Lord Of The Pies Part One

Part One
"He's here again," Jennifer told me as she motioned to the front door.

I turned to see his masculine form moving powerfully towards the "The Waitress Will Seat You" sign.

"You go ahead, I know better than to try to seat him in my section," Jennifer sighed, rolling her eyes.

"You have a heart of gold, dear. I'll remember you with something special on your birthday."

I walked over to where the six-foot-two stud had taken position by the sign, trying not to stare at his amply-packed faded jeans and the sensuous way he filled out an old tank top stretched gossamer thin around him. His chest was sparsely covered by soft, straight black hair which seemed to be almost too perfect in their placement. My eyes were temporarily drawn away from the chubby bulge under his button fly to his wide smooth shoulders that seemed to glow with a honeybutter hue. The young hunk's softening pecs swelled when he shoved his hands in his pockets, and his tender round belly stuck out shyly centerstage between his thick arms. There was a beginning layer of fat covering his carved six-pack as his chunky middle bowed out over the taut waistband of his old stonewashed 501s.

"Funny, you don't look like much of a waitress," he said in a deep, velvety voice as I led him to his booth near the kitchen.

He scooted his meaty ass in the booth with his back towards the restaurant.

"Yeah, that sign can be pretty misleading, huh?" I offered, holding back the urge to direct his attention to the fact that he had always said that to me when he came to the diner and I sat him. "Hope you're not too disappointed."

He just looked up at me with a smirk.

He'd been to the diner several times, and managed to eat well each time; some less tactful folk might have said that he had "made a pig out of himself." He always cleaned his plate, and I liked the way he rubbed his belly after he would finish his dessert. I was always very attentive to him, if for no other reason than to make sure that he never wanted for anything, and he always left generous tips.

He got comfortable in his booth and looked up at me. Long eyelashes the likes of which I'd not seen drew me into his deep brown eyes, and I was embarrassed when he had to repeat his request for a big glass of water.

"Sure." I shifted focus to the dimple on his chin and the strength of his jawline to avoid looking in his eyes. "I'll be right back."

"Hot in here, huh?" Jennifer whispered to me, fanning her face.

"Shut up," I said. She laughed under her breath as I shot her a playful look of disgust at her pointing out my quickened pulse. Grabbing a large glass, shoveling some ice into it and filling it to the rim, I hastened to his table where he sat scrutinizing the menu.

"What's your pleasure, sir?" I cheerfully requested. He looked at me for a moment and caused a chill to go down my spine.

Worried that I had overstepped the border of tolerance, I corrected myself, "...er, what can I get for you today?"

A coy smile curled on his lips and then two perfect rows of pearly whites showed narrowly in a friendly smile; he ran his fingers through his wavy jet-black hair. "Well, I guess I'd like to start off with one of your Chef Salads..."

"What kinda dressing?..."

"Ranch."

"And, ummm, a bacon cheeseburger, the half-pound one..."

"How would you like that cooked?"

"Medium's fine."

"And that comes with fries, or I can get you a side of onion rings, I have an 'in' with the cook..."

"OK...how about some of both..."

"OK...gotchya..." My heart thumped in my chest.

"...a chocolate milkshake..." He paused and looked up at me industriously writing on my little green pad. "And...then I'll see if I have any room left for a little dessert."

"OK, great. Let me see if I got that right..." I began to read back his order, feeling my cock getting thicker and thicker in my tight jeans. I watched as his eyes shifted down to my crotch; quickly I thanked him for his order, told him it would be a couple minutes, and turned abruptly to head for the kitchen.

Placing my order with the cook, I mentioned that this guy looked extra hungry and for her not to skimp on the portions. My next stop was at the freezer where I scooped volumes of chocolate ice cream into a silver blender cup, whirring it up with some whole milk to make an extra-thick frosty shake. Making enough for two blender cups, I was sure that there was nearly two quarts of fattening milkshake. Filling up a tall fountain glass to the top and covering the mountain with a cloud of whipped cream, I placed a cherry on top for speedy delivery to his table. He licked his lips in anticipation and watched me set the additional full blender cup on his table.

"Thanks." He said, smiling.

