy?” Rico shook his head. “No, sir. Have not.” The cop started running his hands over Rico, frisking him, but between the buzz, the full belly and the cold night air, he found himself breathing up sharply as the policeman’s rough, meaty hands grabbed his tits, fondled his belly and pinched his love handles, patting down Rico’s soft thighs and ending with a big swat on both of his cheeks. “Well, at least, y’ain’t packing. Makes my job simpler.” Rico could smell the cop’s breath on his neck, coffee, doughnuts, cinnamon and sugar, and thinking that the frisking was over, Rico gasped when the big Italian unexpectedly shoved his hand under Rico’s shirt, grabbed a handful of bellyfat and started to laugh. “Unless you count the pounds you’ve been packing on here, big guy. But you ain’t the only one with that problem. . .” In the half-darkness, Rico didn’t dare move but suddenly he felt a large warm sensation on his lower back and ass, puzzling at first, but then suddenly it all fell into place when he felt the big Italian erect nipples grazed his shoulder blades and fleshy moustachioed lips started whispering in his ear. “Are you?” Rico was stiff as a board and shifted from side to side, trying to make room for his hard cock without taking his hands off the wall, all the while the fat Italian cop was pressing his bulk into him from behind. “Oh man, what do you want?” he managed to bleat out, trying to sound respectful, but knowing that this was going to be a traffic stop like none other. How did this cop know his secret, that he spent his days lusting after fat men, dreaming about something like this, hoping his his friend Joe would blimp up huge and hot just like this policeman? The Italian’s lips brushed again against Rico’s earlobe and Rico could feel the guy lifting up Rico’s T-shirt and opening his own shirt, so their two big overfed bodies could rub each other in the night air. “I know you been doping, buddy. You stink of it. So does your car, which was wandering all over the road. So this is the deal. You get to go home if. . . .” The cop stopped and started licking Rico’s neck. Rico moaned, involuntarily reaching behind him and feeling the huge thighs of the man who was pinning him against the wall. “If what, man?” “If you manage to feed me enough to make me say uncle.” “What do you mean?” “I love to eat and the guys are always giving me shit about it. So I figure I could use a little help. You feed me enough tonight to make me full, really full, like so full I can’t move, and I won’t say nothing about what I saw. That’s the deal, big guy.” Rico was trembling, half from fear—after all this Italian must weigh close to 400 pounds with a belly that looked like he could spend a week feeding without getting close to full capacity—but half from undeniable, pathetic lust. He found himself babbling, telling the cop he’d do anything, they’d hit every fast food joint and all-night diner in town, he’d take him home and bake him anything, they’d clean out every 7-11 from here to the border. “Sure, man, anything. I’ll feed you anything you want, as much as you want.” “That’s ‘officer’ to you, boy.” The cop tried to sound stern, but Rico could feel the fat man start shaking from laughter, and between his own asscheeks, a huge cop dick was rubbing incessantly. For all his gruffness, he held Rico’s own soft mantits in an incessant, gentle caress, like he was used to fondling breasts from this position, and Rico started to fantasize what it would be like to under this enormous man, getting fucked, being played with and used like a gainerboy toy. “I’ll feed you, officer. I’ll feed you. I don’t care how long it takes. Whatever. I’ll make you happy. Promise. Promise, officer.” “Like I said, I like that in a boy. Obedience.” The cop reached around and grabbed Rico’s swollen basket, kneading it like a lump of dough. “And tonight, sweetcheeks, Officer Marullo could eat a fucking horse, so you got your work cut out for you. Hear me?” Rico didn’t fully appreciate the size of the man until they had both gotten in the patrol car. Even with the seat thrust all the way back, Marullo had to squirm into the car back first and then carefully manage his enormous stomach around till he was facing front, his huge hairy arms reaching around that magnificent gut to reach the steering wheel. He hadn’t buttoned up his shirt, so the furry maw spilled out everywhere, arranging itself into hefty rolls of flesh, crowned on top by two mantits with dark protruding nipples. The big cop obviously got off on his size, because he never stopped rubbing himself, massaging the sides of his belly from the back to the front, occasionally letting a hand stray up to one of those big nipples and tugging on it absent-mindedly. Of course, the intimacy of the space was increased by the fact that the cop took up most of the seat, between his huge shoulders and wide butt, and even though sitting on the passenger side, Rico’s arms were occasionally grazed by the big cop’s love handles and forearms. The pungent masculinity of Marullo’s sweat filled the squad car and made Rico’s head spin. “Need a boy like you. Have for some time.” The cop gave Rico a sweet smile laced with a subtle threat and with the same sort of absent-mindedness with which he was fondling himself, Marullo grabbed some of Rico’s flab and started playing with it. “See, they’ve got these new weight requirements at the department and the new chief thinks he’s going to get me down to 250 or some shit like that. But it ain’t gonna happen. No way. This size is my strength. Took me years of serious eating to get here and I ain’t letting some candy-ass from the academy take my strength away. But they’re making it hard.” Rico tried to breathe regularly but found himself gasping at how turned on he was. Particularly in the semi-darkness, the sound of the officer’s voice was seductive and, still buzzed from the dope, Rico just leaned back and listened. “Always been on the 12 to 8 shift, which was great, you know. Not much happening. Plenty of time to hit the all-night places. They all know me, you know, give me what I want. It’s kind of like a contest with me for them—see who can feed Marullo best, you know. Cheesecake. Pies. Pastries. Burgers. You name it, all I used to have to do was pull up in front anywhere in town here. But that fucking prick’s got to ‘em.” Rico shook his head. “What do you mean?” “What I said. He got to them. Heard from the waitress down at the Empire Diner that he was going to get the health department on any or all of them if he even heard they were giving out free food to anyone in the department.” The cop turned the ignition and pulled out onto Greebrook Road. “First they were going to put me on bike patrol, which I got the union to fight. Prickhead actually said that he thought it’d do me some good, work some of this fat off. Fuck him. But now this. Marullo’s no dummy, though. That’s where you come in.” The Italian looked incredibly handsome when he smiled, thick black moustache framing his sexy mouth. “They didn’t say nothing about giving free food away to anyone else, did they?” With a rough gesture, he yanked up Rico’s shirt and gave the young Latino’s gut a big daddypat. “So that’s the story, baby. For tonight, you’re going to be go getting my eats for me, you’re going to be my feeder, boy. Worse things I could do to keep your big old Hispanic ass out of jail, but that’s all I want for tonight. Maybe I’ll even share some o’ my food. And from the looks of you, I’d guess you’d like that, huh?” He kept patting Rico’s belly, laughing slyly under his breath while Rico squirmed on the seat. “First stop,” Marullo announced, pulling along the side of Angelfluff Donuts. “Marie in there should have a dozen or so apple fritters and chocolate covered crullers all set in a bag. Get a coupla cups of coffee, too, while you’re at it. Lots of sugar and cream.” The butch cop licked his lips lasciviously. “I like my cream.” Rico tried to pull his shirt down and look presentable, but he was soaked in sweat, and Marie, a very pretty middle-aged brunette, gave Rico a wink and Marullo a wave through the window as she handed over the bag and the coffees. “Shame what they are doing to that man. I don’t know what this world is coming to.” The rich aroma of the fresh fritters and melting chocolate made Rico’s own stomach grumble and, as they pulled over to a shady spot, Marullo left the engine running but turned the lights out. “So where are them treats you got Daddy? You going to be a tease, feederboy?” Rico’s fingers were trembling with desire as he pulled the first pastry out and lifted it up to the fatcop’s open mouth. “That’s right, baby. That’s the way you treat your daddy, isn’t it? Make daddy happy. Give him his food. Treat him like a king. Make him fat. Make him strong.” Marullo had closed his eyes and leaned back, savoring the sweetness, rubbing his huge stomach, occasionally darting his tongue out and licking off Rico’s sugar-coated fingers, moaning and sighing as each one of the pastries went down the gullet with a bite or two. Rico couldn’t believe how easily this cop was putting away a bag of baked goods, like they were a handful of potato chips, and with a big loud slurp, Marullo knocked back most of the coffee and let out a belch. “Man, just what I needed to start myself off. You hungry, boy?” When the cop turned his intense gaze at Rico, the young man didn’t really know how to open his mouth, and Marullo bust out laughing at the sight of him. “Hell, bubba, I ain’t going to eat you. You can say yes, you can tell your copdaddy that it turns you on, it’s OK. Believe me, I understand. I mean, look at you now, my man. You’re wearing your own extra 40 or so, aincha? Couple of years and you’re going to be a big old fatman like me. Huh? Huh?” Marullo rooted around in the bag and took out the last chocolate cruller, wiping the end of it carefully on the bottom of the bag where the chocolate had collected and then holding it in his paw, teased Rico with it, rubbing the dripping end of it all over Rico’s mouth. “It’s OK, you can tell me you want it. You can lick it off.” The cop leaned over close to Rico and grinned. “Or you want Daddy to lick it off you?” Almost out of his mind with excitement, Rico opened his mouth and the moment he felt the big long cruller go in, he suddenly felt his hips and buttocks start to clench, aware immediately that his cock was being stroked through his skin-tight jeans by Marullo’s expert hand and that he was being brought off almost against his will. He tried to cry out, but his mouth was full and so all he could do really was throw himself against the bulk of the near-naked cop and ride the wave of pleasure. “That’s right. Let yourself go. Let daddy do it. You know you’ve wanted this. You know you have. Let it go, babyboy. Feed and cum. Feed—“ Marullo pushed the last bit of the pastry into Rico’s mouth—“and cum”—he pushed his whole hairy forearm between Rico’s legs, letting the youngman hump it wildly. It took a long while for Rico to catch his breath, the whole world spinning around, and the first thing he was aware of was Marullo chuckling in his ear. “Well, boy, guess you’re going to have a fun night, if you gotta cum every time you feed me. Because we got plenty of stops yet to make. Charlie at the diner has my chilidogs ready just about now, usually makes them with a couple of big fucking orders of onion rings and crispy fries. You know, those crispy fries, curls of potato, real spicy. I like them a lot, and you are going to feed them to me one by one, aincha, boy? Maybe get you to kiss each and every one of them before you put them into my hungry Italian mouth. I think I’d like that. Gesture of respect. And all that does is get me ready for the pizza Vito’s got waiting. Mmm-mmm. Hope you like big old slabs of pepperoni, ham and sausage on your double cheese Sicilian. Maybe we’ll get two tonight and see how far you get. Yeah, that’s an idea. Eat a pizza—beat the rap.” Marullo bust out laughing at the joke. “And we gotta have our milkshakes afterward. I love the way Ginny does them down there at the Tasty-Freeze. Don’t you? Aren’t you wearing a couple of those milkshakes around here, chubbyboy?” The cop dug his fingers down the back of Rico’s jeans and pinched the round tops of his asscheeks. “Yup, feels like a pair of TastyFreeze milkshakes to me. Yup, it do.” Rico groaned and looked at the clock on the dashboard. It read 3:08 a.m. He had cum once already. His crotch was soaked. His cock was still stiff as a board, and all the first load seemed to do was make Rico even hornier. Not that Marullo seemed to mind. He wasn’t letting up one bit, in fact, he could see the big cop’s nipples and cock swell even larger with every word, his eyes glittering like headlights every time he mentioned something else he was going to eat—ice cream, pound cake, cannoli, meatball sandwich—something else he was going to feed Rico. But Marullo caught him looking at the clock. “Hey, baby, you better relax and enjoy the ride. I got you till 8 a.m. And you know what that means, doncha? Means, it’s going to be a long fucking night.” It was better than jail, that was for damn sure. But Rico just hoped he’d still fit into his jeans by the end of it. Had Rico known the effect of that night, he might have opted for jail on a charge of possession, because the aftermath was far worse than a night in the drunktank and a court date. Marullo was faithful to his word and kept Rico frantically busy the whole night, running from watering hole to watering hole like his buttboy. By the end of it all, between the almost intolerable quantities of food the fat cop had eaten, the repeated forced orgasms he demanded Rico produce at random intervals throughout the night, and his constant running commentary, Rico was dropped off at his car in the dim light of the morning pretty much out of his mind with food, sex and domination. He sat, his eyes glazed, his mouth open and drooling, for at least a half hour in front of his steering wheel before he pulled himself together and drove to his apartment. It was home that the effect of Marullo’s treatment became clear. Thinking he’d want to run into the bathroom, strip down and take a long hot shower, throw his cum-stained jeans and T-shirt reeking of grease and sweat into the washing machine and get rid of the whole sordid evening, Rico found himself instead wandering slowly into his bedroom and standing in front of the mirror, just looking at himself in a daze in the deadly quiet of his empty apartment. With his belly hanging out of his open jeans, stuffed so full of the night’s eats that his brown skin was pulled taut and shiny, his navel gaping wide, he took off his shirt and raised it to his face. Marullo’s funky thick stench was still over all it, and burying his face in this smell like an animal, sniffing, licking, snorting, Rico watched himself jerk off in the mirror, as if he were watching someone else, some overweight Latino slob with jiggly tits and fat dark uncut prick, and when he came for the fifth time in almost as many hours, he looked at his own reflection in shock, mouthing the words “Marullo” before collapsing on the bed and passing out from fatigue, pants still on, clutching the filthy T-shirt in both hands. His sleep was fitful and disturbed by relentlessly erotic dreams—serving huge swarthy powerful men, tending to their every bodily need, giving himself over to their power, control, greed and lust—visions of his most secret, forbidden fantasies becoming irretrievably mixed with memories of the evening he had just spent. As the line between consciousness and unconsciousness became blurred, it was the next morning, a full 24 hours later, when the sharp ring of the phone in the living room finally brought him to full awareness. He stumbled out of his bedroom, realizing that he was naked somehow, though he didn’t remember undressing, acutely aware of how hungry he was. It