That’s it! I’m gonna get out once and for all if this if it kills me.

Dirk’s thoughts of escape raged in his head as he left the set’s back door. Hoisting up his gym bag to drop the strap on his broad shoulder, squinting from the sudden bust of sun, once again he silently vowed last time. It was fun at first, but no more. I’m not showing next time. I don’t care what he threatens. But he knew he’d have to show.

As Dirk stomped to his car, he barely noticed the guard eyeing him up and down. Nor did he notice the reflection of his beefcake build staring back at him from the car window as he dug into his pockets for his key. If he had, Dirk would have seen the image of a 6’3” tall square jawed man. His hair was blond and thick, neatly cropped to the shape of his head on the sides and a little longer on the top. As hair dropped on his forehead, it framed the clean-cut ruggedly handsome face of the archetypal all-American stud. His solid neck flowed into a set of shoulders that looked a little padded in his faded football jersey even though they were bare. Years of devoted working out had kept his physique in fine tune. His pecs rounded out nicely, two pronounced bulges that yanked at the "8” in the center of his old jersey. His baseball biceps firmly tugged at the striped bands on the sleeves. As he shoved his hands from one pocket to the other hunting for his car key, the waistband on his faded jeans pushed down below the hard bow of his stomach. He never had one of those totally flat stomachs. He definitely kept up a sit-up regimen, and his gut was firm to prove it. But the arch in his back that led into his meaty bubble butt also made his abdomen curve slightly forward from the base of his chest down into the v of his hips. When his swayed back and long-waisted build worked in counterpoint with the slight bounce of his jockish swagger, Dirk’s entire torso would twist as his powerful legs pumped along. He was truly the image of most guys’ fantasies. Everywhere he went, men couldn’t help but watch him move past them, just like the guard had done. He was the type of guy you would conjure up when playing that full-on football jock fantasy in your head, the type of guy you’d expect to see on the cover of a porno tape. In fact, he was that guy. He was the guy you could actually see on the covers of several such flicks.

But now he wanted out of all of it. The whole scene had been amusing to him when he fell into it, and the money was a welcome surprise. Three years ago, he was new to this city and trying desperately to get work. With all the free time, he had gotten into an even more extensive gym routine than normal. Unlike so many of the gym queens that surrounded him on these shoots, he had actually played football and been the beefy jock in real time. He had kept the physique in the years following college, and with the extra time on his hands during his job search, he had only added girth, getting a thicker than he had been even at his playing prime.

While knocking back beers at a bar when weeks of job hunting still had come up dry, he was approached by a guy who eventually revealed himself as some sort of agent type. One thing led to another, and he found himself trying out for some "modeling.” Dirk was far from stupid, and once he showed up to the studio, he quickly realized what was going on. But he was starved for cash, and some adventurous part of his personality took over. He decided to try it out, especially when he heard the money involved. One flick. Big deal he rationalized. The sex was guaranteed to be safe. The other guy turned out to be hot as hell.What could be the damage? Who will see it anyway? And it’ll pay the rent for a couple of months until I get my feet on the ground.

That first film turned out to be a hit. Apparently the other guy had a loyal following, and suddenly Dirk was getting just as much overflow fan support. The request came for another casting. He said no way, but after another few months, he had only landed a few temp jobs and was still strapped for cash. Now the offer came with a gym membership and almost twice the money. So, what the fuck. Can’t do any more harm, right?

The two-time gig, however, turned into two years, and Dirk was really over it. The director, Jim, who ran the whole ring, constantly put Dirk in the same parts. It was always the same scene. Dirk played the straight-appearing beefcake jock that turned out to be into other men, the cocky jock that strutted around showing off his meaty build, supposedly unaware of the effect on the guys in the scene. That is until he stripped out of one type of uniform or another to get it on with some cute little stunned jock groupie. Dirk had to admit that seeing films of guys in this same role had always conjured up fantasies, and actually experiences, from his days in football, but was it ever old and tired now! Sick of being the center of the lewd director’s staged fantasies and definitely over the whole grimy routine of the shoots, he was now determined to get out.

