The Taqueria

“These interviews are going fucking nowhere. No one is hiring right now, it's hopeless.”

“I hate to say it but maybe you need to lower your expectations?”

“And what, apply for entry level jobs? They’ll say I’m overqualified!”

“I don’t know man, the taqueria down stairs is hiring.”

Greg rolled his eyes at this roommate, Charleston. It was going on two months since he and hundreds of others in the bay area were laid off from their tech jobs. His severance pay and savings accounts would only last him so long in San Francisco. He needed supplemental income. The problem was no one was hiring. Later that night while throwing back beers, Charleston raised the idea once more.

“I mean, the taqueria is hiring. It’s not a career but it’s some extra cash while you figure things out.”

“You’re serious? Dude I’m so fucking white, can you even imagine? Me slinging tacos?”

“Hey, it’s in our building, you go there all the time, you even tried recreating their burrito once.”

“Yeah, and failed!”

“Let’s just go down there and talk to them, why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

An hour later Greg was booked to pick up a few shifts at the register. When the day came to don a black shirt and apron he had thoughts of not showing up. It was a bit humiliating after all. What if somebody he knew came in? He used to have ‘Senior Manager’ in his title. And now he was the register guy at the local taqueria.

When all was said and done he actually enjoyed his first day of work. It was easy, he got to socialize, and didn’t have to think too hard. Plus, he was paid under the table so he wouldn’t have to bother with taxes. He picked up some more shifts throughout the next week and actually started looking forward to this job. He had never worked in food service in his life and found he was developing new social and technical skills.

After a couple months, he also was developing a paunch. The food was free for all employees even if they were off the clock, and Greg found himself living off tacos, burritos, and nachos to save money. He didn’t really notice until one warm day when he fished a pair of shorts out from the back of his closet and they were shockingly snug. His ass filled them out more than he remembered and they were hard to clasp. He couldn’t deny it: he had a muffin top.

A few weeks later his favorite pair of Levi’s developed a hole in the crotch. He was on his feet more than ever since working at the taqueria, and attributed the hole to this fact. He was also developing calluses on his feet and some lower back pain. He accepted these inconveniences as part of his newfound blue collar life and took transit to the outlet for a new pair of pants. He sought out the same 32 inch waist he had been wearing for years but something was different when he tried them on. They were difficult to button. He sized up to a 34 and they fit like a dream.

Standing in front of the dressing room mirror, Greg looked at his midsection. He gave it a squeeze. It certainly was getting softer. He turned and looked at his ass. There was no denying its curve.

“Gettin’ thick,” he mumbled to himself, and proceeded to the register.

By the time fall rolled around, Greg had fully embraced his new job. He was working various stations, including the kitchen when they were short staffed. His pay had been upped a couple dollars and he was in good standing with the owner. He honestly enjoyed this job far more than working for a social media company. Unfortunately, money was getting tight as his severance dwindled. But his increased pay at the taqueria, additional shifts, and stringent spreadsheet budgeting kept him afloat.

He was also enjoying the lifestyle that came with the job. He and his coworkers would eat constantly throughout the day as they shot the shit and complained about annoying customers. Sometimes the boss would award them with free beer. Plus, after a long day on his feet, his apartment was just one steep flight of stairs away. Typically he would get home and throw back a six pack with ease while watching a movie or hanging with Charleston.

Unsurprisingly, everyone who worked at the cafeteria was overweight and lived similar lifestyles, although some had kids and families. Greg was the only white boy and the only one under 200 pounds when he started, but he was beginning to catch up. He went up two pant sizes in two months. His shirts were all getting ridiculously snug. He knew he needed to size up soon or he would start spilling out of them. The problem was he was too lazy to go to the store and didn’t want to spend money on new clothes.

“Dude, you’re getting pudgy,” Charleston said one evening while Greg reclined on the love seat with a tray of tacos and empty beer bottles laying next to him. “I mean, you look good and everything, you know I like a thick boy, but damn that taqueria is no joke,” he laughed.

Greg tried to say, “I know, I’m afraid it’s getting out of hand,” but his mouth was so full of burrito that Charleston barely understood him.

Clearly regretting commenting on his roommate's weight, he tried to save himself with, “I only mention it because I noticed this morning I’ve gained ten pounds since you started there. Them burritos too good!”

“I left you one on the counter, actually,” Greg replied.

“This is what I’m talking about!” Charleston laughed.

Charleston grabbed the burrito and sat on the nearby arm chair. He cracked one of Greg’s beers and dug in. Greg was surprised to hear that Charleston had put on weight. He glanced over at his roommate’s midsection and noticed there was a small roll propped up by the waistband of his jeans. ‘Thick is in,’ Greg told himself and returned his attention to the TV.