was Joe. “Whassup, man? Where you been? I was about to call the police. Pops is hopping mad. We got a shitload to do down here.” Rico peered at the clock and made an attempt to sound cool. “What are you talking about? It’s only 5 o’clock in the morning. I don’t have to be at the shop for another 3 hours.” “What the fuck are you talking about, Rico? It ain’t 5 in the morning. It’s fucking five in the afternoon. You missed the whole fucking day of work!” Joe didn’t sound pissed as much as worried, clipping the words under his breath, as if Pops were in earshot of the conversation. “Oh man that’s terrible,” he then said with a false politeness and holding the phone away, Rico could hear him saying, “Yeah, Pops, he’s been in the hospital all night. Real bad case of food poisoning. Just got home.” Then back to Rico, in that intense tone of voice, Joe asked quickly, “You want me to come over? You okay? What happened?” The magnitude of it all stunned Rico into a long silence. There was no way he could tell Joe—tell anyone—what had happened. “Nah, I’m fine. It’s just that dope we smoked really fucked me up. I just woke up.” Joe whistled. “I’ll say it fucked you up. You better be here tomorrow, man, or I ain’t going to be able to cover for you. You sound like shit, man. You sure you don’t need me to come over? I could bring a few burgers and a six pack. Help you kick back.” Suddenly Rico’s head was swimming again, cock erect and demanding at the mere mention of the food and the sight of a huge hairy powerful Italian copbelly covered his vision. “No, no, Joe. I’m cool. Really. I’m cool. I’ll go over my mom’s tonight, she’ll gimme dinner. Don’t worry. I’ll be there tomorrow.” But Rico didn’t go over to his mom’s that night. Instead, he stumbled into the kitchen, pulling on his wet dick the whole time, flung open the refrigerator door and began to eat whatever he could lay his hands on. A few cartons of leftover Chinese food were there and scooping out the food with his hands he ate voraciously, the long strands of the chowmein sliding down his throat deliciously, the cold plump nuggets of chicken and pork salty and rich, and with slow long licks, he sucked every one of his greasy fingers clean and started in on the egg foo yung that was there, mechanically shoving the food in while playing with himself, the cold air of the refrigerator making his nipples stand up and beg for attention. It felt so good to binge like this, he had dreamt for years and years of finding this kind of freedom to just let go, just give himself whatever he wanted, let himself feel the full pleasure of pigging out, but the whole time he saw one man in front of him and heard only one name ringing again and again in his ears. He shuddered his way into an orgasm right there on the kitchen floor the moment he smelt the sweet cream of the coconut custard pie, and then not a minute later, having scarfed the pie down in a swift four gulps, Rico brought himself off again a second time, this time sinking to his knees weakly and mumbling a single word, at once a prayer, a complaint and a sigh: “Marullo.” The fat Italian cop became Rico’s sole obsession that week. Every part of the huge man’s body passed repeatedly in front of Rico’s eyes—the swollen gut, the wide asscheeks, the thin-lipped butch mouth, the thick jabbing fingers, the spill of his flesh around his waist—and the sound of Marullo’s deep voice calling Rico his “feederboy,” his “chubster,” his “fatguy,” accompanied Rico wherever and whatever he did. It was so bad that Rico found himself unable to leave the house, using Joe’s spontaneous excuse of food poisoning to beg off work, one day, then the next and the next. It was food poisoning, all right, he comforted himself with this twist in the truth. Indeed, Rico couldn’t think about much else except food, except stuffing himself silly and jerking off, sometimes as many as a dozen times a day, and so by the end of the week, the jeans and T-shirt he had worn that momentous night were so encrusted with sperm that Rico wasn’t sure, even if he did wash them, that he’d ever get the smell of the obsession out of them. The erotic fever broke around Friday afternoon, and realizing he had spent most of the week humping the bed or in front of the refrigerator, he pulled himself together enough to throw open the drapes, let a little sunlight and fresh air into his apartment, and got himself into the shower where he took a good long hot soak under the jets. Maybe he’d give Joe a call tonight and see if he could come over. Or maybe he’d just go out to a movie by himself. Still feeling a little shaky but basically clear-headed, he toweled himself off and decided to put on his comfortable shorts and his white polo shirt. “Time to get the hell of here, give myself a little change of scenery,” he told himself, winking in the mirror. Slipping on the huge plaid cotton Bermudas, though, he went to fasten them and with a sudden jolt realized that the buttonhole and the button were at least two inches apart, a gap filled in with a big roll of extra flab. “No fucking way. There’s just no fucking way.” Waddling hurriedly into the bathroom, he stepped on the scale and gasping at the number, he just as hurriedly jumped off, leaning against the wall. The scale read 245. Last week he had weighed in at 231. Rico frantically tried to button the pants, sucking in his gut and pulling hard, and once buttoned breathed out only to feel the waistband bite into the reality of this week’s orgy of food and masturbation. He heard a voice in his head say, “You’re fat. You’re a fatboy. You’re my fatboy,” and the sound of it, the gruff tone, the clipped mocking words, made Rico take off the now-tiny shorts and fold them up carefully and put them away. He knew now that he was a goner. That there really was only one thing to do that night. For better or worse his fate had been decided. So he capitulated, feeling the hot rush of desire as he reached for the jeans and the T-shirt he had used all week long and would be using again tonight. He didn’t know how long he sat there in the darkness waiting. He had spent the drive here wondering if there might be a better way, but nothing had seemed right. He couldn’t very well just walk into the station and ask for Marullo. The phone book didn’t list him. He had thought briefly of maybe staking out the police station parking lot and following the cop home at the end of his shift, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand waiting that long. So in the end, after driving around a bit, finishing off a large bag of chocolate covered peanuts and a dozen donuts on the way, all washed down with half-and-half, his huge gut pressing against the bottom of the steering wheel, he waited till midnight rang on St. Jude’s belltower and pulled over to that spot off Greenbrook Road where it had all begun. And there he waited. So quietly, at first, Rico wasn’t sure if it was his overheated imagination still playing tricks on him or not, he saw someone pull in behind him in the rearview mirror, headlights off, the soft crunch of the gravel the only indication it was a car. A glint of blue and red in the moonlight let Rico relax and he leaned back the way you lean back at the top of a roller coaster, knowing the inevitable plunge into excitement is at hand. The footsteps he heard over the hum of the engine were heavy and deliberate, footsteps he had heard a thousand times that week in his mind, and as if in a trance, Rico rolled down his window. Saying nothing but smelling rich and powerful as he had before, damp and earthy, Marullo lifted his stomach and pushed it through the open window into Rico’s eager face. “This is what you want, isn’t it, feederboy? You dreamt of this gut, haven’t you? How many times did you come thinking about it? You want this huge powerful belly, don’t you?” Rico made love to Marullo’s belly with his face and hands, fastening his whole mouth on the deep navel and licking it, caressing the expanse of flesh with his fingertips and palms, kneeling on the seat sideways and moaning from the pleasure of it, feeling the mass of it, the power of it, in his hands. “Feel undernearth? Feel all that fresh fat? All soft? Feel it?” Rico ran his hands in the darkness over the tender underbelly. “That’s yours, feederboy. You put that on me. You made that flesh last week. You gonna help me again, baby? Huh? You gonna help your copdaddy get big and powerful some more.” Rico grunted a eager, “Yes, sir.” Marullo didn’t move, thrusting his belly a bit farther into Rico’s car through the window. “Suck on it. Lick it. Come on, make your copdaddy hot, feederboy. Better than a cock, isn’t it? Bigger and more powerful than any dick you ever sucked, isn’t it, cocksucker. Huh? What are you going to feed me tonight, baby? Tell your daddy.” “Donuts,” Rico said quickly, rubbing the sides of Marullo’s maw as if he were pulling it into his face. “Copdaddy loves donuts. What else?” Marullo’s voice was beginning to sound a little breathless. “Pizza. Sandwiches. Cookies.” Marullo started rubbing his crotch against the door of the car. “What kind of cookies?” “Chocolate chips. Big gooey chocolate chips.” “You thought of that all week long, didn’t you, piglet? Thought about feeding big fat Marullo soft gooey chocolate chips, making him fatter and fatter.” Rico’s car began to rock from the weight of the big cop humping his belly and cock. “You been feeding big, Rico? Getting fat? Getting fat like your copdaddy?” Rico thrust his hand down his pants and began to pull on himself. “Yes, sir. Want to get fat. Want to get huge. I want to be daddy. Big daddy.” Rubbing his face back and forth on Marullo’s stomach, he could feel little rivulets of the cop’s sweat coat his eyelids and lips. With his tongue he licked off the perspiration, kissing the matted fur of Marullo’s gut which was beginning to shake faster and faster. “I’m going to get you fat, Ricoboy. Show what it’s like to be a man, big man, powerful man. Worship my fat gut, feederboy. You sat here waiting for it. Take it. Make love to it. Show me. Come on,” and with a final huge thrust, Marullo crammed his hands through the window and pulled Rico face first into the sea of his bellyfat. Rico couldn’t breathe, his mouth and nose covered with Marullo’s gut, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he did suffocate. He wanted to pass out. Lose consciousness. Fall into this cop’s enormous stomach head first and never come out. Head swimming and eyes closed, he felt himself start spurt hot jets of cum into his own hands, abandoning himself fully to the moment. Locked like this for a long time, Rico’s face buried in Marullo’s stomach, the fat cop took his time, slowing down his thrusts against the side of the car now that he had cum, grunting in deep satisfaction. Then, in a flash, Rico found himself falling out of the car and into Marullo’s arms, as the cop unexpectedly opened the car door. “Oof! You’re a chunka meat these days, chubbyboy. Been packing on the pounds, I see,” Marullo chuckled goodnaturedly, picking up Rico under his arms like he was a doll and setting the poor, spent Latino guy on his feet in front of him. “How long you been waiting for me here?” As he spoke, Marullo’s hands wandered over Rico’s big soft body as if he owned him, and Rico offered no resistance. “I dunno. An hour or so, I guess,” Rico said sheepishly, looking down. “Had to have some more, didn’t you?” Marullo’s voice was sharp but comic, and he punctuated his comment by grabbing Rico by the love handles. “Look at me, boy. Had to get some more, didn’t you? Some more fatman?” Rico looked up into Marullo’s eyes from under his eyelashes. The cop was smiling jauntily, and his eyes glittered in the moonlight. “I did, sir. Yes, sir.” “So are you signing on?” Rico looked confused. “Signing on?” “To the department. Signing on. You know, as a rookie. I told everyone this week I was recruiting this Latino kid.” Marullo started twiddling Rico’s tits, holding them by the meaty nipples and just gently jiggling them, teasing the young man breathless. Rico tried to tell if Marullo was serious. “You’re shitting me. No way.” “Some mouth on you, feederboy. That the way you talk to your departmental sponsor?” The cop popped a big thumb in Rico’s mouth and stroked Rico’s tongue inside. “Suck on that and maybe you won’t swear so much. I’m not kidding you, nah. I thought it was a good idea. What do you got anyway, some shit job down at that machine shop on Broad Street. And you proved yourself quite an excellent partner last night and tonight. I thought it was a great idea. Problem is, I think you are a bit too overweight for the job. Specially after the way you been porking out this week. But I thought maybe I could take charge of your training, you know, watch your weight and your diet for you. What do you say?” Rico still couldn’t tell whether Marullo was kidding or not, but with the cop’s thumb in his mouth, his belly pinning him against the side of the car, he was at a loss for words. “Tell you what, feederboy. Why don’t you take some time to think about it? Wouldn’t want to jump into anything like this too suddenly. And besides, me and my buddies gotta still take care of that ballbusting chief, but we have a plan for that mother, forget about it. So how ‘bout this? We’ll call tonight your first official ride-along, you check it out, see if you want to be a cop, training’d be a snap for a big strong guy like you, especially with me standing over you, giving you the motivation and the know-how.” Marullo poked Rico in the belly and laughed. “I got know-how. Man, I got nothing but know-how, look at me, huh.” He took his thumb out of Rico’s mouth and licked it off with his own tongue. “Love the taste of fatboys. Hmmm, hmmm. Anyway, meanwhile, Marie’s going to be wondering what the fuck happened to me. You up for two dozen fritters tonight?” The cop turned and walked toward the patrol car, his tremendous buttocks shifting seductively in the skintight blue serge, before looking over his shoulder. “I ordered two dozen because I had a feeling you’d be here. Come on, rookie. You got some police work ahead of you tonight.” The sight of Marullo there, enormous, cocky, and confident, was so hot, that Rico didn’t even think before he took a couple of gulps and began to walk toward his seat on the right side of the squad car. “Yup, that’s what I like. Obedience. And a healthy appetite.” Marullo crammed himself into the front seat and reached over to flip open the door for Rico, his big soft mantits hanging down as the cop looked up. “Get in, feederboy. Fasten your seat belt and meet your destiny.” . . . It took Joe about a minute to take in the sight of him—after all he hadn’t seen him for nearly a week and a half—but when he did, his eyes grew wide and he let out a long involuntary whistle, like a bomb was falling. “Holy shit, Rico. Look the gut on you! Who the fuck knocked you up?” Marullo had discreetly dropped Rico off about two blocks down the street from the machine shop that Monday morning, and by the time Rico waddled into the back door of the shop, once loose cotton shorts now slung under his swollen belly, shirt riding up in front and back no matter how he pulled it down and tried to tuck it in, the aroma of sausage-egg-muffin andwiches and lemon poppyseed poundcake from Nina’s Country Kitchen still on his breath, Rico felt himself go red in the face, looking up at Joe sheepishly, wearing an idiotic grin. “You musta put on 20 pounds in the last two weeks, bud! How the hell are you going to sell Pops on the idea you had stomach troubles?” Joe had always been in excellent shape, a wiry soccer player who could eat anything and never gain an ounce, so he patted Rico’s stomach in disbelief, cocking his eyes toward the boss’s door. “You look you are carrying twins, man. What have you been doing?” Rico gulped, not knowing quite what to say. He hadn’t been home since Friday