Before too long, his Chef Salad was ready. I instinctively trudged toward the kitchen when I heard that little silver domed bell ding, and nodded to myself at the sight of the mountain of greens and meat piled on the elongated white platter. Filling a soup cup with Ranch dressing, I delivered the first course to his table. The heap of lettuce, tomatoes, turkey, ham, sliced hard- boiled eggs, black olives, and shredded mild cheddar was presented in front of his beefy form. He reached for the dressing and a fork, and began work on his substantial salad.

"Looks really good."

"Great. I'll bring your burger in a bit."

Meanwhile one of my other customers had worked himself up into a froth wanting some more butter for his dinner rolls.

Jennifer had appeased him, but I knew that I was going to get stiffed on the tip. It was just fine, because I was already quite stiff.

From a distance, I watched the hunky stud devour salad with hungry dedication, pausing every so often to drink some of his enormous chocolate shake. I had made it so thick that he had given up trying to suck it through the straw, and I was sure his cheeks were going to touch in the middle at one point. When he had plowed through most of his salad, I casually walked over to his table.

"How's everything?"

"Excellent."

"Great, I'll go tell the cook to light a fire under that beef in there."

He chuckled with his mouth full of a big bite of turkey, and covered his mouth for fear some would dribble out. I couldn't help but notice that his stomach had ventured out every so slightly under his ribs, making his middle look a tad wider and a bit thicker.

The air in the kitchen smelled of grease and uncalcuable calories; a small fan sucked out some of the fattening atmosphere through a circular vent in the wall. The cook smiled when she saw me.

"OK, extra big patty for this one. Lots of bacon. And do me a full side order of fries and onion rings. This guy is nearly through that whole pile of salad already, and I think he's got a hollow leg."

The cook laughed in her gravelly way, "I'm sure he's starving. Knowing you though, the poor guy is going to have a hard time rolling out of here."

"Now I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Shirley." She just smiled at me and shook her head as I went back out to the seating area.

The young beefy guy had completely emptied the soup cup of Ranch, devoured his Chef Salad, and drained his fountain glass of chocolate shake. He was reaching for the blender cup as I intercepted his reach and went to pour it for him. I swirled it up as it had begun to melt a bit and watched the thick glops of ice cream pour into his fountain glass again.

"Oh, this is getting thin. I can get you more if you like."

"Thanks," he said, leaning back a little, "I'll think about that." His stomach seemed to swell as I stood there, and I could tell that it had become rounder. He slowly put a hand on his belly and lazily pulled it across its bowed-out front. A belch seemed to come suddenly, and the air expelled through his pursed lips in a hiss. "Excuse me. Oooh, that really hit the spot."

"Well, our aim is pretty good around here." I shifted my gaze to his heftier belly. "It sure helps if we have a bigger target to shoot at, though."

The well-fed stud smiled and arched his shoulders back a little more while he playfully patted his protruding belly. He rested his forearms on the back of the bench. I left him in that position and found that I had a few tables to clear, as Jennifer was busy taking a few customers from my section because she knew I was very busy myself. The little bell called me to the warming counter where I found my customer's giant hamburger and sides of fries and rings. Peeking under the bun, I saw that Shirley had slipped in an extra half-pound hamburger patty, and she winked at me when I shot her a grateful look.

The hungry young guy leaned forward as I approached with the three plates, and I watched his eyes widen as he surveyed his mega-burger.

"Wow."

"Don't worry. My mistake. You don't have to pay for that extra patty."

"Oh...OK. It sure looks good. Looks like an official gutbuster! You don't have to do that for me, I can pay for it."

"No, I insist. I always get orders right. In fact, let me buy your lunch."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll get your order right next time, I promise."

"No worries, guy. That's mighty generous of ya."

"My pleasure."

"Say, my name is Arlen...and you're Brian." He held out his hand, still staring at my name badge.

"Nice to meet you, Arlen. Enjoy your lunch."

"Thanks, I will!"

