Groupies & Gains

Frank Cleaver was on stage, the image of perfection. All of my sexual desires realized in one man. He chaotically bounced around switching with ease between pop melodies, viscous raps, and abrasive electronics. At this point in the show he had ditched his shirt so that his bare body was on full display. His pale skin was littered with tattoos that looked like grade school doodles. He was flushed red from performing, with sweat exploding off his body. The hair that traveled from his groin to his chest was dark and matted wet with perspiration. I was front row and having the time of my life.

At the time, I was a sophomore in college and finding salvation in nightlife. I had finally broken free from the noxious suburbs and boring high school events. I was an art major now and the world was my oyster. As far as I was concerned the harder I went and the darker shit got, the closer I was to brilliance.

I was obsessed with a band called Hernia. The lead singer was Frank Cleaver, the man of my dreams. He was openly gay, an avowed anarchist, and physically just my type. Unlike the gym bods or spindly twinks you saw in most gay media, this guy had a definite dad bod and he did nothing to conceal it. In fact, it was often on display; a harsh rejection of both fitness culture and body positivity. Frank Cleaver subverted every norm and lived an unapologetic lifestyle of drinking and partying.

Cross faded on god knows what I was having the time of my life in my little crop top and shredded jeans. I was a tattered and demonic twink, riding through the night. I was convinced that several times during the show Frank had made eye contact with me and I had already resolved I would meet him afterward. I didn’t know how, but I knew I would.

I ended up hanging around the back of the venue with a nervous cigarette between my fingers when I finally achieved my dream. All my friends had gone, but Frank came out and greeted me. He even invited me backstage for some ketamine. Obviously, I accepted.

When I sat down next to him on the worn out leather couch I could hardly believe my eyes. Not only was this the man of my dreams, but he looked even juicier up close. He had changed into the shortest denim cut offs imaginable. Hairy thighs on full display wobbled with every step and spread out on the sticky leather couch where we sat. Wadded between them was an unavoidable bulge. The denim was so worn that I could make out the head of his cock and slight discoloration from urine.

His stomach flopped forward and eclipsed the waistband of his pants. He was wearing the band’s merch in a size too small, causing the screenprinted graphic to warp over the curve of his gut. The sleeves were also tight around thick tattooed arms. Altogether, the cotton fabric looked uncomfortably stretched over his chubby body and I wanted nothing more than to rip it off and go to town.

Instead I accepted a beer and did a line of K off the coffee table. At that moment I noticed the empty basket of fries and burger wrapper nearby. Frank must have been so hungry after the show that he immediately slammed some greasy fast food and washed it down with a beer. His unabashed gluttony had me salivating.

We talked about music for a bit as the band and crew milled about, smoking cigarettes, doing drugs, playing music. It actually seemed like Frank and I had a connection, which shouldn’t have been surprising but it was. Nevertheless, I was faded and horny and wanted to jump his bones right then and there. I thought I had my chance when the band suggested going to a bar nearby, but unfortunately Frank elected us to join.

I was starting to get hungry when we arrived at the bar. Thankfully, Frank ordered one of everything on the menu before I even had a chance to speak up. Fifteen minutes later the food began to arrive and Frank’s eyes lit up with glee. He took a rip of his weed pen and dug in while we talked.

The conversation jumped around from the personal to the cultural, from the light to dark. We were both having a great time as we filled our bellies and intertwined our legs at the bar. Eventually, everyone else faded from our view. I squeezed his plumped up thighs, appreciating the juxtaposition of soft fat covered in coarse hair. His hands traced the cum gutters exposed by my crop top, as his eyes zeroed in on mine.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally tipped my chin up with a single finger and kissed me softly. Fireworks don’t quite describe the sensation, it was more like laser beams glowing electric with desire. Only a few minutes later we were sloppily making out in the middle of the bar, our limbs drunkenly clawing at one another.

I wasted no time in sliding my hand underneath his overstretched tee. I gripped at the fat roll bulging out from his navel. It was even softer than I anticipated, like a freshly baked biscuit melting beneath my touch. Underneath the generous layer of pudge I could feel the taughtness of his stomach. Occasionally it would vibrate with the effort of digesting a gut full of alcohol and fried food.

By the time we were sporting hard ons he invited me back to his van. Stumbling through the night we could barely keep our hands off one another. My vision wasn’t the sharpest at this point, but the van was still something to behold. It was covered with knick knacks inside and out creating a kitschy sci-fi effect. I stumbled inside backwards as he crawled atop me and shut the doors.

We frantically threw off our clothes. He kneeled above me, straddling my smooth and bony body. His gut hung over me in sharp contrast to my own lithe form. It was distended and bloated as furry fat hung forward and quivered with every movement. In the nude, I discovered he had a slight fat pad coming in that was covered in a dense bush.