night and the truth was that the last 72 hours had been almost equaly divided between nonstop feedings during Marullo’s midnight-to-dawn shifts and nonstop sex play at the cop’s house afterward, ferrying the big Italian his eats in bed after having he had taken his sweet time using every part of Rico’s body two and three times over until the now fat young man could only babble with pleasure. His mind was still filled with visions of what it was like to be laid on his belly and mounted by a man nearly twice his size, opening his mouth to moan only to have that mouth filled with some sweet treat—a malted milk ball, a peanut butter cup, a wedge of baklava. He still felt Marullo’s hands slapping his butt when they’d pull up in front of the next place and he hop out to get the next course—lasagne sloppy with sauce from Donato’s place, cheesesteaks from Philly Dreams, pepperoni-stuffed pretzels from the backdoor of the bakery on Front Street. Rico’s lips were now permanently held in a kind of pout, pooched out slightly and loose from suckling at his Italian cop lover’s enormous and insatiable nipples, first one then the other and then back again for hours at a time while Marullo stroked his head and murmured, “What a good tittyslave, what a good tittyslave” in his ear, until Marullo couldn’t hold back another second and grunted out another load onto Rico’s jiggling, sweaty belly. None of it, of course, was anything Rico was about to tell Joe or anyone. So he shifted his weight back and forth and decided to stick to the truth. “What have I been doing? I’ve been thinking over my life, that’s what. And there are going to be some big changes, Joe.” “Big changes ain’t the word, man.” Joe poked Rico’s underbelly with three short jabs. “This ain’t just big. You’re a goddamn blimp.” And he kept poking until finally, Rico got pissed. Using his new bulk the way he had seen Marullo use it over the last few weeks, Rico didn’t think twice but, still wearing a frozen smile, he belly-bumped a very surprised Joe back, pinned the little guy against the desk and growled slowly. “Like I said, buddy, there’s going to be some changes made.” It was Joe’s turn to gulp. “All right, all right, man. Shit, I’m just riding you. Lighten up. Whassup?” Rico took a careful step back and gave Joe a stern look. “I’m joining the police department. Put my application in today after work. I’m giving Pops two weeks notice.” Looking as if he were about to make a snide comment, Joe cast a long look over the new and substantially larger Rico Rodriguez in front of him and reconsidered saying what he was going to say. “So is this like, I don’t know, man, like part of your training or something? Bulking up? I don’t know. Lemme see what you been up to.” Joe tested out Rico’s arms, barely able to get his hands around the biceps, threw a couple of soft punches on the tops of Rico’s broad thighs, and when he patted Rico’s belly this time, it was with less mockery and more respect. “That’s right. You got it. I’m bulking up.” Rico was quietly relieved at Joe providing an explanation. “So watch your step.” “I can’t believe it, Rico. You, on the police force. It’s like nothing but fat Italians. Is this some diversity shit or something? You sure they’ll take you?” Rico could hardly believe what he was saying himself, hearing Marullo in his head as he said it. “Face it, Joe. This job is nowhere. I need to do something with my life. The department would train me. I’ll make good money. I’m a hometown boy. I know everyone. Trust me. They’ll take me. I got my sources.” Joe stared at Rico’s gut a little bit more, as if he were evaluating it, and then he laughed. “Well, man, if that’s what’s going on, then you better get busy eating and working out some more, because those Italian guys have got it way over you. You ever see the size of them. You look like a toothpick compared to some of those fat slobs—I mean, big bruisers.” Joe licked his lips. “Who would have thought, man? I’m like totally shocked. But, hell, anything I can do to help. Train you. Feed you. You eat breakfast, Rico? I can go get you something down the corner, if you want. Don’t want to get on the wrong side of the law, you know what I mean, buddy? We go way back, don’t we? So you just tell Joey what he can do to help you.” Joe put his arm around Rico’s shoulders, barely reaching the other side. “You got it, homes?” Rico laughed. “Hey, I don’t got my badge yet. You don’t have to start sucking up to me till then. Got it, civilian?” . . . Pops took it well, not looking especially surprised at either Rico’s sudden expansion or his plans, but then again nothing shocked Pops anymore. The old man flicked the end of his cigarette against the ashtray and told Rico that he didn’t have to give notice. He could keep on here till he got settled, if he needed the money, but with his new self-confidence, Rico told him that if everything went according to plan, he would need to keep the next few months clear of commitments. At about four, that day, though, there was a honk outside the shop, and sure enough, there was Marullo, with his mirror shades on and all of his hairy body spilling out of a white polo shirt and plaid Bermudas, driving his own car, a beat-up beige Valiant. “Hey, bigguy. Hop in. You gotta meet the compari.” Pops gave Rico the heads-up and Rico hopped in the car. “What do you mean?” “I mean, you gotta meet the guys. We got a planning meeting. Thought you should come along since we might need your help” Marullo wedged his big paw between Rico’s spreading thighs and pinched the flesh affectionately. “Hope you haven’t eaten dinner. I meet up with Angelo and Dom when they get off dayshift at 5, we eat dinner together, then I sit around Rosie’s till I gotta go in at midnight. You might as well start getting into the swing of things, because it’s gonna be the two of them training you, most probably.” “Training me?” “Oh yeah. Angelo’s in charge of the physical training of the new recruits, kind of takes care of the little departmental gym we got. He’s second in line after that prick of a chief, which is something that’s gonna come in handy real soon, you’ll hear. Anyway, he used to be a pro bodybuilder so we just hand all the new boys over to him. Dom? Well, Dom’s kind of like me, not too ambitious, likes his pleasures. But most of all, takes care of his friends. And since we all grew up together here, well, it’s going to be up to us to resolve this situation with the chief.” Marullo reached to the back seat and plopped a big bag of cheese puffs on Rico’s lap. “Thought maybe you could use a little something to whet your appetite. So this is kind of a planning meeting, you might call it. Dig in, baby,” he said, ripping open the bag of snacks for Rico while driving and cramming a handful of them in his own mouth. “You’re playing with the big boys now.” Rosie’s was still pretty empty when the two of them walked in, but the bartender gave Marullo a big wave and the waitress, a middle-aged lady with too much make-up, patted Marullo on the back once they sat down at the table near the kitchen, and said, “Beer, no beer? You gotta work, beautiful?” “Nope, Donna. Gotta work.” Marullo said, taking off his glasses and raising his eyebrows. “Gotcha, doll. So the regular, then? Two scoops or three.” The cop rubbed his stomach like he was taking stock. “Make it three. We guys got our work cut out for us. And bring one for my new partner here.” With a gesture, he introduced the two of them. “Rico, this is Donna, queen of the Rosie’s Rootbeer Rumble.” Donna smiled and leaned over Marullo’s big shoulder. “Pleased to meet you. Just don’t let this guy run your life. He can be a handful.” And to illustrate she grabbed a healthy chunk of Marullo’s gut and laughed. “I owe that all to Rosie’s,” the cop said. “Yeah, us and the rest of the joints in town you are eating out of house and home,” Donna said good-naturedly, walking away to the kitchen. “You’re an animal, Vin. A fucking animal.” Not knowing what to expect, Rico started to put away the root-beer-and-ice cream floats Donna brought the two of them, high towers of whipped cream reaching eye level on the table, but then Rico felt himself get dizzy when Angelo and Dom finally showed up, walking through the double doors of Rosie’s with the sun behind them, casting long shadows on the floor as they lumbered up to the table. “Yo, guys. What took you? Me and Rico were about to order another float.” Dom looked at Angelo and raised his eyebrows. “I was waiting for him. Now that he’s lieutenant, he’s Mr. Gotta-Dot-Every-I-and-Cross-Every-T. Couldn’t get him out of there.” The chair next to Rico groaned as Dom sat down on it, all 325 or so pounds of him heaped up in rolls under a tight blue uniform. “You Rico?” Rico nodded. “Yup, that’s me.” “Pleased to meet you,” he said with a tired smile, his big hairy hand rough and damp as he shook Rico’s. “Vinnie says you’re coming aboard, huh?” “Hope to,” Rico said, slurping the last of bit of liquid chocolate ice cream from the bottom of the glass, and looking up at Angelo who stood on the other side. If Rico thought Marullo was magnificent, Angelo was like a dream come true. About 6’5” and built like a brick shithouse on top which the years of unrestrained self-indulgence had piled on plenty of poundage, Angelo had a pair of piercing blue eyes and jet black curly hair. He stood, huge and handsome, with his hands on his hips, and made no bones about the way he was looking Rico up and down. Rico tried not to gasp as his future trainer took his hand in a handshake and pulled him on to his feet for an impromptu inspection, poking here and there, making Rico flex his arms and legs, ending with the same kind of hard swat on the ass that Rico was getting used to from Marullo. “Hey, Vin. Good work. The kid’s got potential.” Angelo patted Rico’s face. “I can work with you. Still kind of scrawny, you know. But after a month or two with me at the gym and the training table, you’ll hit the three-figure cut-off.” Angelo pushed Rico down into his chair and waved for Donna to start bringing them the food. “Three-figure cut-off?” Rico asked, watching the plates of antipasto and garlic bread start arriving. Marullo chuckled. “Yeah, time was in the department you weren’t considered strong enough for the job unless you weighed 300.” Angelo nodded, pulling off a hunk of the butter-soaked loaf and stuffing it full of cheese and salami. “Time was, yeah. Which is what we’re going to talk about, right, ragazzi?” “That’s right,” Dom jerked open his belt and unbuttoned his shirt which threatened to split right down the seams every time he leaned forward to grab another plateful of mortadella. “And it’s my plan, don’t forget it.” “Your plan?” Marullo dipped half a loaf of garlic bread in the bowl of marinara sauce next to him and opened wide. “Ain’t gonna be none of us on the force till we get that prick out of the way. So what’s the deal?” “There’s where you come in, bubba. You play basketball?” Angelo dumped back a glass of wine and poured himself another, filling Rico’s glass full. Rico looked at the out-of-shape jock tentatively, as Marullo reached across and started piling Rico’s plate full of roasted peppers, provolone and calamari salad. “Yeah, sure. You know, pick-up games. Wasn’t on the team if that’s what you mean.” Angelo tweaked Rico’s lovehandles. “With your build you look more like the wrestling type anyway. What you weigh in at these days?” Once he was would have cringed at the thought of being so overweight, but by now, Rico was getting used to the astronomical figures and in this company, saying “262” was practically a mark of shame. He got busy tucking away the plateful Marullo had set in front of him. “Hey, 262 ain’t bad. It’s kinda good, actually. We can’t make it look too obvious, you know. Plus, you not being in the department yet and all. On top of you being a Rican makes it all perfect. Just perfect.” Dom chuckled and waved his fork at Donna across the room. “What are you doing? Trying to starve us. Bring us another round.” And Rico could see the three Italian cops look at each other, mouths crammed full of food and he knew something was up. “I don’t get it. What are you going to do?” Marullo grabbed Rico’s chubby cheek and twisted it affectionately. “Angelo will fill you in tonight when you start training.” Rico swallowed his wine quickly and took a long look at the gorgeous Angelo’s beefy mantits and chunky on the other side of him. “Training?” “That’s right, brother. Training.” Angelo’s hand was heavy on the middle of Rico’s back, each one of his fingers the size of a sausgae. “Eat big, think big. You pass the test tonight and you’ll find out what’s up, all right. Don’t you worry.” Donna showed up with another two platters of meat, cheese and garlic bread and tapping her foot between Angelo and Dom, asked, “So what’s it going to be, fatboys? We got spaghetti and meatballs, eggplant parm, veal scaloppine and braciole. One of everything? You want we should get busy on it in the kitchen, or you just all going to sit here and gas all night like usual?” Marullo laughed. “Welll, sure, Donna honey. One of everything for us. But two of everything for the kid.” She leaned forward and shook her head at Rico, smiling wickedly. “You are getting into a bad crowd, boy. There ain’t gonna be no hope for you when they’re through with ya.” Three hours later, with Marullo and Dom stuffed so full and leaning back so far that piling in the last few spoonfuls of spumoni meant peering over their bellies and stabbing blindly at the table with their spoons in an attempt to find the bowls, Rico looked over his own engorged stomach at the vast wasteland of empty plates, silverware and napkins they had used, his head swimming as he contemplated the quantity of food the four of them had managed to consume. It was staggering sight to him—he had seen his whole extended family eat far less at Thanksgiving than what was obviously just an ordinary, everyday Friday night meal for these cops—and the fact that Angelo beside him let out a contented belch under his breath while picking casually at his teeth drove the point home. Indeed, Rico wasn’t sure if the big cop was kidding when he jauntily said, “Well, Rico, ready to hit the weights? I mean, that is, if you ain’t gonna finish that tiramisu you got there.” “No way, man. I can’t move. No way I can work out.” Angelo put a heavy hand on the back of Rico’s neck and he could feel the guy’s strength. “I said, are you ready to hit the weights? All this, beautiful, was just fuel for that work-out I promised you. And besides—“ Angelo winked conspiratorially at Marullo, “You and me, we got business to take care of. Vinnie, there, he’s just going to keep picking at his dessert, ain’t you, Vin?” Marullo caught Rico’s eye and nodded. “My friend Angelo will take care of you good, I promise. You want to help me out, don’t you, boy?” The question had a mixture of affection and threat behind it. “Trust me, Angelo knows what he’s doing, don’t you, Angelo? They don’t call him the Fixer for nothin’” Rico struggled to get to his feet but his gut was so swollen and his clothes so tight, he had to rock back and forth a few times to get up the momentum. Angelo threw him a paw and yanked him up. “Man, we gotta get your capacity up, Rico. Few little pieces of garlic bread and a bit of pasta and look at you. You’re as bad as Dom there.” Dom just sat and rubbed his belly like it was his best and only friend in the world, thumping it now and then the way you pat a dog. “Hey, fuck you, Angelo. We ain’t all big tough jocks like you.” “You’ll be thanking me for saving your fat asses tomorrow, don’t you worry. Thanking me and Ricky here. Come on, stud. You gotta show me what you got.” And with that, Rico was ushered out of the restaurant, with Marullo and Dom chuckling behind them. As soon as they got in the locker room, Angelo threw Rico a ridiculously small pair of grey cotton