I left Arlen as he set upon the magic act of making that huge one-pound hamburger disappear, feeling the anticipation of returning to see how he was doing. From a distance, I watched Arlen shift his padded bubblebutt around until he was in the right position; he spread his chunky thighs apart as he leaned in closer to the table. Holding the giant hamburger ready in both hands, he eyed the juice that dripped down his forearms.

Anxiously awaiting the proper moment, I approached after I saw him set the half-eaten burger down on his plate. Wiping his hands and forearms with several napkins, he smiled as he saw me walk up beside his table. Slowly he reclined and allowed his belly to bulge out in front; his hands went to his fatter rounder belly, holding it's newly acquired heft like a heavy bag of groceries. "This sure is good...my belly is gettin' full..." Arlen told me as he rubbed the rotund mass of flesh up and down.

"Take your time, Arlen, there's no rush. You can sit there all afternoon if you like."

"I'd love to, but I got to get back to the job site."

"Oh, what job is that?"

"Building this big ol' house on the outskirts of town. The guy must be made of money."

"Wow." I checked his shake, and there was still a little bit left.

"Can I get you some more shake?"

"Not right now, I better try to finish this burger. Damn, it's good."

So he tried. The well-fed round hunk pushed that big piece of beef into his mouth repeatedly, chewing man-size bites with a cherubic expression on his clean-shaven face. Onion rings and french fries jumped into his mouth alternately, as did an occasional swallow of melted chocolate shake.

There were still a few lonely french fries when I came back to check on him, but he'd cleaned up everything else. The bloated-full young hunk was sprawled backwards in his booth, his thick arms once again draped across the width of the top of the seat. His belly had blown up like a balloon; its considerable spherical mass jutted out into space like it were a dirigible attempting to launch itself from a mooring rope. His old tank top was stretched to its absolute limit, and had begun to surrender a view of bare skin under its rising hem. I stood at the side of the table looking at the pumped-up table muscle, joining him in a Cheshire Cat smile. I leaned over to pick up his plate, and his right hand slid over from the back of the seat to rest atop the fat ledge created by his swollen belly.

"Well, Arlen, got any room left in that belly of yours for some dessert to top off your meal?"

"Oooof..." Arlen sighed, rubbing his big round belly from side to side. "I dunno. I'm so stuffed. I feel like a big fat ol' sausage."

"How about you thinking about it while I go take these dishes into the kitchen." As I turned, I looked back at him. "We have fresh banana cream pie."

"Really?" Arlen's big brown eyes lit up.

"Yeah. Now that would slide down pretty easy...wouldn't it?"

"You want me to get you a piece?"

"Hmmm."

I could tell he was really thinking about it. "I'll be right back."

Taking the dishes into the kitchen, I surveyed the half of banana cream pie that sat in the pie case. Shirley saw me bring the empty plates in, and asked if that was from my hungry customer in the corner.

"They sure are..."

"He ate all of that all by himself?"

Nodding my head, "Uh-huh."

"All of it? Good God, he must be..."

"He is, trust me. Go look."

Shirley walked to the counter window and peered out into the restaurant over by where Arlen sat admiring his protruding stomach. I joined her to catch him just as he put both hands on his fat round belly and began to massage it; he appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Then, we both watched as he slid his beefy butt over and then pushed himself up. I casually headed out from the kitchen to see him walking toward me. He had a sexy wobble to his walk, and his belly bulged out in a firm ball over his extra-tight waistband. "I'll be right back," Arlen assured me, pushing the restroom door open.

I cleaned up his table more as I waited impatiently for him to return, picking up more napkins he'd stashed in a corner.

Finally, the restroom door creaked and Arlen's belly seemed to peek around the corner at me. I couldn't help but stare at his buttonfly as the top button was wide open to let his fat belly push out his waistband in a "V". He smiled at me and patted his belly. After what seemed a slow-motion sequence of him modeling his bloated belly as he walked toward me, he stood in front of me with one hand poised under his belly bulge.

"Excuse me..." he politely asked.

I realized I was standing right in the way of his seat.

"Oh!" I nervously laughed, "sorry about that."

"That's OK." Arlen sat with a bit of a grunt as he bent in the middle to fit in the booth again. His belly bumped the edge of the table, and he pushed the table forward a bit. "After careful thought, and...well, unbuttoning my jeans to get a little more room, I've decided that I'd like to take you up on the offer of that piece of pie."