After the holidays, Greg finally admitted to himself that his weight was getting out of control. No one in his family made any direct comments, but the surprised looks and occasional whispers communicated enough. It was true, his appetite had gone into overdrive since working at the taqueria. He attributed this to how physically demanding it was, but nevertheless he wasn’t burning all the excess calories he was taking in. Moreover, he couldn’t contain himself over the holidays.

Greg had become insatiable, gobbling up all the sweets and creamy drinks that came near him. His coworkers were bringing in homemade horchata and spiking it with rum, Charleston was bringing home endless office treats, and his family was serving their typical lavish holiday meals. All of it seemed to stick. And not just to his waistline, but to his ass and legs and chest, and even his face.

When Greg returned to San Francisco after visiting his family, he officially didn’t own a single shirt that covered his belly completely. He had to fully confront the fact he was no longer the twink he once was. Luckily, the cold weather meant he could put off clothing shopping a little longer as he layered baggy outerwear over his newly swollen figure.

The first week of January shook things up at the taqueria. The owner’s son, Diego, returned to the city after completing his MBA on the east coast. Diego was a handsome man. He had a chiseled face and broad muscled shoulders that indicated time spent in the gym. Greg was impressed that anyone in a master’s program found time for the gym. Though Diego was a bit on the short side which probably made it easier for him to bulk up. Regardless, Greg was intimidated by the owner’s foxy son who was now at the taqueria every day advising his father.

Diego was kind but clearly regarded the sole white boy at the establishment with curiosity. He always seemed to be observing the staff, especially Greg. One evening while closing down, Diego struck up a conversation with Greg.

“My father tells me you used to work in tech?”

“That’s right,” Greg laughed. “How far I’ve fallen, right? I mean no offense of course, I just-”

“No, no I get it. This is a big change for you.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Greg sighed thinking more about his weight gain than anything else. He was currently breaking a sweat wiping down the counters.

“What did you do at your last company?”

“I was Senior Operations Manager. Basically, I made sure product and engineering were communicating with marketing and sales.”

“I see,” Diego said. “We should grab a coffee some time and get to know one another.”

“Sure, that would be great,” Greg felt surprised and nervous.

“Also, my father is too shy to say this, but he noticed you’re wearing sweatshirts every day and it gets quite hot in here. He sees that you’re sweating a lot and all the other staff wear T-shirts… he’s just wondering…”

“I’ll ditch the sweatshirt,” Greg hurriedly replied while turning beet red. “I get it.”

That night Greg panicked as he tried on every shirt in his closet. All of the tees struggled to cover him fully and there was no time to buy something new before his shift in the morning. He settled on the one large shirt in his closet. It was dark blue, not black as was required, and was prone to riding up on his love handles. He had barely even noticed he had love handles but now he was hyper aware. In fact, there were even tiny red stretch marks on them.

“What is happening?” Greg said to himself.

The next day he simply accepted that he was showing a fair amount of skin from behind. At least Diego wasn’t there to see it, and no one complained about him not being in black. After his shift he would head straight to the mall he decided. Unfortunately, just as he was getting off Diego arrived. He flagged down Greg while flashing his pearly whites.

“Hey Greg, was thinking we could hit up a happy hour?”

Greg agreed and nervously removed his apron. A sliver of belly fat hung exposed that Diego clearly glanced at while Greg tugged his shirt down. He threw on his Patagonia jacket and they headed down the street to a bar. While they were walking Greg discovered that his jacket could no longer zip close. He was too plump. There was simply no hiding it. When they finally arrived at the establishment Greg was sweating from the quick pace Diego kept and couldn’t wait for a drink.

They grabbed a couple beers and sat down. When Diego removed his trench coat to sit Greg was surprised by the man’s physique. Diego had a significant pot belly that he had somehow been hiding until now. His skin tight long sleeve thermal hid no secrets. Diego’s shoulders framed strong muscular pecs that sat pert above a generous slab of belly fat that rested in his lap. This eased Greg’s nerves a bit.

The conversation was professional and navigated Greg’s work history and Diego’s plans for scaling the taqueria, yet a flirtatious undertone remained throughout. After a couple hours Greg was returning home a bit drunk, horny, confused, and most of all: hungry. He grabbed two slices of pizza and garlic fries before hitting the sack.

As winter became spring, Diego included Greg in numerous conversations about how to increase revenue and hopefully open a second location in a year or two. Every time they met, Diego arrived with something delicious, whether it was pastries from a local bakery, large creamy frappuccinos, or hearty burgers from his favorite spot. On some occasions he would even have an extra order of something, which he blamed on the restaurant and pushed upon Greg.

