The Gains of March

My nerves were wrecked as I stepped off the plane at LAX. This was going to be my big break. I felt like I could explode with fear and excitement at any moment. With my suitcase in tow, I headed towards the rideshare area. Beautiful people filled the airport and I felt self conscious of the way my thighs rubbed together in my blue jeans. I had lost fifteen pounds before coming here and wished I had managed just five more. Oh well.

The Uber dropped me off at a dingy apartment building in downtown LA. It was the best I could afford on such short notice. Homeless people lined the streets out front and the lobby of the building smelled like cat pee. My studio apartment was quaint and in surprisingly good shape considering the rest of the premises.

I unpacked my meager collection of clothes. All my shirts were size small, which I wasn’t used to wearing back home in the midwest. But this was sunny Los Angeles. I was determined to show off my gym progress even if my thighs and ass were still a bit fat. Next, I unpacked my cameras and laid them out on the coffee table.

I was in LA for a one month internship with the famed photographer Alexander Maxwell. Maxwell was working on a new project for a prestigious magazine and was hiring a cadre of interns to help get the project across the line. I arrived in LA on March 1st and was contracted to work 24/7 until the project was submitted on April 1st. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I rinsed off in the shower and felt frustrated that my abs were not as cut as the men I saw in fashion magazines. At least my arms looked defined and my face a bit more chiseled. I was only 5’9” so the weight crept up quickly if I didn’t watch it, especially in my hometown. It seemed near impossible not to get fat in the midwest. But I was in LA now, even if for a month, and things were going to be different. Besides, Maxwell himself was a toned six foot god and I was determined to impress him in every regard.

I headed to the photographer’s studio wearing a yellow tee that hugged my arms and pecs nicely but was loose enough in the stomach area to hide any overeating. I was so anxious I could vomit. Once I arrived I was ushered to an empty studio where six other interns were waiting. We nervously made small talk until footsteps were heard entering the room.

It was him. Alexander Maxwell strode inside with a quiet authority that had everyone’s attention. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back with messy pieces falling out of place. His face was serious and angular. The whites of his eyes glittered from a mile away. He wore scuffed up black denim and a snug black tee that would have showed off his impressive gym body were a tattered flannel not draped over it. He cleared his throat before addressing us.

I was so swept away that I barely remember what he said. The man had an aura about him that was irresistible. His language was sparse and considered and he made eye contact with everyone in the room. When his gaze laid upon you it was like daggers cutting through your soul. It was hard not to fantasize about the man fucking you into oblivion.

He assigned each of us a role based on our resumes, which he seemed to have studied well. I was on technical duty which meant adjusting in-camera settings and making sure everything was wired correctly. Lucky for me, this meant I had a lot of one on one time with Mr. Maxwell. Surely I was a fearful fidgety mess that first day, but he still extolled many compliments that made me feel great.

I got home past midnight and was starving. The studio was generously catered but I was too nervous to eat in front of everyone. There was a fast food place a block away so I grabbed a behemoth double patty burger and fries and inhaled the whole thing in about five minutes. Bloated and exhausted I fell asleep on the couch.

The next several days went similarly. I barely ate during work hours and then would come home and stuff my face, usually with fast food. I also began eating hefty breakfasts that would get me through the day. The work was so demanding that I barely had time to concern myself with eating healthy. Plus, I became so involved in the project that body image faded from my view. That is, until my second Monday in Los Angeles.

That day I woke up still tired and hungry per usual. When I put on my blue jeans though, they were undeniably snug. I could still button them but it was not comfortable. I looked in the mirror and my thighs were definitely touching more than usual. My stomach also had a slight puffiness around the navel. I was gaining weight again and felt distraught. I skipped breakfast and headed to the studio.

It was hard to resist the catering that day as delicious smells wafted throughout the studio. Every time a hunger pang hit, I would glance over at Maxwell or one of the more fit interns as a reminder to mind my appetite. As the sun set and the others left for the night I found myself famished and light headed. Unfortunately, my work for the day was not done. It was just Maxwell and I in the studio as I tried to suppress the deep grumbling of my stomach.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Maxwell stated. “Take a break and grab a bite.”

Immediately I grabbed some chicken and vegetables without a second thought. It was so good to finally eat that I inhaled the food within a few minutes. Out of nowhere Maxwell placed a plate of garlic fries with ranch and a plate of assorted pastries in front of me. I was taken aback.

“Eat,” he commanded.

His tone was so authoritative and my appetite so voracious that I dove right in. I’ve always been able to eat a lot, stretching my stomach beyond belief. Within about ten minutes I had cleaned the plates Maxwell had served me. Frankly, I could have kept going but I restricted myself.

“Nice,” he said and squeezed my shoulder.