"Great. I'll go get it. Some milk?"

"Oh...sure!"

Returning momentarily with a more-than-generous slice of tall cream pie, I sat the plate in front of him with the milk.

Leaning forward on an elbow, he spread his thighs again to let his belly hang over as far as it needed to. As I left to check on a customer, Arlen was shoveling in hearty forkfuls of pie.

Despite the load of food already in his swollen stomach, Arlen polished off the piece of pie and glass of milk in a surprisingly short time. When I came back to his table, he was in the process of pushing his plate away and leaning back to stretch his belly lengthwise.

"Oh, that's gotta be the end. My belly's stuffed top to bottom." Arlen told me, as his hand felt around his belly.

"Thanks for the great lunch, Brian. I better get my check."

"Oh, no...remember, this is my treat."

"I can't let you do that."

"Sure you can. I insist." I watched his hand travel along the contours of his fat round belly. "I want to make sure you feel welcome enough to come back."

"No problem there, guy." Arlen shifted his weight and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. "God, my belly's so damn big I can barely move." He pulled out a ten dollar bill and shoved it half-under the pie plate.

"Well, I'll see ya soon, Brian."

"Yeah. You take care."

Arlen got up slowly and maneuvered his big oversize-full belly through the restaurant. My pulse raced as I drank in the heavenly sight of his heavy round gut pouring out over his popped- open jeans. Budding love handles stuck out on each side of his too-tight 36" Levis, and his padded bubblebutt swung hypnotically as he vanished out the door.

Part 2
In the days that followed, I anxiously awaited Arlen's next visit. Every time the front door swung open, I was hoping that it was Arlen stopping by for another bite to eat. Jennifer told me that he had come in on my day off, and had asked about me. I almost resolved myself to working 365 days a year to avoid missing one of his visits, but thought it may be a somewhat desperate measure. I looked up at the greasy clock on the wall and prepared myself for the dinner crowd. Shirley had told me that we had plenty of the family-style chicken dinner special, and to be sure to give everyone the hard sell.

I was filling sugar dispensers at the counter, looking up just in time to see Arlen closing the front door behind him. He looked over at me, nodded his head, and gave a friendly smile which I returned. Jennifer greeted him, looked back at me, then back at him, and then led him back to his usual booth in my section. Arlen was squeezed into a skin-tight grey T-shirt and well-worn black Wranglers. His jeans looked a mighty tight fit, and it looked like it had required much effort to get the top button fastened. His grey T-shirt, stretched smooth, looked soft and warm to the touch.

"Hello, Arlen."

"Hey there. How's it going?"

Much better, I thought. He smiled as he saw me shift my weight to try to redirect my hard-on, which seemed to grow up insidiously like ivy at Yale.

"Say, is this your day off?"

"Yep. Not much to do around here except eat. Well, and drink beer. Since I ran out of beer, I thought I'd come eat."

"Well, I'm glad that you stopped by."

"What can I get you tonight, Arlen? We've got this great all-you-can-eat chicken dinner special for only $3.99."

"You recommend it?"

"Sure do."

"OK. Sounds good."

"What would you like to drink?"

"How about makin' me one of your famous too-thick milkshakes. I'll try vanilla tonight."

"Great."

I left him sitting there in his casual sprawled position, slowly spreading his thick meaty thighs apart and leaning back to rest his muscled arms on the back of the seat. Not wasting any time, I hastened into the kitchen to prepare a generous milkshake and gather up a plate of chicken, a bowl each of corn and mashed potatoes, and a gravy boat. Tossing up a mean salad and filling up a soup cup of Ranch dressing, I began to take everything out to him. The family style bowls surrounded him and hinted at his insatiable appetite. Filling a fountain glass full of vanilla shake and placing a giant plate in front of him, I left him to gorge himself. Suddenly remembering that he was supposed to get dinner rolls, I rushed into the kitchen and brought back a plateful of four with more than enough butter.