And Greg continued to swell. The weight was catching up with him too. He had finally upgraded his wardrobe, but now he was feeling the physical effects. His lower back was killing him and so were his feet. He couldn’t walk as far as he used to. A year ago he would walk almost anywhere in the city and now he was relying on transit more than ever. Even the stairs to his apartment were becoming a strain. Going up was taxing, and going down was perilous as his belly began to eclipse his view of his feet on the steep decline.

One day after reaching the top of the stairs with two large bags full of food from the taqueria, Greg found himself pausing to catch his breath. His chest heaved as his stomach sagged forward into an overhang. He took a deep breath and plodded inside, spreading out several containers worth of food on the counter.

“Greg,” Charleston entered the room shirtless with a grave expression on his face. “I just bought a scale and it says I’ve gained twenty pounds.” He shook his belly fat with both hands to punctuate this sentence. “It’s because of all this,” he motioned at the counter, “and you, I mean, look at you.”

“Dude I know,” Greg replied. “I like.. can’t stop though, I’m just so hungry all the time.”

Greg sighed, “Sorry, I shouldn’t blame you and I don’t mean to body shame. Work just has me stressed, which is probably contributing to this,” he grabbed his belly again.

Greg smiled. He found Charleston’s little flab cute and innocent. It was nothing compared to the heft he was lugging around lately. Hell, even Diego had more belly than Charleston. Greg had never been picky about body types and he was realizing that extra chub was kind of cool, even sexy. He started getting a bit hard looking at his roommate.

“Honestly, I think it suits you,” Greg replied.

“I don’t know, man. I’m thinking of a gym membership. Would you wanna come with?”

“I don’t know… I’m pretty busy with the restaurant and, I don’t know. I think I’m in too deep already. Might as well enjoy myself.”

Greg fished some enchiladas onto a plate as Charleston shrugged exasperatedly and returned to his room. Greg turned to catch a glimpse of his roommate storming off. From behind, he could see a pair of baby love handles wobble with each step. Charleston’s ass looked fatter too in his snug exercise shorts. Even though both men were gay and fairly attractive, this was the first time Greg considered what sex with Charleston might be like. It sounded fun.

Summer in San Francisco was notoriously gloomy and Greg continued to wear his Patagonia jacket even though it stopped zipping closed a good twenty pounds ago. Some of his coworkers were calling him ‘Gordito’ now. He only got hit on by bears when he was at bars. Diego seemed wildly attracted to him but always kept things professional. As a whole, his life and body were completely different than they were a year ago at this time.

Greg could recall sunny Friday afternoons when he would bring some sliced fruit and a hard seltzer to Dolores Park and gaze upon the city. Now, getting to the top of the park where all the gays lounged was too physical a task, so he would grab a burger, fries, and a beer to consume at the base of the park alongside the straight people. A few hours later he would get take out for dinner.

Come October, Greg begrudgingly went to the doctor for his first check up in three years. Both the nurse and the doctor tried to hide their surprise when they saw his photo in the system compared to the glutton who sat before them. He was used to it though, even bouncers were perplexed when they checked his ID. When he stepped onto the doctor’s scale he regretted the two wet burritos he had eaten earlier that day. He could feel how they weighed down his belly.

Unsurprisingly, the doctor told him he had gained weight. One hundred and thirty pounds in fact. Of course, this was spread out over three years and Greg assumed only about a hundred of that was since he started at the taqueria. Still, that was a lot, and the doctor was concerned. He was prescribed light exercise and walking but otherwise had a clean bill of health. Greg briefly wondered if he should start at the gym and then laughed off the idea. That sounded awful!

Greg ate a salad for lunch that day out of guilt. By evening he was ravenous and arrived at the apartment with two large everything pizzas and a thirty pack of beer.

“I’m never going to lose weight living with you, am I?” Charleston laughed as he saw his roommate wobble through the front door.

Indeed, Charleston continued to swell alongside Greg. Those first twenty pounds had nearly doubled and now a healthy wad of fat hung visibly from his abdomen at all times. There was no hiding it. Charleston was in the same position Greg was twelve months ago: pants were not buttoning, shirts were snug, and his coworkers were beginning to notice. Between the stress of work and the high caloric foods Greg kept around, Charleston simply couldn’t avoid the gains.

“So, I’m glad you’re home,” Charleston continued.

“‘Cuz you’re hungry?”

“Well that, yes. This pizza smells amazing by the way. But I also have a proposition for you. My company is finally looking to hire again and I desperately need someone in operations to make my life easier. It’s not exactly what you were doing before, but I think it's similar enough. And the pay is decent.”

Greg was shocked. He had become so accustomed to working at the taqueria. In fact, it had changed his whole life. It had changed his body. He knew that he would have to give it up eventually, but he didn’t expect so soon. He felt a wave of sadness wash over him considering the prospect.