stretch shorts with the department logo on them. “Here. Put them on. They’re gonna be tight, I know, but I don’t put up with no whining. I gotta reason for everything I do, you hear me.” Rico gratefully climbed out of his shorts and T-shirt under the watchful eye of the overfed jock, getting at least a few moments of relief from the confines of the clothes. “Shit, that feels good. Feels like I might even be able to start digesting all what I ate. You don’t eat like that every night?” Angelo didn’t take his gaze away from Rico, carefully studying the young Latino’s body as he stripped, and Rico could feel his trainer’s interest in every curve, bulge, shake and jiggle. He turned around to pull his underwear off, and Angelo laughed behind him. “Now that’s what I call a pair of cheeks. Rico, you can bet we are going to be doing some serious lower body training, with your thighs and ass big as they are before I get you doing squats and leg presses. Wooee! Marullo sure do know how to pick ‘em, don’t he!” Rico took a few second to wiggle into the shorts, at first trying to pull the waistband over his glutted underbelly but eventually giving up and just let it rest slung undernearth. Angelo smiled, “Yeah, that’s it. Don’t fucking bother. You got a gut, guy. Show it off. I mean look at me,” and he pulled up his own white polo shirt to show Rico a hairy ballbelly jutting out far over the waistband of his own work-out pants. “You get used to it. That’s why I give you these. Figure you might as well get used to being the size you are gonna be.” Rico shifted awkwardly back and forth, feeling his big brown nipples grow hard in the slightly cool air of the lockeroom. “And a shirt?” Angelo strode past him and gave Rico a tweak on the left tit. “Nah, no shirts here. You’re among men. Come on. Let’s go, cupcake.” The departmental gym was really just a small room full of free weights, a few benches, and a couple of Nautilus machines, but it looked bigger because the walls were all mirrors. In the corner was a couple of old exercise bikes and a treadmill, and the air was hot and humid, lacking any ventilation except a lazy ceiling fan. Angelo took off his own shirt, revealing a beautiful broad chest covered in thick dark hair which wound down and over the expanse of his stomach, and his square, big-bellied powerlifter build of his reminded Rico of the guys in the various strongman contests on ESPN he had sometimes jerked off to. He patted the bench where he wanted Rico to start. “Let’s see what you can press. Meanwhile, I’m going to fill you in and what’s gonna go down tomorrow.” Rico obediently laid down on the bench, while the Italian loaded up an Olympic bar with a pair of 45’s, his crotch and belly hovering tantalizingly over Rico’s red face. He lifted the bar and started pumping out the reps as Angelo counted. “The deal is this. The chief has it in for Marullo and Dom. He’s a real fucking asshole about it, too. Just hates fat guys. I mean, like hates them. He’s not from round here, only got appointed because he he blew the mayor or some shit like that. They brough him from the big city brought in two years ago to ‘bring the department into the 90’s.’ At least that was the jive-ass talk they gave us at the time. Real tight-ass German guy. Richter is his name, and believe me it’s been a disaster. He’s pissing everyone off. Come on, Rico, that’s three, keep it steady. He don’t fuck with me because he considers me a jock, like himself—he was some minor league baseball player before he went into law enforcement, thinks he’s a real tough stud. Plus I got job security as an administrator, so he can’t touch me, but he thinks Marullo and Dom are big lazy fucks and he wants them out. Five, six, good job, boy. Don’t slow down. Thing is, Vinnie and Dom are lazy fucks, but they are good guys and they do their job and they been doing it for years just fine. Besides, a friend’s a friend, and we all grew up together. ‘Course, Richter, don’t know this, don’t know how far back we three go, but that’s cool because we can use that. Anyway, lately, he started to really go after Marullo and Dom, and they’ve been fighting it with the union and all, so far so good, but Richter is just not going to let up. So this is what we are going to do. Let’s go, lemme see twelve, twelve nice ones. . . .” Angelo gently put his fingers under the bar as Rico grunted out the last rep, staring straight up into Angelo’s deep furry armpits and bulging crotch for inspiration. Of course, the side effect of such inspiration was that he was getting hard, a difficult secret to keep in these shorts that were practically painted on him, but between his stuffed stomach, the seductive sound of Angelo’s voice and the quiet of the gym, Rico realized not a whole lot was going to be kept secret anyway between them all. So he just laid back and enjoyed the erection. “No resting. I got check out whether I’m right about you Puerto Ricans. Come on, let’s go. Shoulder presses. I want to see 15 of these puppies. You can do it. Big boy like you. No problem” Rico had to spread his thighs wide to sit at the end of the bench, and the sight of himself spilling out all over in the mirror in front of him, cock wedged stiff into the shorts under his gut, with big Angelo looming over him handing him the 75-pound barbell made him break out into a profuse sweat. He started pumping out the reps slowly, never taking his eyes off Angelo in the mirror behind him “So anyway. The chief hurt himself last year in a skiing accident. He was out for almot three months on disability. Somehow he really fucked up his right ankle and knee, and well, he had to spend a good part of it doing nothing but laying in bed. So what happens? Hey, Rico, watch the form. I don’t like sloppy form. That’s right, seven, eight.” Angelo pressed himself full up against Rico’s back, straddling the bench behind him, lifting Rico’s elbows gently with every rep. “You know what happened, of course. Good old Richter put on a few pounds, not a lot, about 20 or so, maybe. Got himself a bit of a belly going, so naturally that just makes him hate Marullo and Dom even more. He’s vain fuck, what can you say? Anyway, he’s been back to work now about nine months, lost the belly, but he ain’t letting up. He’s a fucking Nazi, all them Germans, got this intense fucking attitude. What’s he start doing now? He’s trying to get the regs changed to make officers either ‘shape up or ship out.’ That’s the way he says it. Didn’t take me long to figure out that if we’re going to get back to normal here, we gotta go to plan B and take care of this guy once and for all.” Rico pumped out the last rep, breathing hard and jumping a little, as he felt the Italian run his hands all over Rico’s torso, back and shoulders. “Man, you are a sweaty mother. Marullo wasn’t kidding.” Rico didn’t know what to do—whether to turn and throw himself at this big fat jock-trainer behind him, which is what he wanted to do, or maybe just let Angelo himself make the first move. His tits were so hard from excitement, they felt like headlights blinking in the stuffy hot air of this small gym. Angelo swung himself off the bench and gave Rico a friendly slap, reading the young man’s mind. “Don’t get no ideas, Rico. I know about you and Marullo, and I ain’t that kind of guy, and even if I were, I wouldn’t be two-timing my best friend. So you and me, we’re keeping this professional, you hear. I got my reasons for doing what I’m doing here, because we need a big sweater. Gotta make the accident look realistic.” Rico was puzzled as Angelo handed him a pair of 40-pound dumbells, and knelt down in front of him on the floor, watching Rico’s form. “Seated curls, creampuff. Let’s see 15 pretty ones.” “Accident?” Rico asked, getting into the rhythm, perspiration pouring down his lovehandles and the small of his back. “What are you talking about?” “Well, you know that basketball court outside. Bunch of us usually play three-on-three on Saturdays. Thing is,” Angelo’s eyes narrowed and he grinned slyly. “When that new surface they put on last year gets wet, it gets real slippery. And we big guys, well, Rico, we just sweat lots and lots. Sometimes it kind of looks like a goddamn swimming pool by the time were through. Real dangerous. I mean, look at you here, you’re practically dripping, ain’t you?” Angelo rubbed his full hands over Rico’s slick tits, jiggling them slightly as Rico was helpless to resist, his own hands full of iron. “But the chief? What’s that got to do with. . . .?” Angelo spotted Rico’s last few reps and took the weights from him, pumping out a few curls of his own like child’s play. “Well, Richter works till 5 on Saturday’s and he usually goes right past the court on his way to the car. So I thought maybe we could invite him to join in. And then maybe you and me, well, you know, maybe a fast drive across the court, a squeeze play on the way to a shot, and well, who knows? Accidents happen, you get what I mean?” Rico looked up at Angelo, as what was being planned eventually came into focus. “You mean like. . . .” “Yeah. Right. Just like that. Doctor told Richter that another serious injury like he had last year and well, he might need to go on permanent disability. But Richter’s a proud guy.” Angelo’s incongruously blue eyes looked innocently down at his own huge biceps flexing big with every curl. “I bet if we needed him to round out the numbers, particularly if he could see Marullo and Dom sitting on the side, he’d probably join in, just to prove a point.” Rico stood up, a lot shorter than Angelo but suddenly feeling pumped and strong. He took the weights from the big Italian cop and laughed. “Tomorrow, huh?” “Tomorrow, yup. Four o’clock. But for tonight, I want to you to finish off with a little treadmill. Nothing quite so fine as watching a big tub of lard like yourself like you working hard on the treadmill. Especially since I ain’t ever going to have you for myself.” Angelo licked his lips seductively. “That fuck Marullo always beats me to the good stuff. I don’t know why I’m helping him out. Saint Angelo, that’s me.” And he leaned over the console of the treadmill, as Rico began to jog, all his extra sweat-slick flab bouncing up and down in front of Angelo who watched with ill-concealed lust. “You do this for us, fatboy, and you gotta a permanent place on the force, you know that. Because Angelo here will be acting chief, and my word will be law. You know what I’m saying.” He shook a beefy finger at Rico and punched the speed up a few notches, making the young man pick up the pace. “Once Italians get our hooks into you, you can’t get away. Treat us right, we treat you right. And you better treat Vinnie right, boy, because he looks and acts tough but he’s a big old creampuff just like you. And when a big guy like him falls for someone, he falls hard. Got my drift?” Angelo poked Rico dead center in his gut to make the point. “I gotcha. I gotcha,” Rico gasped, breathless from the jogging but even so because of how rapidly his life had change, though at that moment, he really was only praying for one thing: that he could keep from coming in his shorts before his 20 minutes on the treadmill was up. Rico knew he was going to be getting a good night’s sleep that night, between the complete pig-out at Rosie’s, the workout under Angelo’s supervision and yet another night of fun and games in Marullo’s squad car and bed. Despite the 20-course bacchanalia earlier at Rosie’s, Marullo picked Rico up in the usual spot on the outskirts of town at midnight, announcing that this was going to be a desserts-only shift. “Got a little bit of a hunger for something sweet tonight,” he said, indolently unbuttoning his khaki shirt from the bottom up, leaving the top two buttons fastened and pooching his gut out invitingly. “Know what I’m saying? Nothing but cakes, pies and pastries, I think. Hit the bakeries and donut shops for my sweet tooth. And I bet you got a fierce hunger after that work out with Angelo, didn’t you, boy? You and he get everything straight.” Rico mumbled a muffled “uh-huh”, his head wedged between Marullo and the steering wheel, face pressed full into what was quickly becoming the center of his universe. “Yeah, I ain’t worried about Angelo, because he’s as straight as they come. Big old flirt, though. Broke many gay boys’ hearts in his prime, I’m telling you. Besides, you know where your sugar is, don’t you?” Marullo smirked, stroking the Latino’s close-shaven head and guiding his mouth in lazy circles around his daddygut. “Don’t you, Ricoman? “ Rico did indeed sleep the sleep of the dead that night, held fast under one of Marullo’s hefty arms, listening to his big cop snore next to him. But he woke up early and started going over the plan in his head, making Belgian waffles from the mix he had bought and knowing that the smell of the coffee would wake Marullo up. The day turned out sunny and hot, which Rico took as a sign that what they had planned to do was the right thing, and even as Marullo sat in front of him, sleepy and a little grumpy in his XXXL boxers, putting away the first dozen waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, hankering for another with that imperious look he had gotten into the habit of, Rico was rehearsing in his head what would be going down. When they arrived at the basketball court in Marullo’s car, Angelo and some big dark-skinned guy named Kareem were tossing baskets on the court, while Dom, spread out like a big Italian buddha on the makeshift bleachers in the shade, had surrounded himself with a couple of coolers packed with beer and grocery bags full of chips, pretzels and peanuts. “Never know, Vin. Might be Richter could get a little hungry, know what I mean?” Marullo settled in next to his buddy, popped a beer and started fisting peanuts into his mouth. “Go on, bubba,” he said to Rico. “Show your partner you got the stuff.” Angelo had told Rico that it was always shirts-skins, with the fatguys playing skins of course, so Rico shucked off his guinea T and bounded onto the court taking his place between Angelo and Kareem. “Rico, this is Kareem, also known as the Creamer, because he always creams the opposition, don’t you?” Swarthy and built like an offseason linebacker, Kareem towered over the chunky Latino and gave him a big handshake. “You cool, man? You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Rico was indeed playing with the big boys now—his eyes were at about the level of Kareem’s enormous dark manteats and he could see the huge puddles of sweat both Kareem and Angelo had managed to work up from themselves already in the sun. “Don’t worry about me, Creamer. I’m cool. So where’s this opposition.” Angelo passed Rico the ball who passed it to Kareem and back again. “It’s the Saturday day shift guys—bunch of old soccer players. We always give them a run for their money.” Kareem laughed, big gut shaking like chocolate pudding. “Yeah, we let ‘em win now and then.” Sure enough, right on four, a bunch of cops Rico had seen at various times around town came jogging out, with all kinds of hooting and hollering, some of them sprawling around Dom and Marullo, cracking beers and jokes, three of the best-looking stealing the ball and doing their warm-ups as Angelo and Kareem stood watching their antics.. At first, given the difference in size, it looked a little bit more like they were getting set to play touch football, as the three “shirts” called time and the three big guys squared off and tracked the ball back and forth. The opposition, being smalller and quicker, gave the big guys run for their money, but soon, Rico found that despite the considerable weight difference, Angelo and Kareem easily kept up with the other three and in fact used their size occasionally to scare the bejesus of them. When three guys with a combined weight of nearly 800 pounds comes at you in a full court press, Rico discovered it took nerves of steel not to flinch, and