His cock was large and uncut, dangling before me semi-erect. He crouched down to kiss me and my boner audibly thwacked against the soft pudge of his midsection. He growled when my erection made contact and dropped lower to take me in his mouth. I wasn’t usually a fan of blow jobs but his lips were like magic. I suppose being a singer and a foodie makes you skilled in that regard.

When he finally came back up to kiss me I could taste my cock on his lips. I didn’t realize I was so fragrant, but I suppose I hadn’t showered in over twelve hours at this point. He continued to devour me as I writhed beneath him and bit back on his gooey curves and warm doughy body. His mouth worked its way down from my shoulders to my ass, where he planted his scruffy face for several minutes.

By the time I was dripping with saliva and sweat, my hole fully open and begging for more, he flipped me around and began fucking me doggy style. The rhythm of our motion caused the van to shake and the food inside both our stomachs to slosh loudly. I threw my ass back against his heft, causing his meat to clap against mine.

The windows on the van steamed up with sweat from our vigorous fucking. He held my throat and bit at my neck while thrusting into me. I was surprised he could keep such pace after all that we had consumed. Occasionally he’d proudly let a belch rumble through his body and escape from his mouth, mere inches from my ear. The rabid messiness of it all drove me wild.

By the time we came we were both ragged with exhaustion, slumped over, and cuddled in a pool of bodily fluids. Much to my chagrin I was kicked out after only a half hour or so. We exchanged numbers but I knew we wouldn’t stay in touch. I didn’t really mind, or at least that’s what I told myself.

Twenty years later

I brushed the donut crumbs from my shirt and took a sip of my cappuccino. It had been a busy day at the office and I’d eaten five too many donuts out of stress. This was on top of a heavy breakfast and a night of drinking prior. My pants were feeling snug and all I could think about was the leftover lasagna waiting for me at home.

I retreated to the bathroom to unbutton my trousers and take a breather. Scrolling through instagram something caught my eye. Hernia was doing a reunion tour. Memories of my night with Frank Cleaver came rushing back. God, life was so different back then. I was a chaotic twink obsessed with thicker men, and now here I was probably heftier than Frank was at that time.

After graduating college I worked a series of odd jobs before landing in marketing at a tech company. The pay was decent and so I stuck with it, eventually hopping around between rival companies and securing a pretty cushy gig. Before long my partying days faded from view and I settled into life as a conventional yuppie.

Without any effort the weight started piling on. At first, I was eating well due to the novelty of having a consistent paycheck, but then it became normal. As the stress mounted I comforted myself with food. Five pounds turned into ten and by the time I turned thirty I was twenty pounds heavier. At that point I was still a rather slender guy, but it all changed in my thirties.

Without any notice my metabolism screeched to a halt. The negligible paunch I’d developed in my late twenties ballooned into a full on belly in only a couple of years. It seemed like everything I ate stuck to my hips or my ass or my gut. I tried to fight it at first with a couple of unsuccessful diets, but eventually I just gave in. I’d always been attracted to bigger guys anyway. What did it matter if I became one myself?

So, as I sat on the toilet, my ass hanging off the sides and my belly filling my lap so completely that it covered any view of my junk, I pondered whether to buy tickets to Hernia. I wondered if Frank would even remember, let alone recognize me. I navigated to his personal profile. He didn’t post much. He seemed like he’d gotten fatter but it was hard to discern without any full body pics. The tickets were only $40 so I bought one.

The night of the concert I became completely flustered. What would I wear? I hadn’t been to a show in ages. Digging through my closet, I found the crop top I had worn the night I first met Frank. Squeezing it over my shoulders, it barely even covered my chest let alone my overhang. Eventually, I settled on a plain black tee that was my favorite a few years ago. I had stopped wearing it once it became too snug and I caught my belly peeking out of the bottom on more than one occasion. For this evening though, I figured why not.

Squeezing into some dark denim that miraculously still buttoned, I headed to the venue. I was pleased to see the crowd was mostly around my age, with a few kids interspersed as well. I bought a shot and beer at the bar before catching the opener. Somehow I was already hungry despite having a large dinner before I left. Already I was thinking about the pizza I’d get on the way home, which in that moment was more exciting than the actual concert.

A couple twinks hit on me before the show started which boosted my confidence even though I had no interest in any man who weighed less than I did. Finally, the lights dimmed, and Frank Cleaver exploded onto the stage. My jaw dropped when I laid eyes on him. He had gained an inordinate amount of weight. If I had to guess, he was pushing four hundred pounds.

