"So, uhmm, got anymore to eat?"

"Jeez, Paul, where are you putting it all?" Jim reached up above to the left cupboard and dug out a half-full box of graham crackers.

"I'm embarrassed to say that I'm down to this." He frowned. "Wait, I think there might be some peanut butter you can spread on them."

A smile played on Paul's lips as he put the first peanut-butter smeared graham cracker into his mouth. "I haven't had anything like this since I was a kid."

"You are a kid," Jim whispered into his ear, tracing its outline with his tongue. He ran his hands over Paul's chest, reaching in to play softly with his hardening nipples.

"Not," he sighed. "Old enough to drink."

"Is that where this beer belly is coming from?" Jim chuckled, and playfully pinched at the small bulge at Paul's waist.

"Hey, lay off!" Paul said, pushing Jim away. "Just because you have this thing about a perfect six-pack doesn't mean everybody wants a gut you can grate cheese over." Paul stood up and lifted up his shirt, pushing his belly out into Jim's face. He looked down and shocked himself at how far it rounded. There was this strange blend of embarrassment and eroticism as he rubbed it and bounced it off Jim's lips...and Jim licked it. "All my life my mom's nagged me about eating all the right things and exercising; becoming the dancer she never could be."

He limped towards the 'fridge, the cast on his left leg brushing against the sofa. Reaching in, he pulled out another beer and cracked it open, sucking up the cold bitterness, thinking at that moment it wasn't the best choice to wash down graham crackers.

"Well, hell," Paul said, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing his belly out again, "now I have an excuse with this leg. For the weeks I have to wear this damn cast, I'm going to eat all the things I've never been allowed to eat. I'm gonna' go for some comfort foods!" He screwed his face up in fake pain. "I need some comfort, lover...you got any problems with that? You got any problems if I put on a little weight?"

Jim crawled over on his knees and started rubbing Paul's more noticeable roundness, and growled, "I don't have a problem at all .I, I find it a real turn on." He stood up and licked Paul's lips, gently sticking his tongue in and playing with his ass at the same time. Jim pulled back and stared into Paul's eyes for a moment. He leaned over and kissed him and walked over to the phone.

As Paul watched, Jim ordered an extra large pizza with everything on it. He hung up and turned around, an odd look on his face. "You better be pretty damn serious about this, babe," said Jim, his voice strangely low. He walked over and pulled Paul close to him, pulling up his own shirt so his hard tight abs pressed against the soap smooth softness of his lover. "Screw your mom. Screw the ballet classes. You just let me feed you and make you happy."

The doorbell rang when Paul was almost ready to cum, and he limped quickly to the bedroom to avoid seeing the delivery boy.

Jim came back in with a wide smile and an even wider slice of pizza. "Let's see how fast we can build up that belly, babe." After four slices and two more beers, Paul was lying on his back, rubbing his hands on the swollen part of his small belly. "God, I've never been so full," he said. "I don't think I could eat another bite."

Jim took out another piece and started smearing it on his lover's belly, leaving a trail of grease and a little cheese. Looking into Paul's eyes, Jim started licking his belly, very, very slowly, feeling his own cock get hard as his tongue played with the roundness of Paul's stuffed gut, enjoying the mixture of the pizza's taste with Paul's saltiness. He could smell the combination of his lover's mustiness coming up from his crotch and the pizza, and he found he was getting harder and harder. He took a bite out of the pizza and pushed it into Paul's mouth with his tongue.

One more piece went into Paul that way, and then Jim pulled down his pants and began to tongue his lover's thick cock while Paul keeping rubbing his hands in circles over his belly, breathing quickly.

Paul fell asleep in Jim's arms, enjoying the feeling of Jim's cock pressed into the crack of his ass as Jim played with the tiny roll of fat bulging around his hips.

The next morning Paul woke up to the smell of sausage frying. He rubbed his leg, trying to reach into the edge of the cast to scratch where it was itching so much. "Can't believe I ate so much last night!" he called out to Jim. He relieved himself at the toilet and limped into the kitchen.

"Hey, babe, that's just the beginning," Jim said, flipping at least half a pound of sausage onto a plate that was already heaped with pancakes dripping in butter and syrup.

"Where did all this come from?" Paul asked, a little worried.

"I got up at 6am and went shopping. Don't want you going hungry."

"After last night? I don't think I'll ever be hungry again." But he realized he was lying. The food steaming on the plate made him ravenously hungry.

"Sit down, babe. It's all ready for you."

"You trying to make me fat?" Paul frowned. "What if I was just kidding around last night? You think I want to be a balloon?"