each second offguard gave the big ones the opening they needed to steal the ball and score. Not to mention the fine sight it was when Angelo dunked the ball, shiny wet flesh shimmying and shaking after a leap or when Kareem wiped his sopping-wet forehead with his arm, flashing a dark armpit that looked like it could accommodate Rico’s entire head. Rico knew basketball could be physical, particularly these pick-up games, but playing with these fat guys was like hog heaven and he soon got used to bumping off bellies and flanks as he scrambled to get at the ball, hip-checking some of the opponents with a gusto that surprised even himself. Throughout the first hour, which began slow and started heating up after the skins scored five fast hard two-pointers, Kareem tossing one in from mid-court to a chorus of whoops and whistles, Angelo and Rico kept their eye on Marullo who was going to be giving them the high sign at around five, and like clockwork, who should appear on the edge of the court but a stiff-looking guy in his mid-forties, khaki shorts creased, crisp cotton shirt tucked in snug over a well-muscled torso. The chief’s salt and pepper hair was cut high and tight, military style, in a crew-cut, and his moustache was clipped small and neat around his thin lips. He looked like a drill sergeant and held himself erect, like he owned the place. Rico immediately disliked him. “Yo, chief. How’s it going?” Marullo waved from across the court, his amiability greatly exaggerated as part of the plan. Richter gave him a disdainful stare and turned to go away, at which point a quick exchage of glance between Kareem and Angelo put the plot in motion. “I’m done, Jello. I’m out. You need to get me a replacement,” Kareem made a big deal of leaning over and breathing hard, stomach hanging down to his knees. It was indeed a very convincing imitation of exhaustion. “Hey, Chief. What do you say?” Angelo called out, bouncing the ball as he walked over to the chain link fence. “Me and Rico here could use a jock on our side. Help the big boys out. What do you say?” The three shirts, not knowing what was going on behind the scenes, fell into a good-natured razzing, taking their cue from Angelo. “Yeah, chief. Come on. Kick our butts. Take us on.” Richter didn’t smile, being the stuck-up, up-tight, tight-assed dude that he was, but Angelo just kept smiling and marking time with the ball. “Marullo will share one of his beers with you, if you help us out, won’t you, Vinnie? You’ll share a beer with the chief, if he helps us win against these fucks, huh?” That’s all it took. Richter looked across the court at Dom and Marullo, shot them a look that mixed contempt for them and vanity concerning himself, and grim-faced as a gargoyle, the chief of police strutted onto the middle of the basketball court slick with the sweat of the last hour or so. He made a big deal about taking off his shirt while standing in front of Marullo and Dom, and then, thinking to add insult to injury, tightened the belt of his shorts against his trim, flat waist. “Sure, Angelo. Let’s show them how the game is played,” he said, in a quiet voice that gave Rico the chills. In a flash, one of the guys from the other team swiped the ball out of Angelo’s hands and off they went, stakes immediately raised now that Richter was involved. There was little talk on the court, and Rico could feel the play getting deadly serious now, speeding up as Richter did indeed throw himself into the game. He was good and swift, that Rico had to give him, ruthless and very intense in the way he played, a natural leader, and Rico started passing him the ball down court, letting him make a few good solid shots. If he wanted to lead, let him lead, Rico figured, hoping to lull the chief into a sense of camaraderie. Angelo smiled slightly, seeing what Rico was setting up, and once again, things fell into place as one of the guys from the other team, while trying to gain possession, almost slipped on a wet spot mid-court, swearing out loud and telling everyone to watch their step. Richter appeared not to hear, treating the advice as a distraction and homing his eye on the movement of the ball. When the shirts scored their 11th basket, tying the game 22 to 22, Rico managed a recovery and dribbled to the opposite end of the court, where from the opposite end, he saw Angelo jerk his chin up twice, real quick, with a knowing glance. Rico passed the ball to Richter, going for a full-court drive, knowing the chief would be taking the bait. Which he did, flying down the center of the court like a madman, Rico in front of him, Angelo waiting at the other end, the three shirts nipping at his heels like a pack of terriers. Then, in the middle of it all, just as Richter lifted his head up to shoot, Marullo shouted out, “Go, chief. Show ‘em all what you got,” catching the chief offguard for a split second and down he went from the distraction, sliding feet first with all his weight straight into the post, feet crumpling beneath him. The crack of the bones could be heard loud and clear, after which Richter let out a long pained yelp. Everyone on the court froze, staring at the chief laying helpless and writhing under the backboard—everyone, that is, except Angelo who, after making sure Richter was seriously injured, carefully put the ball down in the center of the court and said calmly, “Yo, Vinnie. I think you should call the rescue squad. I think the chief mighta twisted his ankles again.” Marullo sat for a moment, knocked back the rest of his beer, crumpled the can in his hands, threw it into the cooler, clapped Dom on the shoulder and then slowly rose, taking his time to waddle over to the chief where he leaned over, belly hanging down, face full of false concern. “Don’t worry, chief. I’ll take care of you. You can count on Vinnie Marullo, that’s for sure. Might take me a while, though, you know. Being so fat and all. I can’t move so fast. But I’ll do what I can, don’t you worry.” And with that, Rico watched his partner saunter off the court toward the station, laughing shamelessly under his breath. . . . Donna at Rosie’s looked incredulous as Dom came back to the table. “No way. No way!” Dom swung his thigh over the end of the chair and dug into the St. Honore cake they had ordered in celebration—five layers of puff pastry, filled with vanilla cream and chocolate custard, topped with a crown of cream puffs and frosted in whipped cream. “Way. You bet. Just serve the fucking champagne doll. Whaddayou think I’m kidding? Broke both his ankles, this time, and his left knee is shot. Full leg casts, for four months, at least. Just heard it from the hospital. Man, that should be good for about fifty pounds. You saw the way he porked up last time. Guess he’s not going to have much to do except eat and watch TV. Poor bastard. “ “You guys, this is just the kind of shit I’d expect from you guys. All heart, every one of you,” she said, pouring all four of them tall glasses of Asti Spumante. “But the chief’s a jock, ain’t he?” Marullo raised his glass. “Was. Was a jock. And besides, he ain’t chief, no more, is he, Angelo?” Angelo handed Donna a glass of champagne for herself. “No more, Vin. Now you all gotta deal with me.” Donna looked around the table at the red chubby faces, shoving their cake away with a gusto that even she hadn’t seen from these guys before. “Yo, boys, slow down. We only got three of them cakes in the back.” “Well in that case, make sure you wrap one up because I’m taking it home,” Marullo said, leaning forward to slice himself and Rico another substantial wedge, custard oozing out all over his fingers which he sucked with lascivious abandon, looking Rico right in the eye. “We got some celebrating yet to do tonight, and I think my new partner here might like a little sweet stuff for later. That right, Rico? Huh, buddy? We can’t have the newest member of the force going hungry now, can we?” Marullo stuck his hand up Rico’s shirt, patting his belly the way he had that first night on the side of Greenbrook Road, then letting his hand rest underneath, holding Rico’s gut the way he held it in the middle of the night, strong, powerful, like the hand of god. Rico leaned back and let himself enjoy the feeling, not caring who saw or what they thought. “Nope. Don’t want to be hungry. No more of that,” he said, opening his eyes just in time to catch Marullo aiming a huge forkful of cake right at his mouth. “But then again, I have a feeling that getting enough sweet stuff that isn’t going to be one of my problems for a very long time.” And with that Rico opened wide, taking everything Marullo was dishing out at him and loving every minute of it.
Joining the Force Part 1 Artwork by Warren Davis
Guinea Pigs by Cube The cruise liner Millard Fillmore lay at pierside as military personnel milled around, preparing the U.S. Navy requisitioned vessel for its mission. The vessel was a hive of activity as provisions were loaded, equipment adjusted and quarters made ready. "I don't get it," the quartermaster puzzled as he watched crate after crate of supplies being lowered into the hold. "They want us to use most of the staterooms as storage too. How long is this ship going to be away from port?" "Want to hear something even weirder?" His deputy said as he hung up the telephone, "I just found out the total complement for the Fillmore. Just a skeleton crew to man it, a medical staff and, get this, only FIVE HUNDRED men for 'passengers.' That ship can carry thousands and it's only going to have a few hundred!" The quartermaster whistled. "Well, I've learned one thing as a navy man. When things get strange, its better not to ask too many questions." At 01:00 hours, the USN Millard Fillmore quietly sailed out towards high seas. On board, were 500 navy men, a mix of officers and enlisted personnel. They had all come aboard exhausted by the battery of tests and procedures they had been put through on shore. Too tired to ask questions, they simply went to the staterooms that were issued to them and quickly fell asleep. Next morning, the men assembled in the ship's dining room. All of them were prime navy specimens in peak physical condition, filling out their uniforms with their firm, muscular builds. As they stood in rows, the Captain of the USN Millard Fillmore, Edward Gorb and the chief medical officer, Doctor Alex Raund walked to the front of the room. "Men, you were all carefully selected by the Navy for this mission," the Captain began, "while you are aboard the Fillmore, all regular protocal is suspended. Officer or Able-Seaman, rank will make no difference here. You are all comrades and nothing more. Only the officers and crew of this ship are authorised to enforce any orders. But don't worry, these orders will be kept to a minimum -- just understand that these rules have to be obeyed no matter how unusual they seem." Captain Gorb nodded for Dr. Raund to speak. "You men are here as a control group to test a special metabolic formula. It is designed to help men easily endure extreme conditions of combat -- hunger, cold, exhaustion and so on. At every meal you will get a dose of the formula and your reactions to it will be recorded. As a control group, you will not be required to do anything but relax and let me and my staff do our work. The regulations you will live by during the time you are aboard will reflect this." Two crewmembers walked in and placed a huge sign on the wall. REGULATIONS: 1. NO FRATERNIZATION WITH THE SHIP'S CREW. 2. ATTENDANCE AT MEALTIMES IS MANDITORY. 3. FORMULA IS TO BE TAKEN BY ALL MEN -- NO EXCEPTIONS. 4. STRENUOUS PHYSICAL ACTIVITY IS TO BE KEPT TO A MINIMUM. When the men were dismissed, they looked over the sign, talking quietly to each other in disbelief: "We lucked out!" "What funny stuff are they gonna give us?" "NO RANK!?! I wish my lieutenant was here!" Each man was given a small cup of flavorless clear liquid. The men looked at their mess trays, piled with food. Hungry, they began to eat, figuring that they could always leave the rest over. Throughout the dining room/mess hall men joked about their meal. "Hey, I can't eat all of this!" "I'm hungry, but not THAT hungry!" "I'll be over the rail after this!" After the first few forkfulls, talk ceased as the men, overcome by a powerful wave of hunger, started to cram food into their mouths. In no time at all, the trays were cleared. Men staggered out, loosening tight belts and belching as they felt their stuffed middles. Given no duties and allowed to enjoy all the amenities of a cruise ship, the men began to relax and enjoy themselves. Sailors sat back in deck chairs, improving their tans. The pool rang with the cries of men splashing away at each other. The non-stop regimen of loafing and eating soon began to tell on their bodies as uniforms got snug. One by one, men were called into the ship's hospital and given a thorough exam. All physical developments were noted, especially changes in weight and size. After the last man was checked out, Dr. Raund ordered the dose of formula to be doubled... "Hey John, do you have a pair of pants I can borrow?" "Shit, I split another seam!" "This underwear, musta shrunk in the wash!" "My jersey is beginning to rub my nipples raw!" These were some of the remarks the men made as they dressed for breakfast. They cussed as they stretched out their uniforms, yet they eagerly ate meals that had been made even larger. The sailor's tapered waists filled out, lovehandles rolled over their belts, thighs strained against inner seams and pectorals pressed against shirts. Following orders, they all ignored the changes and concentrated on enjoying themselves. All, that is, except for one certain Lieutenant Jordan Hefton. A bodybuilder before he joined the navy, Jordan carefully maintained his body. The moment a tiny pauch showed on his trained figure, Jordan began to leave his meals unfinished. Soon Dr. Raund was informed that Lt. Hefton was secretly pouring away his dose of formula. At Jordan's next exam, the Doctor casually mentioned Jordan's loss of weight. "I haven't been too hungry Doc." "Well let me give you a full checkout." Dr. Raund ushered the Lieutenant into a room that held a wide, padded examination table. "Undress and lie down on the center of the table please." Jordan complied with the Doctor's orders and soon he was stretching his muscular frame out on the table. Suddenly four medics grabbed his arms and legs, strapping them to the table. "What the hell!!!" Jordan struggled in surprise. "You have missed out on a lot of doses Lieutenant Hefton, disobeying one of the few standing orders on board this ship," Dr. Raund explained in a calm, clinical voice, "Captain Gorb thought you should simply be clapped into a brig and brought back to port for a court-martial, but I figured that we could have you make up for it instead -- perhaps outstrip the progress of the others!" The Doctor fastened a mouthpiece to Jordan's face. Attached to it were two wide, clear tubes that led across the room to some machinery. "One of these tubes will give you your dose of the formula, Lieutenant. It will be a much bigger dose, but it will help you get ready for the food supply that will be delivered by the other tube." Jordan pulled frantically at his bonds, but they held tight. His eyes scanned the room for some sign of help, and fixed upon a large digital display attached to the table. 