This was the first time Maxwell had touched me and it sent shivers through my body. The rest of the night went well. My focus was renewed after eating and Maxwell seemed particularly happy with my work. On my way home I got a couple packs of sushi from the grocery store and some soda. I needed this, even though my jeans still felt snug. I fell asleep with a full belly and hard cock as fantasies of a naked Maxwell danced through my head.

After that night, Maxwell seemed to keep an eye on me. I don’t know how to describe it other than it was clear that I was on his radar. It wasn’t overt, but he paid mind to my whereabouts, my appetite, and whether I was enjoying the work. Obviously it felt good to be noticed by someone of his talent and beauty. I did my best to work hard and eat regular meals, both of which I could sense mattered to him.

I have to admit that as my second week wore on in LA I completely lost sight of my diet. It didn’t help that Maxwell kept me well fed, but the truth was that I was becoming gluttonous. My meals at the studio got larger with each day and the after work binge eating became a nightly ritual. I was working so hard that food and sleep were my only comforts. Sure, I could tell I was gaining weight. My clothes weren’t fitting the same and my belly and thighs were puffing up from my overindulgence. But I tried to ignore the weight gain and stay focused on the work. Besides, Maxwell was taking a real liking to me.

That Saturday after everyone went home, he cracked a beer and took swig before looking at me and saying, “want one?” Needless to say, I obliged. As we sipped, he motioned towards a nearby monitor and asked for my opinion on some of the work thus far. I gave an honest response which he seemed to like. He continued to ask me questions about the project; big picture questions that he had never posed to any of the other interns.

This led to a broader conversation about art and politics and commerce and before I knew it we were a few beers deep sitting inches apart on his sofa. I was tipsy and horny and second guessing whether he was as well. A silence befell the conversation and I could barely resist his sharp grin and twinkling eyes. He looked me up and down, making me feel self conscious, and then leaned forward. I held my breath for what was coming. He reached over and tugged at the hem of my shirt to cover up an exposed bit of navel fat that I was too drunk to have noticed. I turned bright red.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “We should call it a night.”

I wanted to melt in embarrassment. I stood up from the couch now acutely aware of how my belly and ass jiggled beneath the snugness of my clothes. I felt like such a pig and was convinced that if I was just ten pounds lighter Maxwell would have taken me right then and there. My heart raced as I walked home. Despite the shame I felt over my body, I grabbed twenty dollars worth of Taco Bell on the way. It was the only way to drown my feelings and stop my mind from racing.

The next day I woke up in the same clothes from the night before. My bed was covered in Taco Bell wrappers and I could still taste hot sauce on my lips. I was already running behind and quickly changed into my last clean shirt. It was the yellow one which used to hang just loose enough to cover a slight paunch. It now clung to my bloated taco belly. I sighed and headed to the studio.

I didn’t eat anything all day even though Maxwell encouraged me to partake. I was now viscerally aware of the fresh fluff I had developed in the last two weeks and that was enough to maintain my fast. Per usual, I was the last to leave but this time Maxwell didn’t offer me a beer. Instead, as I was packing up he called my name from across the room and then jogged over to me. I didn’t know what to expect.

“Three things,” he said in his classically direct manner. “One, I had a great time talking last night, we’ll do it again. Two, you look great in that shirt. Three, take the rest of the doughnuts,” he motioned to the table, “they’ll get thrown out otherwise.”

He smiled in a manner I hadn’t seen before and couldn’t quite decipher. Then, out of nowhere, he gave my ass a quick pat and went back to work. I was once again stupefied by this man, but did as he was told and took the half dozen donuts with me.

I popped a donut in my mouth as I headed to the burger shop near my place and pondered what had just transpired. Perhaps Maxwell liked my extra padding? He had been subtly encouraging me to eat this past week, I was sure of it. He also wasn’t patting anyone else on the behind, at least as far as I knew. My groin was stirring with desire as the donuts melted in my mouth. I was perplexed and aroused by Maxwell’s actions. By the time I got home all six donuts had disappeared and I couldn’t wait to tear into my double patty burger and chili cheese fries.

As the next week progressed, I got back into the swing of things. My stay in Los Angeles was already half over and I decided to throw myself completely into the work. My diet didn’t matter at the end of the day, and the best way to win Maxwell over was to do well at my job. Besides, our nightcaps were becoming a regular event and I was becoming confident in our dynamic.

I did continue to gain weight and I figured there was nothing I could do but embrace it. I stayed away from weighing myself and bought new elastic pants from Target. Nevertheless, I could sense that I had already gained back the fifteen pounds I had lost before coming to LA. Regains hit hard and apparently I wasn’t the only one to notice.