Jim put his arms around Paul and kissed him. "I love you. Period. But yeah, it would be a real turn on to me if you put on some weight. The idea excites me."

"Well, if it's such a turn on, why don't you start porking out yourself? Why don't you put a layer of lard over that precious set of abs you've got?"

"I've thought about it," Jim said, his voice a little husky. "But for right now, I'd like to see what happens with you."

"You're really not kidding, are you?" Jim pushed the plate closer to Paul, and the wonderful smell rose up, making his mouth water.

"Nah, I'm dead serious about this. I'd really like to be able to see you grow and have a chance to play with your belly."

Paul looked down and pushed out his belly, thinking he looked like he had already put on at least ten pounds since the cast had gone on. He looked at the enormous plate of food and then looked at Jim."You sure?" he asked, sounding like he was around eight years old.

In answer, Jim picked up the fork and began feeding him. He got up and took a pitcher out of the refrigerator and poured out something thick and creamy and light pink in color. Paul looked up from his chewing and one eyebrow went up. "It's my weight-gain powder, babe, but I mixed it with some strawberry Hagen-Das" Paul stopped chewing.

"You got to go for it," Jim whispered, kissing Paul hard, and lifting up his lip with his tongue. "You said last night, that you'd be willing to do this while your cast is on. It's your excuse. Give me this time, babe," and his voice took on that strange husky sound again. "For the time you wear that cast, let me feed you and let's see what happens. If you're not happy, then you can come with me to the gym and to the stair master and to Jenny-fuckin'-Craig for all I care, and go back to your skinny ass self, if that's what you want. But while you're in that cast, let's see what you can do. I wanna' see what you can become." And he rubbed Paul's nipple with practiced skill.

Paul finished the last of the food on his plate, barely able to breathe. His little gut hard and round, pushing over the top of his Calvin Klien's, making the elastic curl over. He felt very strange. He could feel the incredible pressure inside, but he was sort of numb at the same time. He tried to take another breath and felt an odd but wonderful warmth start to spread out over his body, starting out from his balls. He rested his hand on his stuffed gut and thought he just wanted to feel exactly like this. This felt better than when he was doing the routine that had won him the audition for the dance department. He chuckled at the thought of how his dance professor would react when Paul would waddle back in after spring break.

He was startled by a flash and realized that Jim was in the doorway, pointing the camera at him. "I wanna' track this, babe. I wanna' have pictures of every inch and every pound." He flashed away again. He reached down and kissed Paul roughly. "And if you decide to go back to your old skinny assed self, I'll at least have some memories I can pull out and beat off to." Paul looked a little irritated, but Jim started rubbing his large hand against his lover's cock, pushing through the stretching cotton and tugged at him, pulling him back into the bedroom.

Paul bent over, reaching into the top of his cast with a ball point pen, pushing it in so it almost touched where the itch was, and became aware of the roll of fat that squeezed up below his navel. He leaned back up, distracted from the itching and ran his fingers underneath the roll, lifting it up. It wasn't very large. If he kept his shirt un-tucked, he'd still look pretty much in shape, but if this kept up, he realized not even extra-large shirts would keep this a secret. He remembered Orson Wells being quoted about "gluttony is not a secret sin..."

He walked over to the mirror for the second time this afternoon and lifted up his shirt and inspected how his belly was starting to spread out, escaping from his elastic waistband. He bounced it up a couple of times and watched the fat jiggle. He had always heard about having a belly that bounced like a bowl full of jelly, but he had never suspected he'd be able to experience it. He felt the new extra flesh move up and down, almost as if he had a small pillow strapped to his middle, and started feeling that odd combination of embarrassment and arousal he had been feeling since Jim had started feeding him, encouraging him to fill out and "belly build." He pushed his small but rapidly expanding gut in and watched how deeply his fingers dug into his increasingly soft flesh. He was surprised how soft his gut was getting, and how hard he was getting a little lower.

"Hey, Babe," Jim called from the kitchen, "Watcha doing?" Paul heard the familiar clunk of another double set of six packs of his favorite ale being set in the fridge.

"Playing with my fat," he said matter of factly, moving his little gut up and down. "Want to have a turn?"

"I can't keep my hands off it, either," Jim laughed, putting his arms around Paul and holding him close. "You tired of being cooped up all day?"

"Well, sitting around and stuffing myself while watching every damned talk show, and dragging my cast around wasn't how I planned to spend my spring break."

"It's Friday, and I'm ready for a break, too. All I could think about at work today was coming home to you."