211 lbs. It was his weight. He was on a gigantic scale. "Bon appetite!" Dr, Raund said as he pushed a button setting off the machinery. He left Lt. Hefton alone in the room waiting for the dosage to begin. Picking up his head, Jordan could see his reflection in a large mirror at the foot of the table. He also saw the stream of fluid race up the tube heading towards his mouth... The days passed by pleasantly on the Fillmore. Soon even the slimmest of the sailors sported a hefty beer-belly pouring out of a straining uniform. Time does not pass by without men feeling the need for close companionship. Naturally, the sailors began to pair off, meeting quietly in each other's staterooms. A side effect of the formula seemed to increase a man's sex drive and power. The sailors not only found sex enjoyable but as flab covered their builds, they found their experience even better than before. The heavier men soon found themselves becoming "sex objects," who were openly pursued by their comrades. The influence of the formula, combined with the sensations of sexiness caused the men to stuff themselves even more. To meet the demand, the mess was kept open on a twenty-four hour basis. Even in the small hours of the morning, men could be found busily clearing their overloaded trays. "What a gut!" "Thats one helluva belt-buster you have on you!" "Man, you've ripped your fly open!" "Let me help you fill that mouth of yours!" Sailors were now freely expressing their admiration for each other. Throughout the ship, men could be found feeding each other, having belly-rub sessions and other, more intimate encounters. Eating contest became a brief fad, first involving shirt- button bursting, then belt snapping and so on, until some sailors were competing to rip out of their briefs. Other men were content to grow at a slow but steady rate, leaving open or off, articles of clothing as they outgrew them. They could be seen, walking the decks with paunches and chests pouring out of their unbuttoned shirts. As the ship was cruising in a mild climate, the men felt no discomfort as they discarded their outgrown shirts, pants and eventually underwear. Many of the men were soon clad only in their caps as they walked about, their constant hard-ons stretched out underneath the fat bellies, thighs and butts that they were so proud to display. There was no exhaustion from the added bulk due to the strengthening effects of the formula. Even the biggest man among the sailors handled his size as if he hadn't gained a single ounce. All this time, Lieutenant Hefton was strapped to the table in one of the medical rooms. He was kept neat and clean by the medics while the formula did its work. Jordan had become a mammoth-eating machine, automatically swallowing his portions of formula and food. As the weeks passed Jordan got fatter and fatter. He had watched his trim middle thicken and swell up and his tight pectorals loosen and fill out with flab. The mirror let him see his thighs and ass bloat until his belly got too big for him to look over it easily. He was now a vast 628 pounds. The loss of his figure no longer bothered Jordan. Instead he was consumed by an unfulfilled, rabid desire for sex. The increase that the formula had given his sex-drive was overwhelming. When Jordan had been smaller, he watched his cock and balls in the mirror, growing and throbbing with the need he could not satisfy. Even now, buried under the sag of his paunch, Jordan felt them getting bigger and harder. He could wiggle his flab and fantasize until he shot off, but it wasn't enough. He dreamed of being with men -- big, beefy men... Late one night, a party was thrown for the last sailor to completely outgrow his uniform. As the men partied, gorging, dancing and enjoying one another, Ablle-Seamen Nick Grosse and Bruce Guddle wanted a moment of privacy. Two of the handsomest, fattest men aboard the Fillmore, they were tired of being interrupted by other eager sailors who wanted to join in their togetherness. They passed by the ship's hospital. "The medics won't be here, they're all asleep in their quarters." "Great! Lets go in..." Jordan awoke from his frustrating dreams to the sound of two amazed voices. "WOW! He's HUGE!" "I thought I was the fat stud!" He saw two men come around from behind his belly. It was a fantasy come true for Jordan, not one, but TWO, count 'em, TWO ATTRACTIVE, HUGE, BEEFY MEN!!! He tried to speak "MMMPH-MMMMMMPHHH!!!" Damn mouthpiece! Gently, Nick removed freed Jordan's mouth. Swallowing hard, Jordan spoke. The first words came out in a whisper... "What is it fatboy?" Bruce asked kindly. Jordan swallowed again and slowly and clearly enunciated the words that he had wanted to say for a long time: "FUCK ME -- PLEASE!!!" The two seamen looked at the Lieutenant, admiring his attractive face, his chins smoothly leading into the drooping pecs, the mountainous belly, thick legs, plump ass, all shaved smooth by the medics, round and well defined by the musculature underneath. Hot as they had been for each other, now Nick and Bruce could only think of having pleasure with the magnificent whale of a man lying before them. Loosening the straps that restrained Jordan, Nick and Bruce climbed onto the table. Jordan sighed happily as he felt their arms wrapping around his gigantic gut, nuzzling and playing with it. Soon they pulled his belly up... "WHATTA COCK!!!" the two seamen chorused. Jordan's cock was as like a baseball bat, long, hard and firm. Its head was tremendous, all round and red. Nick and Bruce admired the erect, twitching member rooted over two massive balls. Nick knelt down to it, while Bruce continued to knead and rub Jordan's expanse. Nick and Bruce reached heights they had never dreamed of, in their efforts to satisfy the sex-starved man. Dawn found them all huddled together in a happy, exhausted sleep... "What can we do now?" Nick's eyes popped open as he heard Captain Gorb's voice. "All the proper guidelines were followed!" Dr. Raunds answered. "Hey guys, listen up!" Nick whispered as he nudged Jordan and Bruce awake. Blearily the saw him point to an ventilator which they had opened during the night for air. Loud and clear the voices echoed into the room. "Guidelines. Your formula has turned five hundred perfect sailors into fat, rutting slobs! What are you going to do?" "As captain isn't that for you to decide?" "Cut the crap Doc! This was your show and the Navy will want to see the results. The armed forces aren't too keen on having their men waddle home." "They know that the men would put on weight." "The implication was that they would get a little paunchy. Dammit! The smallest sailor is nearly 400 pounds. I thought you knew what you were doing!" "We'll just have to cut off the formula cold and starve them down to size." "What kind of a doctor are you?!? Five hundred starving men going through withdrawal! It might kill them!" "If you like your rank, captain, you will keep silent!" "All right! All right!" "Now let them continue for a while longer..." Nick, Bruce and Jordan listened in a fascinated horror as they heard this discussion of their fate and the fate of their comrades. Finally, Bruce reached up and closed the vent. "They're out to kill us!" Nick muttered. With a quiet hum, the pumps to Jordan's feed mask switched on. As the formula flowed through the tubes, Jordan grabbed up the mouthpiece and placed it against his lips. Like all other men, he needed the formula now and if the supply was going to be cut off, he'd damn well better grab what he could. Bruce pulled at a tube. "Its MINE!" Jordan cried. "OK, OK!" Bruce replaced it. As he watched Jordan eagerly suck in the liquid, he bagan to look thoughtful... It was 02:00 hours when the men gathered in the main lounge. None of the crew thought the gathering unusual, as they were used to seeing the sailors gathering for mass orgies. However, once in the lounge, the sailors sat down quietly waiting for Nick and Bruce to give their urgent message. Men gasped in disbelief at what the two sailors had told them. They could feel their stomachs rumbling in protest at the thought of losing their regular dosage and dieting. Some of the men cried for mutiny, but Nick calmed them down. "We have a better idea, but we need all of you to cooperate..." Smiles and laughter greeted the plan. Without any hesitation, the men unanimously agreed to help carry it out... By day, Jordan lay strapped to the table, a placid mass of gluttony. Night after night, a group of fat sailors visited Jordan's room. After they freed him, Jordan would go to the formula pumps. By now, Jordan knew how to adjust the machinery and with the help of a hulking seabee, had altered the plumbing so that a single valve sent a rush of formula into the ship's drinking water tanks. After dosing the water, Jordan joined the men for a night of enjoyment. The sailors agreed that Jordan had become one magnificently fat king stud and there was no shortage of men who wanted to join in this 'nightly mission.' Within a few days, the men noticed that the ship's crew was beginning to load their mess trays. Even Captain Gorb and Dr. Raund were taking longer at their meals. Winks and nudges followed the crewmen who started to show a little weight... Captain Gorb sat on an exam table, trying to close the buttons over a pronounced potbelly. "Why am I so hungry now Doc? I'm eating like a horse and my clothes aren't fitting right." Dr. Raund faced the Captain, his hands resting on his own growing middle as it poked in between the buttons of his shirt. "I think its guilt over what we have to do. The moment we reach port everything will be back to normal." Several weeks had passed since the night of that fatal discussion between Captain Gorb and Dr. Raund. Since that time, the entire crew of the USN Millard Fillmore had been ingesting the formula in greater and greater amounts. Not one man had escaped gaining. However, no one said a thing about it. Getting back into shape meant dieting and that was the last thing that the newly addicted eaters wanted. Growing fatter, the crewmen began to attract whistles and leers from the "passengers." Now oversexed themselves, the personnel of the Fillmore began to risk breaking the NO FRATERNIZING rule with the big, naked men around them. RRRIIPPP!!! The chief engineer heard his trouser's back seam give way as he sat down at his desk. "SHIT!!!" He thought, "the last pair that fit me!" He had worked his way through one spare uniform after another. No longer able to fit in his shirts, he left them open, showing off a healthy gut topped off by a set of plump rounded pecs. The chief engineer was becoming fatter without a doubt, but so was the rest of the engine room personnel. Split seams, swaying bellies and moons from overflowing backsides were commonplace now -- kind of sexy. But the chief engineer wanted something more to his taste -- something bigger. "Hi." The chief engineer looked up from his desk. In front of him was a MAN. Curly hair framed a soft wonderful face, sagging soft pectorals begged for nipple-play, the gut hung out with the promise of pinning him down easily and out from between the great meaty thighs was a cock, peeping out from under the heft in full erection. The chief engineer took a slow, deep breath. "You shouldn't be here sailor." "Call me Rick." "I'm Cal," the chief engineer replied without thinking, "Hold on, you aren't supposed to talk to me!" "All right." Rick quickly leaned forward, his belly shoving aside the papers on the desktop, and held Cal's face. All Cal could see was a pair of lips approaching him. The engine room filled with whistles and cheers as the chief engineer lost himself in a long kiss. "My quarters, NOW!" Cal said urgently, his cock throbbing against what remained of his pants. "Sure!" Captain Gorb tossed and turned in his bed. For the past few nights he couldn't sleep. Every time he fell in a doze he thought of the first officer, a good looking young man, and would wake up embarrased and with a throbbing hard-on. Tonight was no exception and Captain Gorb couldn't take it any more. He sat up, feeling the paunch that rested comfortably on his thighs, and reached for the ship's phone... "I rally have been pigging out," the Captain thought as he examined his face in a mirror. Instead of the clear cut, "disinguished," face, he had always seen reflected back, he now noticed a softness to his features and a full blown double chin. Looking at his waist he saw the fullness of his middle that had forced him to resort to observing his duties clad only in his underwear. Upon the first knock at his door, the Captain let in his first officer. He was in uniform, or rather, crammed into his uniform. His jacket was undone, revealing a shirt that had the lower buttons undone to allow for a growing paunch. A belt, straining at the last hole, divided the roll of fat around his middle into two layers. His expanding ass and thighs pulled his trousers tight, forcing a well-endowed crotch into clear outline. Captain Gorb thought he had never seen anyone look sexier. Closing the door to his quarters, the Captain threw himself onto the surprised, but willing, man, stripping off his tight clothes. Massaging the first officer's love handles, Captain Gorb led him into bed... The NO FRATERNIZING rule ceased to exist as far as the crew and officers of the Fillmore were concerned. When off duty, the crew of the Fillmore indulged in all the pleasures of food and sex that were available. Aided and encouraged by the massive sailors and driven by the formula, they fattened up quickly until it was impossible to tell whether a man was a member of the crew or the control group. The mess staff had ballooned as well. Turned on by the fatness around them and the way the men appreciated their cooking, they outdid themselves in their duties. After Captain Gorb had let himself go with the first officer, he became a prime example of a fat, horny man of authority. His officers had kept up the outward pace with him to the point where the Captain had to limit the wheelhouse capacity to five men. Any extra personnel would prevent them from moving around easily. Working with his huge naked officers made Captain Gorb long for the moment where he could rush off with a big stud for a session of mutual stuffing. Everybody had lost themselves over to a life of enjoyment, except for Dr. Raund. Guilt and embarrassment had made him keep closely to his quarters. "Somehow we must have all gotten affected by the control group!" Dr. Raund thought as he looked at himself in a mirror. Like all the other men, he had rapidly filled out, watching his skinny frame bulge and sag until he too was forced to walk around nude. His cock rose in a powerful erection under his blubbery stomach, but still Dr. Raund kept to himself, remaining unsatisfied. At night, dreams of Lt. Hefton, the elephantine jordan, began to invade his sleep. Jordan had topped 700 pounds and the Doctor was lusting for every ounce... Jordan, sound asleep after another wonderful but tiring night, woke up to feel a pair of shaking hands undoing his bonds. "Its me, Dr. Raund -- Alex!" Shifting into a sitting position, Jordan looked at the Doctor. He smiled with satisfaction as he saw the immense bulk of the man. "He must be over 450," Jordan thought. "You can go. No charges will ever be brought against you!" Dr. Raund babbled as he reached under his bellyfat to calm his throbbing cock, "but please -- I need you!" Lt. Hefton looked at the lust crazed man in front of him. "Why the hell should I?" The doctor began begging and pleading. Jordan watched him, enjoying the performance, then ponderously walked over to the doctor, the feeding tubes in his hand. "OK," Jordan said with a wide grin, "but get up onto the table..." Son the Dr. Raund was strapped to the table, watching his belly growing in front of him, as the rush of food and formula, a larger amount than he had ever given Jordan, shot down the tubes. The numbers on the scale display were steadily increasing, but Alex no longer cared, as he felt Jordan's presence on him... Naval personnel waited at the pier, expecting the USN Millard Fillmore's arrival. After a radio silence of months, they were eager to see the results of the experiment. Hours, days and then weeks passed without a sign of the ship. A full-scale sea search was called, but the Fillmore could not be found... After several years and a major lawsuit with the cruise company that had provided the ship, the Navy sealed the files, giving up on ever discovering the fate of the USN Millard Fillmore and its men. Naval funding on metabolic research was cut and the entire episode forgotten... There is an uncharted south sea island, teeming with vegetation and small wildlife, far from shipping lanes or flight paths. Once uninhabited, the island now features a large cruise ship, grounded in a big lagoon that sports huts all around its banks. Undisturbed by the outside world, the men of the USN Millard Fillmore, live their days in pleasure, enjoring the placid weather and plentiful food of their new home. The last drop of formula had been used up years ago, but men who have consumed entire shipload of the fluid are bound to have its effects become permanent. Still happily getting fatter, the men handle themselves with the ability of slender atheletes. They are impressive sights as they roam the island, their majestic bellies preceding them. Eating, drinking and having terrific sex, the men have no problems with poor health or weakness. An undiscovered side-effect of the formula has even prevented aging from being a problem. Two enormous men lie on a grassy hill, shaded by palm trees. They belch softly as they look at the remnants of the long meal they had consumed. Rolling over onto his gargantuan paunch, one man offers his tremendous ass to the other, who gets up and hoists up his own huge paunch, to reveal a cock that is bigger than ever... The happy moans of Jordan and Alex float through the air, bringing smiles to the men who hear it. Ah, paradise!