Despite all the extra blubber, he put on a high energy show that delivered all the nostalgia the crowd needed. A couple times it seemed like he made eye contact with me, but I didn’t put any stock into it. I walked out of the venue eager to order my pizza and tuck in for the night. When security tapped me on the shoulder I was taken aback. They told me that Mr. Cleaver wanted to chat with me backstage. My heart skipped a beat.

I opened the door to the green room and there sat Frank, sprawled on the couch in a too small tee and surrounded by fast food wrappers. It was as though nothing had changed twenty years later, except our waistlines of course.

He called me by name and asked if I wanted some ketamine, a sly grin spread across his face. My cock stirred as I walked to the couch. Sitting down, I marveled at the fact that he still had a good fifty, maybe even a hundred, pounds on me. Heavy bellies filled both our laps, but his was particularly mountainous. Mine, a rolling hill in comparison.

I was more brazen this time, creating full body contact when we sat down. I was flirting, but also the couch was small. We both looked each other’s bodies up and down with wry grins, surveying the absolute gluttony our bellies betrayed.

“I would’ve guessed you’d be a twink for life,” Frank said.

“Office life, man,” I replied and slapped my gut lovingly.

I knew why I was here and I cut to the chase. I leaned in with difficulty for a kiss, our bellies keeping our hungry mouths at a fair distance. Frank tasted and smelled just like he had all those years ago. He seemed excited by my new larger body, patting and caressing my gut as we kissed. My hands explored the upper crest of his belly and the heavy slab of fat that composed his chest. The man was an absolute porker. As things got heated it became obvious that the backstage couch was not going to cut it for two big guys.

“My place isn’t far,” Frank purred.

“No more van?” I queried.

“Van? I need an RV to support this fat ass.”

Frank wasn’t lying. He took me around the corner to a massive black RV. Getting up the steps of the vehicle was no easy feat for us, and I wagered that even the RV couldn’t support his fat ass for long. Once inside and out of breath, we cracked some beers and waddled to the bedroom. The RV creaked and bounced beneath our dual weight until we climbed atop one another causing the back end to slightly lean.

Frank had clearly lost the stamina he had as a youth, as he spread out on his back in the nude. His tattoos had stretched and faded with the weight gain and the sizable cock from twenty years ago no longer had the same stage presence. Surrounded by a fat pad the size of a starter belly, and thighs that spread out like small seas, it had certainly lost a few inches. Nevertheless, I couldn’t say that my downstairs situation was too different.

I climbed on top of him, both of us grunting and pushing our fat around until we got comfortable enough to lazily make out. We were both hard almost instantly and I could sense that Frank wanted to fuck but couldn’t do much about it. So I pushed his belly back, noticing faded red stretch marks from a prior growth spurt, and positioned my own gelatinous ass above his throbbing cock.

I slowly lowered myself onto his erection and began bouncing up and down. Truthfully I was losing my breath after only a few minutes of this, realizing for the first time to what extent I was out of shape. Frank sensed I was growing tired and began to stir. I fully didn’t expect the man to move from his back for the rest of the night, but he hoisted himself up with surprising agility and stood at the edge of the bed.

“On your knees boy,” he said and patted the spot in front of him.

I was surprised, relieved, and excited all at once. I did as I was told and bucked my hips into position. On all fours my belly hung heavily, pooling on the bed and forcing me to arch my back. Frank had to lift his prodigious overhang with both hands and plop it down on my lower back. His fat was heavier than expected, weighing me down with its warmth. As older, plumper men, everything moved at a slower speed than before.

Frank bucked his cock inside of me and pumped at a leisurely pace, both our bodies still bouncing wildly and flushing with exhaustion. He seemed to enjoy my thicker form, continually smacking my ass and jiggling it beneath a strong callous grip. He even leaned over, nearly crushing me, and patted my belly a few times.

I tried to jerk my own cock, but it was hard to support both our weight with only one hand. I was practically forced to remain on all fours as my body exploded with pleasure. It was for the best, because I knew that if I were to access my cock I would burst with orgasm almost instantly. Instead we lasted a solid half hour until Frank’s pace quickened and I could sense his muscles contracting beneath mounds of chub.

I tossed my ass back causing our padded bodies to clap together loudly. Frank drove his orgasm deep inside of me, gripping handfuls of ass fat while he came. It seemed to take everything out of him, as he quickly collapsed on the bend trembling from the immensity of his ejaculation. He patted his belly beckoning me to come atop him. I followed orders and lifted my own gut with one arm so I could get a good view of my cock as I unleashed a torrent of jism across Frank Cleaver’s obese body and beautiful face.

I was shocked by how much come escaped my body. I slumped onto my backside and stared at the overfed mess of a man before me, covered in jizz and still trying to catch his breath. Somehow, twenty years and some two hundred pounds later, we still had chemistry.