"I don't know," Paul said, pulling his shirt down. "You're getting a little too carried away with this belly thing. When the cast comes off and I go back to all the ballet classes and get my 29 inch waist back inside my dance belt, are you still gonna' be draggin' me into the bedroom every few hours?"

"Let's worry about that when the cast comes off," Jim said, tugging his lover's hand. "I wanna' get you out of here and start filling you up."

"Ah, Jim, do I have to? Can't I just have a diet coke?" He started laughing as he limped after his hunky partner.

"Babe, you're belly belongs to me while that cast is on, and I'm gonna' make certain I get as much mileage, and inches, out of this as I can." He squeezed Paul's little roll of fat and pushed him out to the car.

"Fast food?" Paul asked as they pulled into a burger place. "I'll have a double cheese with a large fries and a chocolate shake."

Jim brought back his order, along with his own and sat quietly while Paul ate. "Still feeling OK?" he asked.

When Paul nodded, wiping his lips, Jim got up and pulled him out the door…and into a flame-broiled burger place where he ordered the same thing again. Putting the tray in front of him, Paul frowned and ate again, while Jim had another order of fries.

By the fourth burger joint, Paul realized his shirts wouldn't be covering up his belly for many more days. He rested his hands on his stuffed gut and leaned his head against Jim's shoulder, feeling incredibly sleepy. He put his arm around Jim and laughed. "I think I can feel where those fries went on you. I thought I was the one who was going to blow up while you kept your abs."

"Watching you gets me so hot, babe, I thought what the hell, maybe I'll put on a little weight too."

"You son of a bitch," Paul smiled, and bit down on his ear lobe. "Then you take me home and I'm going to force one of those weight-gain shakes with the strawberry Hagen-Das down your throat. You big, tough stud, let's see how you can take it. One extra large pizza and you'll be begging for a stair master."

"Kinda scary to think about...I don't know if I can handle dueling bellies."

"Turn about is fair play. I challenge you to an eating contest tonight! Aas soon as I sleep some of this off. God each day I can't believe I feel this full and then I end up doing it all over again. And do you know how much time I get to spend in the can?"

"It's not easy being so pretty, is it?" Jim put his arm around Paul and put his hand underneath his shirt, rubbing his lover's round gut. "Suck it in for me." He kept his hand on Paul's belly and laughed when nothing really moved.

"No good," Paul breathed heavily, "that fourth double-cheese burger is just sitting there." He turned and looked at Jim. "Besides, this is just a distraction, I know you too well. I challenged you to an eating contest tonight and I think that you just chickened out." He pulled Jim's shirt out of his pants and ran his hand over the softening abs. "I've given you control over my gut until my cast comes off, I think you can at least let me stuff yours over the goddamned weekend. I wanna' see what you look like with a little extra weight."

"People keep their eyes on me, you know," Jim told the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah, yeah, you were the condom cover boy, and half the gay guys in the city have seen what your abs look like. I'm just talking about a weekend of extra helpings, not weeks of weight-gain shakes like you're making me suck up. You're the one dreaming about my ass blowing up like a beach ball. I'll be satisfied with an inch or two on you."

"It gets me excited, but it scares me," Jim told the steering wheel.

"Jeez, Jim, just go with it. It's spring break. The whole world goes a little crazy. It's not like we're going to be parading around in bathing suits all the time...besides, you think I want everyone we know seeing me looking like some fat pig?"

"Not a pig...every pound just gets me hotter...I can't believe how this thrills me..."

"You just don't know what it's like....it's as if my body gets more sensitive as it's getting bigger....and when we start doin it, it's better than it's ever been. And I keep thinking if this is what it's like when I put on 15 pounds, what would it be like if we kept this up and I hit 220....or 250." Paul reached down and felt Jim's stiffness. "So, whadda ya say? How does that weight-gain shake sound?"

Jim said something to the steering wheel.

"What?"

"....OK." And then Jim pulled into the supermarket and bought four more quarts of Hagen-Das.

"Just one more spoonful," Paul said, pushing the spoon against Jim's lips.

"Nah, I'll burst!" He pulled his gym shorts down to relieve a little more pressure off his stomach. Paul responded by yanking the shorts over his shoes and dumped the ice cream into Jim's navel, slowly licking it off, watching Jim's cock shoot up.

"Wimp," Paul laughed, and scraped out the last of the ice cream from the carton.

"Babe, how can you keep it up? It's Sunday night, and I think if I move I'll toss my cookies, nd my pizza, and my brownies, and my dove bars. I can't believe you talked me into this."