Gainer Artwork by Warren Davis
The Feast of San Gannero by Unknown Time was running out when the group leading the food concessionary committee gathered in Tony De Panchi's living room. It was only a few days until the beginning of the Festival of San Gennaro and not one man had thought of a sure fire way to boost food sales. "I'll be damned if we don't find a way to get people to chow down," Tony growled. He was been the Calzone king of Little Italy and had taken the bad sales of the previous year as a personal insult. "Its gotta be better this year," Sal (of Seafood Sal's -- "Best Calmari in New York") repeated for the hundredth time, "no one will remember that food poisoning scare." All eyes in the crowded room glared murderously at Sal. None of them ever wanted to think of food poisoning again -- last year's rumors had been the final touch to the combination of bad weather, traffic trouble and general lack of tourism that marked the disaster of the last San Gennaro festival. For the next several hours, a din of male voices filled the apartment as ideas were brought up and discarded. Tony's voice could be heard above the rest... "TOO OLD!" "WE DID THAT!" "NOT BY MY STAND!" "DO YOU WANT THE COPS ON OUR BACKS?!?" It was when the men slumped back in their seats, exhausted by the fracas that Tony's cousin, Young Ricco spoke up. "I gotta crazy idea -- real crazy!" Willing to hear anything new, everyone turned expectantly towards him. "Why not try using Marcello?" "What do you mean?" Old Rudolpho (of prosciutto fame), asked in a voice that wavered between laughter and outrage. "He has a gift for hypnotism -- Nona Lucia always swore he had the Strega's [old witch's] gift for making men do things just with his voice. Just have him on loudspeakers all down the street, urging men to try the food." Before Young Ricco finished, the room was an uproar of shouts. Several men had some pungent things to say about the gay Marcello, while others laughed hysterically at such a ridiculous idea, several of the more devout men even crossed themselves. "QUIET -- SHADDAP!" Tony boomed the room into silence. "Listen," he said, "I think the idea is crazy -- but there's no reason not to try it. Maybe the voice of that no-good nephew of mine will make us sell more, after all, the men are the ones who really eat. And we might do better just to avoid having him next year!..." A spotlight shined upon a slim young man in full formal dress, as he acknowledged the laughing, applauding audience at the Triangle Club. "LETS HEAR IT FOR MARCEL THE MIND BENDER!" he emcee shouted as Marcel/Marcello made his way off the stage. Marcello entered his dressing room. "Not bad Marcello. One man quacking like a duck, another guy getting drunk on water. You do have the Strega's gift." Marcello sat down, resigned to Young Ricco's presence. "What do you want Ricco?" "Its what you want man. Your Uncle Tony has a sweet deal for you." "Yeah, right -- the man can't stand me -- I like guys and that's enough to make him want to cut a deal to get rid of me." "I stopped that." "Come on Ric, Mamma and Aunt Floria made Uncle Tony's life hell until he promised not to lay his or anyone else's fingers on me. You only relayed the 'good news'." "Well I got more news for you," Young Ricco said angrily, "You are going to use your 'gift' at the San Gennaro festival..." When Marcello heard Young Ricco's plan, his insides went cold... Truly, he had a gift for influencing men. Marcello discovered this when he was only twelve when he had a run in with Steve, THE bully of his junior high school. Steve had made life hell for Marcello and the rest of his classmates with the traditional acts of a teen terrorist - random punchouts, demanding lunch money, and so on... "Hey WUSS! -- Yeah, I'm talkin' to you!" Marcello froze at the sneering voice that echoed in the tiled room. He had heard that Steve was gunning for him as "the only little creep I didn't pound," and that was enough. It wasn't that Marcello was afraid to use his fists, but he knew the difference between a good dirty fight and suicide. By lingering around classes and keeping out of the usual fight areas, Marcello had avoided Steve for most of the day. But he still had to go answer to nature and of course, who should be waiting in the empty bathroom but the two hundred plus pound, ultra macho, fifteen year old sadist of junior high. Two massive hands pressed Marcello against the wall. Steve was going to beat the crap out of him. Two choices came into Marcello's mind -- get pounded without a struggle or go down fighting... "Go fuck yourself!" "WHAT!?!" Steve roared unable to believe his ears. Marcello gritted his teeth. "GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!" Marcello said it hearing a huskiness in his voice that he had never heard before. Suddenly the hands released him. A strange look came over Steve's face as he backed away from Marcello, a huge erection swelling out the crotch of his overstuffed jeans. Grunting, Steve undid his pants, letting the paunch that packed his T-shirt sag down. Before Marcello's stunned stare, Steve dropped to the floor, bending over and struggling against the mass of his middle... Watching the sight before him, Marcello felt a pressure in his own crotch... Embarrassed at his own feelings and scared by Steve's groans as the bully started to act out his command, Marcello slipped out of the bathroom. He headed back to his class, more than willing to explode rather than look back as a hall monitor, seeking the source of those strange cries, approached the bathroom door... With a youngster's intuition, Marcello realized that it was that odd huskiness in his voice that acted as a trigger. After some experimentation, he found that he could put that husk into his throat at will. It was even better than those hypnotizing rings in the comic book ads. Marcello really could influence a man to do anything! Only Nona Lucia's catching him working his gift to get free candy from the clerk at Aunt Rosa's drug store, prevented him from becoming a power mad monster. To Marcello's terror, she called a family meeting and in the presence of his incredulous father and tearful mother, revealed that he had the Strega's gift. Nona Lucia and his mother, with the other ladies in the family begged him to realize what horrible things he might do. They painted a picture of misery and torment which reduced poor Marcello into a mass of gibbering tears. The experience was so scarring that Marcello never used the gift again until he was twenty-one. That was due to Uncle Tony. Tony had keenly watched his nephew's interest in performing stand-up comedy. He wasn't one to brag -- as he was the first to tell everyone -- but "the kid had something." Always willing to go all out to prove his point, Tony bullied his cronies and called in favors to assure that Marcello would have a great start in his show business career. Tony would make sure of that. Then one week before his first booking -- a small nightclub -- Marcello came out of the closet. A longtime bachelor, Tony had often felt his masculinity called into account, becoming one of the toughest men in the neighborhood to show his manliness. He always talked with hatred about "fairies," f--ing queers" and such. Tony would be damned before he'd help his sister's "Fruitcake." Suddenly Marcello was engulfed with cancellations and found himself back on the grueling audition trail. But deny it as Tony would, Marcello was as tough as his uncle. Looking over his act after one more session of "don't call us," Marcello realized the need for a gimmick, something to captivate the audience (and bigwigs). He didn't have to think hard to realize what special talent he had. So Marcello became "Marcel the Mind Bender." After all, he reasoned, he would only use his gift as part of his stage routine. No evil twisting would come of it... That is, until Young Ricco got involved. "Listen, its for your family. No one is doing anything wrong! And even Tony is for it. Maybe now he can handle the - uh - way you live." Eventually and against Marcello's better judgment, Ricco wore him down with appeals to his family loyalty, threats and promises of a family reconciliation ("After all Tony wants your help!"). The Festival of San Gennaro had never had a brighter pleasanter opening day as crowds began to fill the booth-lined streets. At each street corner, a loudspeaker had been attached its wires leading to a small booth where Marcello, microphone in hand, looked out over the throng. Nervously, Marcello spoke. "C'mon - C'mon - C'mon, you've gotta be hungry now!" Several men stopped and absent-mindedly felt their stomachs. Marcello tried again letting the husk fill his voice even more. "Just try a taste -- come on now your stomach wants it!" Men started to gather at the stands, coming away with their hands full of steak sandwiches, sausages and other foodstuffs. "Its good isn't it, don't you want to have more?!?" Soon every man that Marcello saw was munching away... "ITS SOOOO GOOD, SO TASTY, TRY SOME NOW! FEEL IT SLIDE DOWN AND ENJOY YOURSELF! ARENT YOU HUNGRY!?!" The loudspeakers husked out over the streets. Marcello had hit his stride by now. Every man of the street felt ravenously hungry. Not only the visitors of the festival, but the passers-by -- the well-fed businessman, the athletic young jock on the way to the gym, the bicycle messenger and the cop on the street -- all of them were chomping away to quiet their rumbling middles. The sight of the men stuffing themselves thrilled Marcello. Many of them were very attractive and he was amazed to notice that some of the studs in their tank-tops and tight jeans had begun to fill out around the waist... As the festival continued, Marcello kept to his post faithfully and enjoyed the passing scene. It was a rare man who passed by his booth without eating anything. Marcello knew what to do with them. His voice rose and fell, sanded with the huskiness of his gift. "TRY SOME MORE! YOU CAN'T GET ENOUGH! SOOOOO HUNGRY!" He smiled with satisfaction as they rushed off, fumbling for their cash as they headed for the food counters. Some men, arms already burdened with edibles, stood on other lines for more as they wolfed down what they had... Marcello soon noticed that several fellows were repeatedly coming back to the festival. He was turned on by the changes he was causing in them. There was a young macho hunk that Marcello had seen on the first day --muscular thighs poured into shorts, a tiny waist topped by round sculpted pectorals that showed through the T-shirt and powerful arms and shoulders that led to a handsome head which was crowned by a mane of long hair -- he had walked by as if he had owned the world. Until he started feeling hungry. Next morning when Marcello saw him, the hunk was cramming down seafood as he stroked the roundness that began to push against his belt. That same roundness was sagging over the belt by evening as its owner walked along in steps that clearly indicated that every seam of his shorts was straining under the new bulk. Marcello couldn't resist a grin the next time he saw the man -- in a new pair of large loose fit jeans and an oversized shirt -- still pigging away. A bicycle messenger stopped by and heard the loudspeakers. Hopping off the bike, he hurried his slim spandex clad body over to a pepper-steak stall. >From then on, his route covered the festival as he stuffed himself, the tightness of his costume outlining every ounce of flab he put on. Marcello felt hot as he watched the biker ride by, his cheeks stuffed with the last mouthfuls of food, his newly soft belly plumping out and showing its navel over the tights. He smiled at the rising moon that was swelling out over the bike seat. The cops could not help but be affected. There were legions of them patrolling the festival, ranging from slender, well-built rookies to hefty sergeants who were many dozen doughnuts past their athletic days. Most of them were stationed close by the loudspeakers and spent their days eating whatever food they could get from the stands nearby. Even the slimmest of them found their bullet proof vests tightening up and pressing against their blue shirtfronts and their trousers stretching out. The more senior (and fatter) policemen began to pop buttons off with surprising regularity, revealing the vest and fleshy belly beneath. One officer was cramming away like all the rest. He passed by Marcello's booth, happily working on meatball sub. Matt was a damned handsome figure of a cop with a face that belonged on recruiting posters and a tall muscular body that sported a small doughnut-inflated paunch. Marcello gave a silent wolf-whistle as he saw Matt go by. There was a man he could really go for -- a cop to boot! If he used his "gift" on him... Resolutely Marcello put the thought out of his mind. He'd never mess with anyone's mind like that! He wanted something REAL! Still Marcello was having the time of his life watching the masculine heft that was developing around him. He regretted the fact that the Festival of San Gennaro would soon end, but he cheered himself up over the fact that several of the merchants who had been in on the scheme had come over and thanked him warmly, expressing their hope that he could come next year. That was when it happened... Marcello had to relieve himself. Having sensibly taken the precaution of taping his voice, Marcello left a tape recording of himself blaring into the microphone as he went off to the bathroom. Having seated himself in a clean stall, Marcello was surprised to hear his Uncle Tony enter the room, talking with several of the other food vendors. "How are ya' selling" Tony was demanding to know. Marcello smiled at the answers. "The lines never end!" "I'm breaking my records!" "Never better!" Now Sal's (of Seafood Sal's -- "Best Calmari in New York") voice rose. "Your nephew is great. Marcello is giving us the best year we've ever had!" "That FAGGOT!?!" Tony laughed cruelly, "I brought him on as a joke. Do you know I promised to pay him for this? For just squawking into a microphone? Wait'll he tries to get the money. Even his Mamma won't have anything to say when I get through kicking his sorry ass!" Anger surged through Marcello. If he hadn't been occupied at that moment, Marcello would have charged out and confronted his uncle. But fate (and nature) restrained him and allowed him to think. By