But every time he worked up to quitting, the prick director saw where he was headed and would threaten to expose him. Now that he had a respectable corporate job, Dirk felt trapped. The money had gotten him through, but this was never supposed to go on this long. It had to stop, but it wasn’t like he could walk in and resign given Jim’s threats. He actually suspected that the director had the hots for him, complicating his willingness to let him go. The shithead was blackmailing him so he could keep Dirk around. But there had to be a way. A way to make this director lose interest, to suddenly consider Dirk a losing proposition. But he was still in his late 20’s and looking great. Aging out was not an option. What the fuck was he going to do? He was dying to walk away, but knew he’d have hell on his hands if this got out at work beyond the few guys that might have seen the movie and would keep it to themselves.

Obsessed on coming up with a plan, Dirk tore out of the lot. Pissed at himself for getting into this predicament, he sped along toward home on autopilot. He snapped out of it when he almost slammed into the back end of the car in front of him. Shaking his head, he looked around and realized he was at the grocery store right by his apartment. When his stomach rumbled, he remembered that he hadn’t eaten all day. After parking and grabbing a cart, his mind turned back to an escape plan.

As he steered through the produce aisles, again absorbed by his own thoughts, the football stud’s cart slammed back at him despite his pushing. Looking up, he realized he was bumping into this guy. Or, to be more accurate, he had shoved his cart right into this guy’s gut. Dirk’s eyes bugged as he apologized. This guy’s belly was massive. It looked like someone had fed him a giant beach ball. This guy could be so hot too, Dirk thought. But man is his gut huge! The guy had a great face. Handsome. Nice frame. Good muscles. He’d catch any guy’s eye if it weren’t for that huge belly. In fact, the more Dirk stared, the more he saw how studly this guy would be without that gut. Heads would turn, like they do when he walks by. When the guy smirked and cleared his throat, Dirk realized he was staring, and he snapped out of it. As he steered his cart clear of the guy’s wide belly, he wondered if guys would stop looking at him if he grew fat like that. Phew. If I had ever grown fat like so many of my football buddies, no one would be after me the same way they . . . .

He jarred to a stop right there. Is that it? Who the hell wants to see a football stud with a beergut in a porn movie, right?  That is it! A few pounds around the middle and I’ll be fired. How easy is that?? I’ve always been able to eat like a horse. I’ll just pack on a few pounds until my paunch gets me canned. It’s beautiful! I’ll be set loose. No blackmail. And then I can just jog off the weight I gain once I’m a free man. Goddamn that’s easy!

For the next hour, the exjock wheeled an overloaded cart up and down every aisle of the store. By the time he hit checkout, his cart had spilled over into two extra hand baskets. He had enough food to feed an entire football team, and he was going to start growing the gut that would set him free tonight.

"Geeze! Planning a huge party, guy?” The checkout clerk raised one eyebrow as he sent item after item over the scanner. Frozen pizzas and French fries. Ice cream. Pastas. Buckets of food from the deli. Pies and cakes. A few cases of beer.

"Just suddenly feeling hungry I guess. The fridge is pretty cleaned out.”

"Well hell. This is enough to fill a few fridges buddy.”

"Yeah, well. Big plans I guess.”

"I guess!”

Soon he had made the last of six runs from the car to the kitchen. The counters, cabinets and refrigerator were all stocked to capacity. It was Thursday night, and he had a long holiday weekend in front of him to do nothing but start his project. Dirk headed into the bedroom and stripped to his briefs. Reaching for a t-shirt, he stopped to look in the mirror. He stood square, looking long and hard at his physique. He had to admit that it looked good. He was far from a skinny boy. He had always been beefy, and he still stood up well. He turned sideways and ran his hand down his stomach. Stopping right at his navel, he took a deep breath and then exhaled, pushing out his stomach as far as he could and arching his back to accentuate the effect. With a grunt he thought, yeah, that’ll do it. A bit of a paunch like this will get me fired the second I walk on that lousy set.

He yanked on the t-shirt and headed for the bathroom. Pausing at the bathroom, he stepped back and grabbed the scale. Throwing it in the middle of the floor, he stepped on to check his starting weight. A beefy, solid 235#. Break 250 and I bet I’m set. Easy as pie, and cake, and ice cream.