“I mean, it makes sense,” Greg replied. “I do need health insurance and a salary… God knows I need to update my wardrobe. Again. When would it start?”

The roommates discussed the details while tossing back pizza and beer. Each of them polished off a whole pie and several beers. Charleston was stuffed by the end of it but Greg needed to be topped off. He snagged a pint from the freezer and gobbled up the whole thing in about ten minutes. They both sat on the couch for a moment in silence. Each of them looked swollen with T-shirts that didn’t quite cover the expanse of their middle.

Charleston looked more plush than ever, fluffy and delectable like a marshmallow. Greg’s body looked more stretched and distended than his roommate’s. Fat propped his arms and legs far apart. His belly was dense with lard. Tiger stripes were visible upon his exposed flesh. The ones on his love handles had grown longer and brighter, while fresh stretchies burned at his navel. They eyed each other’s bodies. The air was heavy with pizza grease and the sweat and musk of two heavy boys who hadn’t washed up since the early morning.

“You’ve gotten pretty heavy,” Charleston said in a low tone as he reached over and massaged Greg’s overhang. “How does it feel?”

“It feels… manly. Like I have all this meat and testosterone that fills up the room more than anyone else’s.” Greg paused as Charleston languidly removed his hands from Greg’s belly. “I feel… this insatiable hunger deep in my gut and the more I let that take over the more I feel like some sort of animal… incapacitated by own desires.”

Charleston’s cock was rising to attention beneath his short shorts. Greg watched as Charleston awkwardly tried to hide his erection. Panicking, Charleston excused himself and scuttled off to his room. Greg patted his belly triumphantly. He was horny too but his thoughts drifted to Diego once Charleston was gone. He swigged his beer and belched.

Three weeks later, Greg invited Diego to the same bar where they first got happy hour at the beginning of the year. It was time for him to break the news. He was going to take the job at Charleston’s company. Greg was nervous that Diego would be offended, he also feared the end of their relationship. He didn’t know exactly what was going on between them. It often felt flirty and intimate yet he didn’t even know if Diego was gay. Regardless, he didn’t want to let the man down.

When they sat with their beers Greg noticed that Diego was wearing the same thermal shirt he from all those months ago, except now it didn’t quite fit. His belly pushed forward a few more inches than it previously had. The shirt was stretched to its seams and Greg wondered how he could get Diego to move just right so that he could catch a glimpse of his bare skin.

“You’re looking good lately,” Diego said. “Healthy.”

“Healthy?” Greg scoffed and patted the tank sitting in his lap. “The doctor tells me I need to lose a hundred pounds.”

“You and me both,” Diego grinned and placed both hands on his pot belly.

He gave it a jiggle and Greg got just what he hoped for. The fabric rode up just enough to reveal the soft skin of Diego’s navel and lush happy trail. Diego either didn’t notice or didn’t bother to cover himself up completely once he removed his hands.

“My dad tells me you were a waif when you started working for us. I guess your doctor can blame me in that case.”

“You do keep me well fed, I can’t lie. I think every time I see you you have a bag of something delicious.”

“Well,” Diego smiled, “I like a guy who can eat. I’m a big guy myself and it’s nice to find someone who can keep up.”

They both smiled at each other sheepishly, a latent sexual energy hanging in the air. Greg struggled to muster the nerve to break the news about quitting and before he knew it they were ordering shots and appetizers. A couple hours later the men were drunk. They sat side by side now, their hefty thighs touching as they leaned forward with their bellies pressed against the table, deep in conversation. They were close enough to smell the whiskey on each other’s breath. As the clock neared midnight, Diego called it a night but offered to walk Greg home.

The alcohol had disrupted their balance and they struggled to get to their feet. Their stomachs were distended and sloshing around perilously. Diego was more exposed than before and completely oblivious. He jiggled sumptuously with every wobbly movement. He placed his hand on Greg’s lower back as they exited.

“You know,” Greg hesitated as they neared his building, “I get the feeling you like fattening me up.”

Diego raised his brows and nodded to himself, “Guilty as charged, what can I say?”

“Well you’ve certainly succeeded,” Greg stepped close to Diego so their bellies were touching. “Go on, take a feel. It’s your handiwork, isn’t it?”

Greg looked Diego in the eyes. Diego hesitated but gave in. His hands sunk into the creamy expanse of Greg’s belly. Greg pushed himself out further in an impressive display and stooped his head close to Diego’s, tempting him for a kiss.

“I.. have a rule about work and play…” Diego trailed off as his hands slid under Greg’s shirt and cupped his gooey love handles.

“What if I told you that won’t be a problem very soon?”

Diego raised one eyebrow and grinned.

Greg leaned forward and their lips met for the first time.