One day when Maxwell was really on one, he had me hold the camera myself instead of using a tripod. He wanted it at this particular angle that required me to balance it high above my head. At this point, all my shirts were too small and so of course when I reached in that direction my belly became exposed. He pushed me to reach and reach until I was completely exposed in front of everyone. I could even feel my gut jiggling as my arms struggled to maintain the position for long. It was a bit embarrassing, but Maxwell seemed satisfied.

Afterwards, I was sweating and breathing heavily. I could feel the judgmental eyes of the other interns on me. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but it seemed like they were whispering about me. One of the straight guys turned to me and said: “Dude, you’re getting thick.” My face turned bright red as I attempted to shrug off the comment.

I tried to go easy on the catering that day out of embarrassment. However, I immediately failed as soon as Maxwell pointed out the new three cheese mac on the table. I couldn’t catch a break. In fact, I left that day feeling more stuffed than usual and pondering whether I should just lean into it and become a full-on cub.

Over the next several days this idea grew on me. Twinkdom was never in the cards for me and although I was good at maintaining muscle, getting cut was never easy. Perhaps some muscle and chub was simply my destiny, so why fight it? It could be fun to bulk up a bit…

And just like that I went from ignoring my weight gain to seeing how far I could push it.

By my last week in LA I was feeling positively chubby. It was hard to gauge, but it seemed like I was at my highest weight ever. Everything was puffy, from my chest, legs, and ass, and most of all my midsection. Even my groin was developing a bit of chub. I could feel it too. I struggled to cross my legs with all the new padding on my lower body. The LA weather kept me constantly overheated to the point that I broke a sweat every time I walked to the studio. It was like my body was just constantly getting in the way.

Meanwhile, Maxwell and I were getting along swimmingly, even texting occasionally. Usually it was about work stuff, so I was surprised when one morning he requested I wear my yellow shirt. I had retired most of the clothes I bought with me and was cycling through a few oversized black tees I’d picked up recently. When I threw on the yellow shirt I couldn’t help but laugh.

It barely even covered me. The sleeves were stretched to the max around my arms, the fabric taut against my chest. The hem barely even covered my belly. I spent a good several minutes trying to stretch it out and make it a tad bit looser to no avail. I paired it with my elastic pants which were also getting snug. Altogether my muffin top was out of control.

When I entered the studio, Maxwell looked me up and down with a devious grin and then winked at me. I hadn’t gotten off in a few days and this interaction had me dripping with lust. I was beginning to feel like Maxwell was a tease, but who was I to complain?

I spent the rest of the day tugging at my shirt everytime it rode up. It was exhausting, but at least at the end of it all Maxwell handed me a beer. Slouching on the couch, I felt like the Pillsbury Dough Boy next to him. Maxwell’s hallowed face was as angular as his exposed collar bone and sinewy arms. His clothes draped atop his frame in a casual cool manner that stood in sharp contrast to my overstretched yellow tee. He was sitting closer to me than usual and I detected a tension in the air. Out of nowhere, he leaned forward and patted me right on the belly. His hand lingered and I was unsure how to respond.

“You look great,” he said. “I like a guy who can eat.”

“Is that so?” was all I could think to respond.

“It is,” he nervously leapt up from the couch. “Would you like some whiskey?” he asked while pulling a bottle out of a cabinet.

I obliged. I had never seen Maxwell lose his cool in the slightest. I was a bit taken back as I watched his fidgety hands pour two glasses.

“Do you do drugs?” he shot from across the room. “I have some 3xv I can sprinkle in. It’s a mild psychedelic. You can say no.”

“Why not.”

He planted himself back on the couch, this time close enough that our thighs were touching. We cheersed, sipped our drinks and sat in silence.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Did I need to make the first move? What if I was misreading the situation and got fired? Although, he did compliment me, I suppose. I tilted my head in his direction and smiled. His icy blue eyes widened and he looked at my lips. I took a large sip of whiskey and softly raised one brow. I was on the verge of saying “well?” when he leaned over and kissed me.

The kiss was softer than I anticipated, but the second one came in hard and sharp in true Maxwell style. As our lips locked, he reached for my love handle and gave it a tight, almost painful, squeeze. I let out a slight moan which got him going harder. Before I knew it he was pushing up my shirt while biting at my neck. He was like a voracious predator descending upon his prey.

In no time I was on my back while he straddled me. He squeezed and jiggled my body with the curious and intense gaze of an artist, memorizing every inch. Unexpectedly a pang of nausea shot through my stomach followed by a soft euphoria. I felt like putty beneath the warmth of his body. The next two hours were a blur.