Dirk headed right to the kitchen and didn’t even sit down. Thinking of the shoot he had to appear for in less than ten days, he broke open a bag of chips and starting shoving handfuls in his mouth. He never moved from that standing position and just powered his way through the groceries right in front of him. Cracking beers as he went to wash everything down, he stuffed himself like he never had. After an intense thirty minutes, he had gorged down a bag and a half of chips loaded with sour cream dip, a loaf of bread and two-thirds of a giant can of nuts while waiting for a pan of lasagna to cook. When the timer rang, he dropped his hands on his thighs with a grunt. Fuck, I’m already getting full. He looked down and saw his belly poking out a little from the fast eating. But I guess this is what it’ll take. I always could eat he admitted to himself. So I guess I can get used to this for ten more days. Just treat it like a gym regimen.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the lasagna from the oven and again stood over the counter eating right from the pan. He felt his t-shirt clinging to him more, and his usually slightly loose jeans were feeling less baggy around his waist. He started to slow as he got further into the pan, but he kept thinking of getting out of this whole film mess and pushed himself to keep eating. Taking big gulps of beer as he went, he had to take deliberate, deep inhales through his flaring nostrils to continue shoving forkful after forkful of pasta into his mouth. Shifting and trying to ease the growing pressure on his stuffed gut, Dirk bent his torso forward, leaning into the counter a little. He was getting seriously buzzed from the beer, and his belly was feeling ready to bust from being stuffed so full so fast. He looked at the nearly empty pan. Okay, four more mouthfuls and I’m done. One. Gulp. Two. Ugh. More slowly, three. Huge, strained inhale, and four. The last forkful had his mouth so stuffed his cheeks were bloated and he could barely close his mouth. He could hardly chew between the stuffed feeling in his belly and the wad of pasta and cheese in his mouth. After several hard gulps, he swallowed the last of the lasagna and let his head drop onto his forearm on the package strewn counter. With his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breathe, the overstuffed jock dragged one hand down to his bulging belly, grabbing its now hard and bloated curve to test his success.Fuck. I feel like a moose. He finally stood up straight, both hands on his gut as he groaned and slowly lumbered toward his bedroom where he passed out fully dressed, t-shirt pulled as tight across his stomach as it usually did across each pec.

When he awoke the next morning, the first thing Dirk did was look down to check out his stomach. As his vision focused, he expected to see a belly bulging as big as it was when he passed out. But over the night, his gut had gone down to nearly normal size. He definitely still felt full, but he had hoped for some overnight miracle that would get him ready to blow that bastard director off right away. He head fell back on the pillow. Ugh. This is gonna take more than I thought. Nine more days. Nine more days of eating. I can so this.

It was Friday. Dirk spent the entire day eating like a pig. He stuffed down a bunch of doughnuts as he whipped up a big batch of pancakes, which he then ate after slathering them with gobs of syrup. After a quick break, he started chomping on a bagel and decided to hit a diner, where he ordered the biggest platter he saw on the menu. He ate the same way at lunch, hitting a burger joint and ordering up a few of their meal deals, forcing himself to gorge until the tray was nothing but empty wrappers. He walked around for a while after lunch, needing the rest. His belly was now jutting out like he’d never seen it. His shirt felt like a second skin, and his swayed back seemed to only accentuate the bulge of his overfed belly. His breathing seemed shorter from the pressure in his gut, and as the stud swaggered along with his usual, though now slower gait, his puffed out belly rocked from side to side a bit. Never having gotten himself so stuffed, Dirk was hyperaware of the slight bounce to his distended belly. He put one hand squarely on the point where the bulge began. Hm. This is starting to do the trick. He felt oddly satisfied. Weird, he thought, as he headed into another burger joint to start a whole second lunch stuffing session.

By Monday morning, Dirk’s belly was finally starting to stick. For the first two days, no matter how stuffed he tried to get, his belly seemed to ease back to nearly normal size by morning. But as he stood at the mirror this morning, he was convinced he could see a bulge where the firm, usually lower arc of his gut sat. There we go. But I better keep pushing. Only seven more days left, and I need to make sure he’ll have to kick my fat ass out of the studio.

Driven with a focus he had always saved for the gym, Dirk ate and ate and ate for the rest of the week. Finally it was the morning of the shoot, and he stepped on the scale. 252#. Yeah! There we go. This jock is getting way too fat to be in those fucking movies anymore. This is gonna be the best day yet!

Yanking on one of his tightest t-shirts to be sure his added girth was pronounced, Dirk bent down to wiggle himself into his jeans. When he stood fully dressed, he could feel the waistband of his jeans digging into the base of his newly formed gut. The waistband was bending down at the front from the curve of his stomach, and his t-shirt was so snug that it highlighted every new bulge. The pounds he had managed to pack on over the last ten days had almost entirely hit his belly, making it even more obvious that he had fattened up. He zipped to the car sure that this would get him bounced from the shoot and sent home, free at last.

