The Hungry Hustler: Epilogue

“Don’t forget the dinner party with my colleagues this evening, hun. I’ll be home at six and people will start arriving around eight.” 

“Got it,” Ricky said with a mouthful of post-breakfast strawberry ice cream. 

It had been six months since the couple moved to Correlsdale and Ricky had grown insufferably bored. As promised, Brad had ingratiated Ricky into his work circle, though his past as a sex worker remained hush hush. Ricky quickly discovered that he did not care for Brad’s stiff, bland, and extremely caucasian coworkers. He found them terribly boring, narcissistic, and could barely stay focused during conversations. At first, the former hustler felt self-conscious admitting he was not employed, so he applied for a few jobs at bougie cafes in town. Sadly, he was never offered an interview, so he adjusted to life as a husky houseboy. 

Ricky spent his days in their large upper middle class home grazing on all the delectable treats Brad kept fully stocked. He’d taken up reading and was finishing almost a book a week. Most summer days Ricky would laze by the pool in the nude, soaking up the sun and sipping on either a cocktail or a milkshake. His obese body became toasted like freshly buttered rolls emerging from the oven; the top of his curves more brown than the soft crevices shielded from the sun. After reading a few memoirs, Ricky was inspired to begin writing himself. Brad got him a laptop and when inspired he’d pound out a few pages of stories from his prior life on the street. Lately, he’d even begun chronicling his new bourgeois existence. 

Needless to say, Ricky didn’t do much physical activity outside of swimming the occasional lap. He was now fatter than ever and barely bothered to put on clothes when he was around the house. Despite living such a lazy lifestyle, Ricky’s fat remained fairly firm and rotund, bulging out from every crevice of his body. He now had the gait of a fat man, shoulders back and belly forward. When wandering through the house in the nude one could barely see his dick buried underneath his swollen belly and fat pad. 

Ricky didn’t mind the extra weight either, even though it was increasingly prohibiting his movement. Shoes had become impossible to tie. Scratching his own back was a thing of the past, though his belly was constantly itchy from new stretch marks. Too often he’d knock things over with his girth while preparing a meal. The worst would be if something fell on the floor and he had to bend over to pick it up. For these reasons, Ricky preferred to stay in a supine position as much as possible. 

Today, however, he felt unusually energetic and like he needed to blow off some steam. So, around four o’clock, he squeezed into some basketball shorts and a laughably small tank top and headed to the park where a group of men played basketball everyday. Basketball had been one of his favorite past times when he lived on the streets.

When he arrived all the guys began to tease him, calling him “bubba” and straight up saying he was too fat to play. Ricky took the teasing well and asserted he indeed wished to play. However, after about twenty minutes of attempting to run up and down the court, he was seriously regretting his decision. Eventually he had to step off the court and catch his breath. Drenched in sweat and heaving from the exertion, Ricky was beginning to feel seriously ill. His body could not handle this level of exertion. Suddenly, he felt something travelling up his throat and out came a pool of pink ice cream vomit speckled with french toast. 

“Hey bro I think your people are at Casa Mirez, the court ain’t your home no more!” Someone shouted. 

Ricky was too exhausted to form words and simply waddled off to Casa Mirez, a local taqueria. Upon arrival, he headed straight for the bathroom to freshen up. He wet his hair and dabbed the sweat from his underbelly with a paper towel. After taking a shit he felt cleansed and ready for some food and alcohol. 

As he took a seat the barstool creaked loudly. His ass drooped from the edges as he ordered a margarita and some taquitos to get started. A crowded group of locals sat nearby. They spoke in a lively blend of Spanish and English that reminded Ricky of his family back in Southern California. It didn’t take long before a woman ingratiated him into their group. Ricky noticed he was not even the biggest guy at the bar. Almost all the men were overweight to varying degrees. From paunchy to larger than Ricky himself, it was clear this group liked to eat. Feeling relaxed and ready to refill his tank, Ricky gladly partook in the group's gluttony and shenanigans. 

After several rounds of fully loaded nachos and too many margaritas to count, his phone vibrated loudly. Ricky looked down to see a text from Brad asking where he was. It was already seven and Brad’s message seemed annoyed. Ricky felt guilty for losing track of time but he did not want to leave Casa Mirez and join Brad’s lifeless dinner party. He contemplated how to respond when suddenly a shot of tequila appeared before him.

“Hi, I’m Leo, Maria’s cousin. Do a shot with me,” said a handsome stranger leaning close to Ricky. 

Ricky complied and the two cheersed before downing the liquor. Leo grabbed a chip and scooped a heaping chunk of guac atop it while Ricky took in the man’s beauty. He had piercing eyes and a charming grin surrounded by light scruff. Broad shoulders stretched at his skin tight black shirt. A doughy midsection pressing against his large belt buckle contrasted the sharp contours of the man’s biceps. Leo leaned closer to Ricky so that his beer belly was touching Ricky’s much larger stomach. 

“I’ve never seen you ‘round here. New in town?” Leo asked. 

Ricky smiled and felt a pang of desire course through his loins. His phone then began to ring. He looked down and it was Brad. He pressed ignore.