I know that we fucked. For the most part I bottomed, although I do recall fucking him in missionary at one point. His hands shook and bounced my belly as I thrust into him, I remember that. There was no denying that he was into my extra padding. It seemed to be the primary thing that got him off. He was mesmerized by the jiggle and weight of it, burying his face into soft crevices and shaking his head so that I wobbled to and fro. The hardness of his athletic limbs sunk into my flesh and held me tight. We had near constant skin contact. After an intense and perfectly timed orgasm we fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, cuddled beneath a blanket on the floor.

When we awoke it was one in the morning and we were both hungry. He ordered a smorgasbord of gourmet pizza unlike anything I’d ever tasted before. I was still in a haze and drinking more whiskey, but I reckon I ate nearly three whole pizzas with his encouragement. I stayed over that night, and every night after until I had to return home.

During the day we pretended like everything was normal, even though I was wearing his clothes and he was excusing me from work so that I could eat. He became obsessed with feeding me. He started customizing the catering to my desires and ordering more than usual. He kept protein powder which he loaded into shakes for me to drink thrice a day. When everyone left he would order food and spread it out on the floor, goading me to gorge myself while we drank and talked.

Strangely, I didn’t question any of this. Something about it felt normal. Maxwell had this way about him where he could convince anyone to do anything in the most casual manner. Perhaps I was under his spell, or perhaps I was enjoying being an absolute pig. I mean, I do love to eat. It got to the point where I was constantly full, my stomach sloshing and burping everytime I moved. Days bled into nights and increasingly I was doing very little of the work I was hired to do.

I’m sure the other interns were suspicious, if not irritated, by what was going on between Maxwell and I. It didn’t matter to me though. I mean, I was living the life. All day and night I was constantly feasting and getting railed by the man of my dreams. Who could complain about that?

On March 31st, the project was finished and Maxwell popped champagne for everyone at ten in the morning. We all drank and were merry for a couple hours before he sent everyone home and turned his attention to me.

“Get naked,” he demanded.

I did as I was told, my cock already rising to attention.

“Stand over there,” he motioned to a backdrop and I knew what was coming.

After adjusting a few lights he began shooting. He didn’t provide much direction beyond encouraging me to eat and drink for the camera. I was self conscious at first, but as the alcohol settled in my appetite came out to play. The shutter went off as I stuffed my face with a sub sandwich and fries. I chugged a protein shake and stroked my cock. My stomach felt distended and sweaty.

Maxwell stepped away for a moment and returned with a sheet cake that he dropped at my feet. I knew what to do. I dropped onto all fours and shoved my face into the sugary concoction. With my ass in the air, I could hear Maxwell mutter “fuck” to himself. We went on like this for hours. I was a bottomless pit for the camera, for Maxwell.

Maxwell sensed when I began to tire. My stomach was in pain and I was sweating profusely. My erection was on the verge of erupting. He invited me to lay down on the couch where he massaged my stomach. His hands felt amazing as he encouraged my food to digest. I groaned in pleasure as one of his hands drifted toward my cock.

“Want to see something?” He purred in my ear.

Maxwell held up a tablet and opened a folder. On the screen was a picture of myself from four weeks ago. He began to flip through a series of images of me taken discreetly while I was working on that first day. I could see the nervousness I felt back then. When he came to the end of the series he switched to the photos we had just taken. I was in shock.

I looked huge. I could hardly fathom that a person, no less myself, could grow so fat in such a short period of time. My stomach was distended beyond belief, glittering with sweat and stained with droppings of food. My face was puffy and bloated from endless consumption over the past few days. My average sized cock looked small in comparison to my gut and expansive thighs, not to mention the fat pad encroaching on my length. For the first time I saw stretch marks on my thighs and love handles. My sides had fat rolls and so did my armpits.

I had lost all muscle definition. Even my jawline was beginning to fade. My eyes were hazy with gluttony and lust. I barely recognized the person in the images. I was a reckless greedy pig. Once the initial shock wore off, the images triggered a wave of desire. Something about my rapid transformation rendered me other to myself, which was profoundly erotic. My boner tapped against my swollen belly.

Maxwell laughed and put the monitor down. He then took my cock in his mouth and with a few deep movements had me erupting in orgasm. My entire body convulsed as a seemingly never ending stream of come exited my prick. The orgasm was so intense that I almost immediately fell asleep.

When I awoke, I was back in my dingy studio apartment. My bags were packed and my phone alarm was telling me I had a plane to catch. I was wearing my yellow shirt. It barely stretched past my belly button. I had a text on my phone from Maxwell wishing me love and safe travels.

I sat up on the side of my bed and felt the weight of my body. I had gained so quickly that I wasn’t quite adjusted to my newfound heaviness. Standing up, my belly fell forward out of my shirt. There was no containing it anymore. I headed to the airport as I was: a fattened piglet  wobbling to the sidewalk to catch an Uber, excess belly fat exposed to the crisp morning air, still groggy and already thinking about my next meal.