Gordito: Prologue

Juan Pablo was a man who moved slowly and with intention. Broad-shouldered and thick through the middle, he walked with the easy authority of someone who’d built his life with his hands. His belly always led the way with a round and heavy swell that poured forward beneath his shirt. It hung over his waistband in a soft gelatinous arc. When he leaned forward the plush heft of his center would press into his belt. When he sat, it spread onto his lap forming thick rolls on each side. He had the hard earned physique that could only be grown from daily greasy food and cold beer.

Even from a mile away you could tell this man was stocky, with a strong base of muscle buried beneath several inches of soft dough. His arms still bulged with strength and his skin was sun tanned and dusted with thick black hair. Even his neck was thick, his jaw lined with salt-and-pepper stubble, and his face displayed a weathered and nonchalant confidence. His dark eyes watched everything on the jobsite. When he gave orders, men listened. When he got quiet, they got nervous.

Nevertheless, there was a gentleness to Juan Pablo. He wasn’t soft, except for his belly and ass and thighs and chest. His leadership style simply wasn’t aggressive. He had no problem issuing praise and always fed his workers well. He was benevolent, and no one could deny that fact. 

Juan Pablo leaned against his truck, one boot crossed over the other, sipping horchata and surveying the yard. He wiped his brow with the back of one thick forearm, belly stretching under his faded work shirt as he reached. That’s when he first truly noticed Lee, the new kid.

The boy was pale, skinny, hair tousled from the heat. His neon safety vest hung loose on his narrow frame, and his cheeks were flushed as he dug into his lunch. He had two burritos and was eating with the single-minded hunger of someone who hadn’t yet learned to pace himself in the heat. Juan Pablo’s grinned to himself and watched as the boy ploughed through the food. 

Lee chewed with his cheeks bulging from monstrous bites and sauce dribbled onto his shirt that he didn’t even notice. He was messy, young, and unbothered. Juan Pablo took another slow sip of his drink, lost in thought. Lee licked salsa from his thumb, oblivious. One burrito was already gone and the second halfway there. Grease soaked the wrapper, his face, his shirt.

Juan Pablo shifted his weight as he observed the boy. His belly pressed forward against his belt, the curve of it full and solid beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. He felt a stirring in his loins and grinned to himself, like he’d already seen the future unfold. He tipped his drink to his lips and kept watching.