Paul laughed and finished off the roll of film, zooming in for close ups of Jim's belly pushing up like a little island. Then he poured chocolate sauce over his lover's cock and started sucking. Paul was satisfied that he had won.

By the end of two weeks, the only thing that Paul could fit into was his spandex, and even that was cutting into him, round bulges filling out the shiny color. He had given up on the shirts and kept the thermostat turned up to keep warm. Bored between bites and talk shows, he had taken to shaving what little chest and belly hair he had, and it seemed to make his gut even larger. He would sit on the sofa and eat until he felt as if he couldn't get up. He would fall asleep with Jenny Jones and wake up to Montel, use the restroom and stop by the kitchen to pick up another couple of pieces of cheesecake, waiting for Jim to get off work. He lined up the photos of himself (and Jim), showing the steady ballooning of his belly. With the weight-gain shakes and Jim's encouraging, he figured he was taking in between 10,000 and 13,000 calories a day. He didn't have a clue how many grams of fat he was taking in, but he could sure feel it around his waist. His pecs, always flat, were mounding up, and Jim could reach over and squeeze them together, Jim had let his own belt out another notch, after the first weekend of "contest" eating. By the second weekend, Jim had almost won. The SOB. always was competitive.

Jim came in and put a peanut-butter cream pie on the counter and took out the tape measure. "Check in time," he whispered, flicking his tongue in Paul's ear. In the warm air of the apartment, he pulled off his shirt and pushed out his stomach the way that Paul had done a little over two weeks ago. "Whadda ya think? My gut turn you on as much as yours does me?"

"I don't know," Paul said, "looks kinda small to me, not much to look at."

"Whadda ya mean! Look at this! My abs have disappeared!" And it was true, the weight-gain shakes and the evenings of wandering from fast food place to all you can eat restaurants had managed to cover up any evidence that this was last year's condom cover boy.

"I think you can do a hell of a lot better than that. Check this out!" and he bumped his belly off of his lover's, slamming him into the counter. Pressing against him, he dug his hand into the peanut-butter cream pie and shoved it into his mouth. Jim dug into it as well and shoved a handful across Paul's lips. In less than seven minutes the pie was gone.

"Hell," said, Jim, "I'm gonna' go broke between the dry cleaning bills and the extra food." He unbuttoned the top of his pants and pushed his gut out, slowly letting its expansion open up his zipper, exposing a hands width of soft hairy belly, where there was no trace of abs, but a little of the peanut-butter cream.

Paul licked it off and pulled the pants down, nibbling in a circle around the softening sides of his lover. There was barely anything to put his lips on, but maybe in a couple more weeks. Paul smiled and pulled off his too-tight spandex and started rubbing his smooth blubbery belly against Jim's growing cock.

"If your gut could grow as fast as your cock, well, for right now, I'll settle for what I've got. You go into the bedroom and I'll whip up a quart of the special milkshake. When I bump bellies with you next month, I want you to have something to bump back with."

"You SOB. You're so damn competitive."

" I've put on 28 pounds so far--let's see how long it takes you!" And he stuck his tongue into Jim's mouth, rubbing his cast against Jim's leg.

"Jesus," Simpson whispered, "What the hell happened to you?" The Chairman of the dance department sat down heavily in his chair with his mouth open and looked at Paul .

Paul moved his own eyes down to where Simpson was staring, doing his best to keep from laughing at the gray-haired man's reaction. He had deliberately worn his old leotard as a tank top to allow the full impact of his spring break of deliberate fattening to be revealed. Consciously, with a growing sense of triumph, he touched his round belly as he had done almost constantly for the last few weeks. His years of ballet training and his pencil slim body with its flat chest and 29 inch waist was buried under thousands of calories and countless fat grams. Laying on top of it was soft new flesh that moved delicately under his fingertips, and he started to get a hard-on as he fulfilled his fantasy of shocking his advisor with his new shape. He relaxed what was left of his ab muscles even more and it was as though his gut melted down and sagged another inch or two further out, dangerously taxing the elastic of the leotard.

"Guess I've put on a little weight since I've had my cast on," he smirked. "Haven't had a chance to keep up my floor exercises." He assumed third position from his classical training, but the awkwardness of the plaster cast and his newly blubbered thighs prevented him from really doing it well. He smiled again and looked up at Simpson, surprised to see a shiny moistening of perspiration starting to form on the professor's forehead. Simpson was also breathing rapidly. "Are you OK?" Paul asked, concerned.

