Gordito: Chapter 7

Lee wiped sweat from his brow and stared down at the patio pavers he’d just laid. Something didn’t look right. The spacing was off. He crouched with a grunt, the motion slower than it used to be. His thickened thighs pressed against his belly as it surged forward, heavy and round, resting snug atop them. Between the mass, his cock struggled for air. The waistband of his shorts dug into his skin and he shifted with a wince, trying to ease the pinch where his sweat-slicked skin chafed beneath the soft overhang. He felt the weight of himself acutely these days. Every movement now came with a pull, a press, a reminder. He eyed the crooked pattern just as Juan Pablo’s truck rumbled up the drive.

Juan Pablo stepped out, clipboard in hand, frowning before he even looked at the ground.

“Oh, Lee,” he muttered, crouching beside him. “This is all wrong. You didn’t compact the base enough. These will shift after the first rain.”

“I followed the plan,” Lee snapped, heat rising to his face from both the sun and shame.

Juan Pablo stood, arms crossed, eyes hard. “Then the plan wasn’t followed well. You need to redo it.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Lee swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thanks. In front of everyone.”

Juan Pablo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn’t apologize.

Lee had had enough. He tossed down his gloves and stalked off toward his truck. “I’m done. I need a break.”

That night, after hours of stewing and pacing, he finally texted: “Taking the next two weeks off. Don’t call me.” No reply came from Juan Pablo.

The first few days on his own were rough. Lee couldn’t stop replaying the moment in his head: Juan Pablo’s disappointment, the way the distance between them had changed everything. He wandered shirtless around his apartment, staring at himself in the mirror. His body was softer than ever. His belly rested in his lap when he sat down. Everything jiggled when he coughed. His chest was sagging more than ever. 

Something about it turned him on, though he didn’t want it to. The sheer heft of him. The way his belly encompassed so much of his body now, full and warm and heavy. He pressed a hand to it, fingers sinking slightly into the give, and shivered. His body now commanded space in a manner that felt audacious, even masculine. It should’ve embarrassed him and he tried to tell himself that it did. But when he did so, his cock twitched.

Lee tried to shake off the arousal. Tried to blame it on leftover sexual tension, on missing Juan Pablo’s hands, his words. He knew that wasn’t the case though. It was something deeper than that, tangled up in the weight itself, in the act of growing. Maybe it hadn’t just been Juan Pablo. Maybe this hunger, this need for mass, for growth, was all his own. That thought was almost as terrifying as it was thrilling.

Lee gave in. He stocked the fridge with pork shoulder, rice, heavy cream. He watched videos on meal prep and cooking techniques. He even started lifting at the gym. Each day he trained harder, cooked more, and ate until he was dizzy with fullness. He downed weight gain shakes that were thick as batter and bloated him up before bed. Every day he still woke up hungry. He was turning into a bottomless pit. 

Within days, the changes accelerated. His chest swelled under its layer of fat, rounding out with heft and warmth. The subtle droop he had developed was now defying gravity. His thighs expanded outward until his gym shorts hugged them tight, seams stretched to their limit. His belly bloated outward into a firm dome, protruding proudly. It was soft but unmistakably solid, sloshing gently with every movement. He could feel it expanding day after day, bumping into counters he used to clear and brushing against door frames, catching under the steering wheel. 

Strangers at the grocery store called him "big guy" with amused or admiring looks as he filled up his cart. His arms bulked considerably, though the cushion of fat softened the hard edges of the muscle underneath. Veins barely peeked through after a rigorous work out. He looked big, sturdy. Heavier and harder all at once. He was taking up more space than ever before. He was transforming into an absolute unit.

Through all the changes Lee couldn’t stop touching himself. Almost constantly, his hands found their way across his own body. Sometimes it was innocent, idle: fingers drifting across the swell of his belly as he read a book, absently jiggling the soft overhang as he sat at the table. But increasingly, it was erotic. He’d stroke himself while eating, moaning softly as his mouth filled and his gut rounded tighter as it was pushed to capacity. Other times, he stood in front of the mirror, one hand working his cock while the other pressed into his belly, watching it shift and wobble with every breath. He'd squish his love handles, slap his growing thighs, grunt as he leaned into the soft mass of himself. The more he grew, the more he touched, and the more he touched, the harder he got. It felt obscene. Powerful. Addictive.

Two weeks later, he walked back onto the job site, wearing a snug work tank top that barely met his waistband. Heads turned and conversations stopped. Juan Pablo was in the middle of barking instructions when he saw him. His jaw hung open for a beat too long.

“Lee,” he finally said, quieter than usual. “You’re back.”

Lee only nodded and grabbed a shovel. The day went on with a strange energy. Juan Pablo didn’t raise his voice, didn’t hover. He brought Lee a some horchata at lunch but didn’t say much. The touches were gone. Lee could feel his gaze though. It was constant and burning with desire. Lee shrugged it off and remained cold. 

That night, Lee was cleaning up dinner dishes, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, a second bowl of pasta, when a knock came on the door. He opened up. Juan Pablo stood there. His eyes were dark and he was breathing heavily.

“You look–” His voice broke off.

“Bigger?” Lee offered, deadpan.

Juan Pablo stepped inside. “Stronger. Fuck, gordito.”

His hands were on him in an instant, full of desire yet reverent. Lee’s shirt was stripped off. Juan Pablo’s mouth latched onto his chest, his neck, his belly. He sank to his knees and pressed kisses into Lee’s lower belly, both hands gripping it like something sacred.

“You did this,” Lee murmured, voice thick with desire. “You wanted this.”

Juan Pablo groaned. “My god, look at what you’ve become.”

He kissed every stretch mark, dragged his tongue along the creases forming under Lee’s belly. Lee was already painfully erect but as Juan Pablo reached for his waistband, Lee stopped him.

“Stop.”

Juan Pablo looked up, startled. Lee’s cock was tenting his shorts, but his face was solemn.

“You said you couldn’t afford people thinking you’re weak,” Lee continued. “Is that what this is to you? Weakness?”

Juan Pablo looked down ashamedly and Lee took a step back. 

“I’m not doing this halfway,” he said. “Not anymore.”