As he lumbered into the studio, Dirk made sure to throw his shoulders back and to puff up his gut as much as he could. He stopped in front of  the director and proudly jammed one thumb in his jeans pocket to pull them down at the base of his gut. He rubbed his other hand in a circle around the front of his new belly and casually said hello to the director.

Looking up from his chair just long enough to snap at Dirk, the director just said, "Oh there you are. You’re ten minutes late, Dirk! Go get changed. We need to get this thing moving.”

Dirk’s face fell, as did both hands to his sides. He kind of stammered for a minute. "You sure you’re ready? I mean, what do I have to wear here today? It might not be such a good, I mean, I’m not really feeling the hottest, um.”

The director looked up again. "What the hell is wrong with you? Get your butt moving. I don’t have time to waste here, Dirk. Time is money, stud. Move that jock ass over there and get ready.”

"But Jim, I . . . .”

"But nothing Dirk. Fucking get going!”

Dirk’s face went red.  How could he not see the weight I’ve put on? I’ve been stuffing myself like a pig for over a week and came in here nearly 20 pounds fatter. How goddamn much weight do I need to gain to break out of this shit!

To his complete frustration, the entire shoot went on like normal. Dirk thought he saw a few eyebrows raise when he poked out his gut all he could to exaggerate it, but no one said a damn word. He went through the motions, finished the day, and yanked his own now tight clothes back on. Grumbling to send the check soon, he sulked and headed toward the door.

"Hey – Dirkie boy,” Jim shouted back at him. "Better lay off that pizza and beer. I don’t want to see that gut of yours getting out of control. Remember you’re to be grade-A prime exjock beef here, okay? Lay off the chow!”

It worked! Well, it was starting to work. But damn, shouldn’t my gut be big enough to do it already? Maybe just a little more. There’s no choice. It’s gotta be the only way. Just a few more pounds I guess.

There were four weeks until his next shoot. If it killed him, he was going to get out of this damn job once and for all. Encouraged by Jim’s snide remark, Dirk was sure he was on the right track. This will just take a few more pounds than I thought. Maybe 275 would do it. He thought this as he stuffed more drive-through food into his mouth on the way back home. Damn, I’m gonna have to really hit the gym hard once this fucking nightmare is over, but it’ll be worth it. Lay off the chow? NO WAY Jimbo. I’m getting out of your hold asshole.

After another week of serious gorging, Dirk’s belly was getting really pronounced. Whereas he had to push his gut out to get the full effect the day of the last shoot, he had now adding enough weight for it to show without any extra effort. In fact, as he got dressed for his day-job, Dirk realized that he could barely button his shirt. He had to really suck it in to even get the button square over the widest point of his belly fastened. After a tug or two to get it closed, he worked on his tie. Knotting it as normal, he let it drop. Looking down, he saw it wrinkle and angle forward where his growing paunch was forming. And when he looked in the mirror, he saw several inches of shirt below the tip of the tie that never used to show. The buttons looked barely held in place at the center of his stomach. Damn. I am getting fat. All right, all right. I can drop this weight once this is over. Steady ahead and keep eating. It’ll all be worth it once I get a normal life back. Time for breakfast.

Loading up on doughnuts on his way into the office, Dirk had his gut at full force before 9 am. As he headed to the coffee machine, a buddy of his jabbed him in the side. "Getting a pretty serious beergut there, Dirk. What happened? Finally porking up like most football jocks of old?”

At first Dirk felt automatically defensive and sucked in his belly, but then he relaxed it, feeling where every button hit. Good. It’s working.

And then he made another decision. First, he has to step things up to make sure he gets out of this mess. He has to make damn sure that he gets a gut big enough to break free. And then he needs to get his belly back under control fast so he can return to a normal life. He did a quick calculation of his remaining vacation time and decided to take the next three weeks off to stuff himself before the shoot and then to start a crash diet once his plan panned out. Grabbing his coffee and heading to his boss's office to plea for the time off, Dirk again got slapped in the gut again by this little pretty boy. "Better lay off those doughnuts porky.”  Something rumbled in Dirk’s already seriously tight pants. He popped an erection as this guy tapped his belly. What the . . . ? Whatever.