"What? No, I mean, yes, I mean, Jesus, look at you." Simpson's mouth didn't seem to be able to close and his breathing continue to speed up.

"I've never seen anything like this before...." Simpson stood up, unconsciously graceful from decades of professional dance and stepped towards Paul, one hand outstretched as though he were reaching for the Swan Princess in the ballet he had choreographed last year. "How much weight did you gain? How big are you right now?" And his fingertips brushed against Paul's protruding gut as if he were touching a soap bubble, terrified that it would burst. His upper lip was now also covered in shiny moistness, as if the office has suddenly become a sauna. Paul felt an oddness that made him almost flinch from the light touch. Something was very strange.

"To be honest, I'm not exactly sure," Paul said, "I've never found out how much the cast itself weighs....but I think I've put on at least 37 pounds since I've had it on." In his mind, Paul thought of all the weight-gain shakes he would begin and end the day with, along with nearly constant stuffing by his lover to shoot up his calories and blow up his belly so rapidly that they would laugh at the stretch marks that had started forming on his sides. Jim would trace the stretch marks with his tongue, almost like he was deciphering some sort of fat Braille...

"You're huge," Simpson muttered, his voice barely audible. His hand trembled, but he didn't take it away, and he maintained the contact with Paul.

"Yeah," Paul said, frowning, almost afraid to move, not understanding Simpson's reaction. He stared into the older man's eyes and a sudden dawning started filling him with the familiar feeling of one of the hagaan-daz flavored weight-gain shakes..."Yeah, and you know, I really am finding how much I enjoy having a gut." Then, with the slowness of ice melting, Paul began to push his belly out even more, pushing gently, but without hesitation against Simpson's fingertips. "It's so fantastic, finally being fat...I always had fantasies about being big, and it's finally starting to happen."

Simpson was now beginning to pant, and as Paul glanced down, he could see a small spot of wetness began to form on the front of his advisor's gray slacks.

"I love to keep filling my gut each day and seeing it swell up," Paul said, taking half a step closer to Simpson so the man's hand was now touching the fullness of his belly....Paul started feeling even more full with a strange sense of power that he had never known before...maybe being bigger meant being bigger on a lot of levels. "It's so exciting to not have to worry about watching my diet, or spending hours in the studio sweating my ass off...you know, Mr. Simpson--I actually enjoy having an ass...." Paul grabbed Simpson's right hand and forced it against his soft flabbiness. "I like to eat cheesecake and nachos and drink six pack after six pack until I can barely breathe...."

Simpson's hand was shaking and the small spot on his slack had spread to the size of a dime. "Have you ever had a chance to really eat as much as you possibly want? Have you ever eaten so much you just can't believe it? You just lay back on your sofa rubbing the hugeness of your gut?"

Simpson was starting to move his other hand next to the one pushing against Paul's belly, his eyes glazing over. Paul watched him and smiled, feeling as though he were an enormous giant holding a tiny dance doll in his hand.

"You know, Cecil," he whispered, using the man's given name for the first time in his life..."there are some days when I just stare into the mirror because I can't believe the changes that have taken place so quickly. You were at my audition...you remember how slender I was...you remember what I looked like in this very leotard...and now look...." and Paul began to pull down the straps of his leotard...freed from the tight restrictiveness of the spandex and cotton blend, his rounded tits fell forward and Simpson drew in a sharp intake of breath. "Just look at what's happening to me..."and he pulled the top of the leotard down so quickly that the new fatness seemed to explode out from where it had been so compressed by the tightness of the old dancewear. The slight stubble on his belly's blubber that he had been shaving brushed against Simpson's fingertips and Paul felt an almost electric erotic charge. The belly fat shook like the creme brulee he had eaten the day before, and he took his own hands and made his gut jiggle in front of Simpson's face.

Simpson cried out and fell to his knees and frantically began to jerk at Paul's buckle, his fingers kneading Paul like his gut was pizza dough, and Simpson was desperately hungry. He had his eyes squeezed shut and he had yanked Paul's jeans down and was pulling the crotch area of the leotard aside to get to Paul's cock.

Paul threw his head back and moaned as Simpson pulled his stiffening dick into the older man's mouth and began to suck at him, his tongue expertly flicking at the glands, and then alternating the intensity of his suction, all the time rubbing his hands in ever increasing circles around Paul's gut and love handles, until Simpson gasped and the wet spot on his slacks was soaking through and he fell backwards, sobbing.

"Well, Cecil," Paul smiled, rubbing the beautiful nakedness of his newly grown belly, "I suppose this means I'll be getting an 'A' in your dance class?".