the time he was back at the microphone, Marcello knew what he would do to his bastard of an uncle and all the rest of those greedy sons of 'Putas.' They wanted men who would eat -- he would give them what they wanted. "GET THAT FOOD INTO YOUR BELLY! ISN'T IT WARM IN THERE!?! SO GOOOD!?! SOOOOO HUNGRYYYYY!!!" The voice husked on over the crowd, an urgency in it that made men shudder, their stuffed bellies painfully growling for more. "STARVINGGGG!!!!" A man walked by, his face smeared by the two sandwiches he was cramming into his mouth with both hands. His shirt began to rip open, overwhelmed by the surge of food that filled out his pot belly. "MMMMMM, DELICIOUSSSSSS!" A young couple had walked by Marcello's booth several times that day. The young man had all the classic good looks of a model -- flowing hair, attractive face and an outfit carefully chosen to impress his girl -- a young woman who was becoming increasingly annoyed at the way he kept stuffing his mouth and filling out the area below his impressively muscled chest. Suddenly, his shirt buttons gave way... "YOU PIG!" The young lady yelled as she stalked off. The young man started after her but Marcello husked into the microphone. The young man stopped and looked around hungrily as he clutched at the considerable belly that sagged out of his shirt front. Marcello smiled as he watched the young man join a pasta line. "PUT MORE IN!!! GOTTA EAT!!!" A policeman walked by, the vast expanse of his now enormous blue shirt front stained by the food he was constantly gobbling down. Gelati in hand, he saluted another officer who was stretching the buttons on his blue shirt beyond limit as he tossed back his provolone. Another officer called out to them. "Really enjoying yourself, eh?" Matt had spent most of his patrol time filling his face. He loved feeling stuffed -- the sensation of his belt and vest tightening on his bloating belly -- and the festival was one of the few times he could indulge in a "pig out" while on duty. But Matt had never imagined so many men -- including his fellow officers -- into the same thing! "STARVING -- NEED MORE!!!" To Matt, the voice over the loudspeaker was only so much noise. He had ignored it like he did all the other barkers at the fair. Still, it had the right idea. So many hungry men... "Mind if I have a bite?" Matt reached out for the sandwich and took an eager bite, his comrades cheering at this action. Arm in arm, the three policemen went to the pizza stand. "GOTTA FEEL FULL!!!" Several young men stood across from Marcello's booth. They had been hanging close by since the morning, eating at several of the different stands. When the men had first arrived, they had loose T-shirts and tight jeans on their slim figures. Now the shirts were filled out, showing off the nipples of their plumped chests and riding up over drooping, exposed bellies. The jeans were beginning to give up the battle against the load of flab they were putting on. Asses rising out over belt-lines, seams straining against compressed thighs... "NEEDA DRINK -- BADDD!!!" A crowd of men chugged beer down, not only ignoring their expanding beer guts, but resting the growing paunches on the counter for greater comfort. Surprised and frightened by the rampage of male hunger, the women and children had left. There were only men now on the street -- chomping, slurping, gulping and belching men who were getting fatter and fatter under Marcello's influence. A group of sailors walked up the street. From the expressions on their faces as they looked at the scene around them, it was clear that they had just arrived. Marcello looked at their trained physiques that contrasted with the swelling bellies and asses around them. He smiled at them. "FILL UP!!! SOOO TASTY!!!" In no time at all, the sailors had their hands and mouths full of food, well on their way to bursting out of their Navy whites. "EEAATTT!!!" The actor who had been posing as The Incredible Dyna Man at one of the children's stands walked by, his mouth vacuuming in chicken parmesan. The spandex outfit meant for a slim, muscular superhero figure, stretched over the tremendous quivering paunch. The tights had begun to give way, revealing interesting glimpses of Dyna Man's thighs... RRRIPPP!!! Marcello looked in the direction of the noise to see two young men who stood against one another, belly to belly, pushing food into each others chomping mouths, oblivious to their disintegrating pants. Nobody else seemed to notice that these men were now clad only in their inadequate bikini briefs. Everyone was busy, and Marcello was feeling horny as hell... "MMMM!!! FILL THAT GUT!!!" The sexy bike messenger stood in front of Marcello's booth. He was beyond riding the bicycle that stood next to him. Bare chested now, the messenger had removed almost all the constraints that hadn't already ripped off. The trim chest had been replaced by pillowy pecs, their aureoles drooping over in ovals. Spreading out even further, his now massive gut sloped out impressively before being forced back into the only part of his outfit left, the overstrained bicycle shorts. The biker turned around and Marcello saw massive love handles that continued over a giant ass which rose almost freed entirely from the spandex. "YOU CAN EAT MORE THAN THAT!!!" With a loud POP, the spandex burst off, letting the flab rush free. Not missing a bite, the bicyclist rubbed his now loose, quivering bulk in relief, absolutely unembarrassed by his nakedness. Suddenly the door to Marcello's booth was flung open as his Uncle Tony stormed in -- one very furious man. "WHAT'V'YOU DONE TO ME!?!" Tony yelled in a voice that was muffled by a mouthful of calzone... Tony's stand had been one of the busiest at the fair. Men were swamping it in their increasing demands for more food. Calzone, pizza, panzarotti -- Tony and his staff gave up their breaks and mealtimes to keep up with the hungry crowd. Of course they took a nibble whenever they could... Tony De Panchi had always been large man and he often indulged in his own product in a big way. So it didn't seem odd to him as he felt his belt tighten up on his waist. When a button came off his shirt, Tony merely grinned to himself, proud of the good digestion that he had always had and helped himself to a bit more stromboli... "COME ON COME ON COME ON!! IT TASTES WOONDERFUULLL!!!" Guido, a studly example of young masculinity, came back from the bathroom, his hands tugging at his fly. "Whats wrong?" Tony asked absentmindedly, his attention focused on feeding the mammoth figures crowded belly-to-belly at the counter. "My - My jeans -- I just got 'em this week, baggy fit and all!" Struggling with his pants, Guido faced his boss. The loose fabric was now stretched out as tight as a drum over Guido's thighs. His just-grown but already large belly pressed down from above, forcing his shirt outward and upward. Red-faced, Guido tried one last time to fasten his fly, struggling to push in his flesh and the thick shaft of his cock that pushed out tentlike, under his designer briefs. His struggles only succeeded in forcing the jeans lower, uncovering his fleshy soft thighs. Giving it up, the newly fattened Guido reached for yet another snack. Tony watched him in fascination, feeling his face turn red as he admired the soft fleshy semi-circles of butt that expanded out of Guido's jeans. As if awakening from a trance, he looked at the other men in his stall. Every one of them had filled out and were beginning to display their paunches and butts as their clothes lost the battle against their flab. Yet, each man continued to stuff himself even as he helped feed the crowd of hungry, fat customers. Amazed at what he was seeing on his side of the counter, Tony just stared at all the men -- in the stall, on the street -- ignoring the clamor of the plump patrons who wanted their calzone. He liked what he saw. Hell! He didn't just like it -- he LOVED it! Tony's cock started to stiffen. Grabbing a calzone, Tony stuffed it in his mouth, hoping that he could focus his attention on the food instead of on the fat men all around him. But it was too late. Tony's fly, already holding in more paunch than it had ever been meant too, simply split under the added pressure of his horny dick. A loud snapping noise, followed as the over stressed belt gave way as well. All the flab that had been underneath spread out, popping off most of his shirt buttons. He was now a gargantuan tribute to gluttony in his over stretched tank-top and unbelted, unzipped pants. A mass of bare belly stuck out swaying to the rhythm of his motions as Tony angrily waddled off towards Marcello's booth, furiously chewing on a calzone... Marcello grinned at the tremendous man's fury. "Why, I just did what you wanted, Uncle Tony," Marcello said with a smirk, "I'm making all the men hungry. You're just one of the men, and YOU'RE SOOO HUNGRY!?! Right?" A rumbling noise filled the booth as Tony pressed his hands hard against his mammoth sized, yet starving gut. He had to eat... "You're my Uncle Tony De Paunchy, eh?" Marcello laughed, watching his Uncle's flab shake like Jell-O, "Now GO AND EAT!!!" He swatted Tony's considerable rear as the man rushed out to fatten himself up even more. "Uncle Tony looks kind of cute," Marcello thought, "if I used my voice just right..." He laughed at the irony of the idea and put it out of his mind. Horny as he was, Marcello would wait... Several hours later, a restless, Marcello stepped out of the booth for a look around. It was very hard to get around now, because of all the big men who were standing around, intent on their eating. He slipped by them, enjoying the sensation of brushing himself against their massiveness. Worked up by the sexiness of his surroundings, Marcello started up a side street, to try to calm himself. Passing by the local firehouse, he glanced into its open doors. His eyes opened wide... Sitting against the fire truck, all the firemen were busy stuffing their faces. The long period of constantly hearing Marcello's voice nearby as they waited for a call had clearly had its effect. Some of them were still wearing shreds, but for the most part, they had long outgrown their uniforms. In fact, they had become the fattest men that Marcello had ever seen. He remembered admiring the well-built firemen that he had often seen in the neighborhood, and now here they were, huge round bellies resting over porky legs, their plump bare chests spreading out on top. There was no doubt that they were beyond sliding down a fire pole -- all that daily nonstop eating had seen to that. "What a turn-on," a warm voice said. "What?" Marcello asked, unsure he had heard correctly. He turned around and looked at the policeman standing before him. It was that sexy cop! Marcello smiled as he looked over the man with his straining, partly unbuttoned shirt that opened on the large gut. He wasn't tremendously fat like some of the other men, but he was still one hell of a stud. There was an interest in Matt's eyes as he smiled at Marcello. He spoke again. "I just thought you were turned on by the way those men had stuffed themselves." "Don't you wonder what's going on?" Marcello asked. Matt came closer and Marcello saw the masculine bulge in his crotch. "Hell, I've been going crazy trying to keep up with the men here. Somehow they've been able to pig out better than I did." "How long have you been here?" "Oh, most of the festival and man did I enjoy it!" At that moment, the group of sailors passed by. Their washboard abdomens had been replaced by overloaded guts that rode over their opened pants. They looked up the street expectantly, talking to one another. "Nothin' here!" one sailor said in disappointment. "Then where are we going?" "I'm heading back for more," another one belched out, his hands rubbing at his stretched out middle. "Great!" They turned back, their expanding rears winking from their splitting pants as they walked away from Marcello and the cop. Matt whistled softly in admiration. "I wish I could have eaten like that." Marcello looked at the man before him. "Didn't you have any real hunger, or urge to eat?" "Yeah, but I always do when there's lots of good food around." "But didn't anything make you want to eat more than usual?" Marcello asked. It couldn't be possible! "I always like to fill my gut out," Matt said as he rubbed his middle with both hands. "I could have done even better if those damned loudspeakers hadn't thrown my concentration with all its squawking!" "The gift doesn't work on him!" Marcello thought eagerly -- here was a sexy cop who loved to eat! -- a man that he could be with and stuff any special trickery! What Matt said next was more than Marcello could have dreamed of. "With the right guy I bet I can do even better." "E-even better?" "With the right guy," Matt looked at Marcello intensely. The two men stood silently. Eventually, Marcello asked the next question, praying that he was saying the right thing. "You get off on that kind of thing?" "I shouldn't," Matt pulled at his belt as he replied, "but I do. I'm no patch on the guys here, but I can be a real glutton. At least at the right moments" "The right moments?" "Well, I'm off-duty now. If you're not busy..." "...We could go out and talk about finding the right moment," Marcello continued for him. The two men walked off together... It was late when Young Ricco returned from his business trip. It was up to him to give Marcello the payment that Tony had intended for him. Ricco's hoped that Marcello would put up a good fight as his fists itched for action. "Yeah, I'll pay him," Ricco chuckled. Reaching the festival, he stopped in shock, staring at the scene before him. The street was packed with tremendously bulky, naked men. They were all on the ground either eating or sound asleep. Even the men in the stands had filled out. Ricco made his way toward Marcello's booth, ready for murder. All that was inside, when Ricco burst in was a tape player with a note on it reading: For Ricco -- Press play, Marcello Ricco hit the play button. Marcello's voice was on the tape. "You always wanted to be a big man like Uncle Tony, right Ricco? Well, FROM NOW ON YOU'LL EAT UNTIL YOU'RE THE BIGGEST MAN AROUND!!! And about Uncle Tony..." Ricco stood as if frozen, listening to the husky voice on the tape until it had finished. Soon he stumbled out of the booth, his ears ringing. A powerful wave of hunger seized him... Tony De Panchi woke up from a doze and started munching again. He had spent hours cramming food into himself, rampaging through the stands in his effort to get the tastiest, most fulfilling foods for himself. Finally Tony grabbed some baskets from a stall. Fighting off some of the more eager hungry men, he loaded up with whatever he could lay his hands on. Exhausted, he finally sat down on a curbside and started consuming the contents of the overstuffed baskets. Tony was beyond gargantuan now as he ate, his soft belly getting larger and larger as it drooped down and then firmly rested on the street. By the time he nodded off, he could scarcely move -- a constantly ballooning paunch-mountain of lusty Italian male whose thoughts were still on eating. A figure had stopped in front of Tony. Looking up, he saw a familiar face. "Ricco?" Ricco looked down, his cheeks puffed out from the food. It had only been a short time since he had left Marcello's booth, but already, Ricco was outgrowing his tapered Italian suit, its seams and buttons at the bursting point, under the pressure of his swelling figure. He approached Tony and sank to his knees in front of him. "Tony?" "Yeah?!?" Tony said. "I - I want you!!!" Ricco yelled, his ears still ringing with Marcello's voice. Stretching onto his cousin's huge gut, Ricco grabbed Tony's face and kissed him. Tony was too fat and horny to even try to struggle as Ricco, his clothes ripping off to reveal his now sex crazed, chubby body, started to make out with him ...