After managing to get the time off, Dirk took to eating like a madman. He became the pizza delivery guy’s best friend. He hit the grocery store almost daily to restock on gut-busting food and gorged for hours until he could barely move. He lived in loose sweats and a once baggy t-shirt that was getting progressively tighter. He’d eat and eat and eat until he would fall back on the couch, his swelling belly bulging out tight as a drum and growing bigger from each successive gorging session. He’d move from a food induced nap back into a gut stuffing that would leave his stomach so packed it would shut him down into a daze as the blood rushed to digest the pounds and pounds of food he was forcing in. The days blurred into big eating and sleeping waves until the day of the next shoot finally arrived.

As Dirk approached the stage door, he already heard Jim’s shouts.

"Where the hell is that guy?! We’re already a half an hour behind. Someone call him and tell him to get his ass down here right now!!”

Dirk opened the door and lumbered onto the set. Everyone had been flying to react to the director’s yelling until they caught sight of Dirk. Jaws dropped.

He had worked hard to squeeze into his jeans, but he left – had to leave – the top two buttons open. He had also shoved his long torso into a white ribbed tank top that was a size too small for him back at 235#. It was so tight now that you could almost see through it. The curved base of the shirt couldn’t even reach the popped open top of his jeans. The hem just stretched out around the widest part of his belly, the arc pulled horizontal by the swell of his gut. Every pound he had managed to pack on in the last few weeks had landed mostly on his expanded ball gut, or on the bulges of his bubble butt, which Dirk made sure to twist upward slightly to enhance the effect of his gain. The goal had been to hit 275# by today. Dirk’s eating had become so fierce that the scale whirled to a stop at 286# that morning. If this huge gut doesn’t get me fired now, nothing will he thought as he dressed to show off his fattened-up heft. Before leaving, he had taken stock of himself in the mirror. Dirk had looked over himself from his chest down to his incredibly strained pants. As he did, his jeans also bulged from a growing hard-on. He ignored it as he tapped his gut and left for the debut of his belly. And here he stood, belly shoved out in front of him for everyone to see.

Jim was the first to speak. "Holy shit, what happened to you?! You look like someone fed you a fucking basketball!”

"Yeah, guess I’ve been eating a little better these days.” Dirk just shrugged and smirked. Here we go. This has to be it.

"You stupid idiot! Eating a little? You look like some exjock that’s been growing a beergut for years! Shit – get in the dressing room. I gotta figure out what to do about this.” Jim smacked Dirk’s bulging gut as he said this and gave him a shove toward the back of the set before storming away. Smugly, Dirk, sauntered to the dressing room, preparing to hear that he could go home, too fat to be of use in Jim’s films anymore.

He was left alone for twenty minutes. As he heard muffled versions of Jim’s shouting out on the set, Dirk leaned back in a chair, increasingly satisfied with how his plan was about to work out. He looked down at the huge swell of his belly. Grabbing both sides of the ball attached to his muscled torso, he shook his tummy like a bouncing basketball. Thank you mister beergut. This pup is giving me my life back. He was thinking about a new gym routine to drop his paunch as fast as possible when the dressing room door flew open.

A young guy was standing there with Lycra shorts and a blue football jersey on a hanger. "Um, I, er, Jim said put this on and get out there now. You better hurry. He’s kinda wild.”

"What!?” Jim was stunned. "He actually wants me to start filming looking like this? Bobby, you gotta be kidding.”

"Well, that’s what he said. Though I gotta say, I’m not sure what he has in mind. He made a bunch of phone calls and then cleared the set. It’s just the three of us now, and he told me to get you out there and ready to go.”

"Fuck, you gotta be kidding!” Dirk jumped to his feet, and the stagehand tried to hand him the uniform.

"Dirk. Come on. I’ve never seen Jim like this. Trust me, just humor him and it’ll be fine.”

"No way! I’m getting out of this rat hole once and for all.”

Bobby stood square in the door. He was a big beefy guy himself, and it would have taken a wrestling match to move him. He looked Dirk straight in the eye. "Look, I don’t know what he’s got planned, and I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish here, but at least put this on so I don’t get my ass kicked too, okay.”

Dirk let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed the hanger. He stripped right in front of Bobby, wriggled himself into the stretchy shorts, letting them snap against his rounded butt, and then he slid the jersey over his belly. It hardly highlighted his gut the way the tank did, but it definitely wore snugly on the fattened up stud. Bobby’s eyes were running over the curves of Dirk’s new physique, but it went unnoticed. Dirk stormed out onto the set, gut swaying from side to side as he charged toward Jim. Bobby rushed out behind him.

Part 2