The more-than-generous portions given to Arlen disappeared at an impressive rate, considering that I had given him enough food for a family of four. My first check on him revealed that he had eaten his way through a large breast piece, a drumstick, a giant serving of mashed potatoes, about four big spoonfuls of corn, and two of the dinner rolls. Arlen had sucked down a good three-quarters of the fountain glass of thick vanilla shake, so I poured him more from the blender cup. He smiled as he chewed, letting me know that he appreciated my dedication.

Time passed, and Arlen got heftier and heftier. He'd leaned forward and straightened his back to let his fat belly hang while he shoved food down into it, and his casual stance with a beefy forearm on the table made him look like he was right at home. A sizable pile of chicken bones had replaced the dinner rolls, so I asked him if I could take that for him and fill it up with some more hot, fresh rolls. Arlen nodded his head to the offer, so I committed myself to a quick return with more rolls.

After a while, Arlen rolled himself back into his favorite relaxed position, letting his fattened belly bulge out in front.

A nice round chunk of belly swelled out under his very meaty pecs, and his painted-on T-shirt stretched even thinner around its burgeoning circumference. Seeing him all sprawled back and rubbing his thick belly in lazy circles, I ventured over to his side to see if he'd finished all of his food. A hot rush come over me as I realized that he had eaten everything-- even the additional dinner rolls and eight pats of real creamery butter.

Arlen turned his head slowly to look up at me as he sat there enjoying his bloated belly. "Now that's what I call eatin' good," he said, thumping his belly.

"I take it you enjoyed it, then?"

"Ohhh, yeah." A deep belch surfaced as his stomach contents began to settle. "Delicious."

"Can I get you some more, Arlen?"

Arlen thought about the idea of more while his hand caressed his bowed-out belly. "Man, are you tryin' to fatten me up or somethin'?" We both chuckled, and I thought it better not to answer at that particular time. Arlen continued to survey his rotund belly. "As usual, I'm bustin' out of these size 36's." He reached under his gut that spilled over his tight jeans waistband and bounced his firm mound of tablemuscle up and down. "The bun in the oven is still risin'. Shoulda wore my 501s-- coulda unbuttoned them..."

"Well, you could unbutton those too, guy, but I think they're gonna come unzipped pretty quick." He smiled at me.

"Yeah, guess I should just do that at home, huh?"

"So, what do ya say, can I get you some more?"

Arlen indicated that he found the chicken most tasty and juicy, and loved the mashed potatoes and gravy. Telling him that there was a fresh apple pie back in the kitchen widened his smile, so I kept that in mind although he didn't say anything about dessert yet.

After a couple more extra-large plump chicken breasts, another serving of mashed potatoes, and two swallows of his second vanilla milkshake, Arlen could do little more than just sit there with his distended belly bumping the edge of the table. Arlen was intimately aware of his belly size, so he pushed the table away from him a little so he didn't look so crowded in the booth.

Rubbing his rounded belly from top to bottom, he looked like he was somewhat surprised at far out his hand went before it curved to vanish under the fattest swell. As I returned to check on him, he put his hand to his mouth to muffle a substantial belch. His cheeks puffed, and then his hand fell away to reveal a satisfied smile.

Resting his hand atop the tight ledge under his pecs, he let out a soft moan. "Jesus, my belly feels like it's gonna bust. It's so tight you could bounce a quarter off of it."

Not knowing what to say, I watched his slow caressing movements that traversed his broad middle with a mischievous smile.

"I've gave up doing sit-ups at the gym, and my abdominals have loosened up a bit. They used to be so damn hard that I couldn't get much food in my stomach. Now," he began by thumping his fattened belly, "I don't seem to have that problem any more." He looked like he was waiting for me to say something.

"No problem at all, Arlen. I think you did rather well tonight, if you don't mind me sayin' so." I couldn't help but reach down to pat his fat round belly a couple times; the sound was amazingly deep and meaty. "Guys like me kinda have to stop and take notice of a respectable appetite like yours, Arlen. On that subject, can I interest you in a piece of pie for dessert?"

"Well, it's true that no meal is complete without dessert. I just don't know when to stop eating until I get something sweet."

"Great. I'll be right back." I took his empty plates and bowls, and refilled his fountain glass with melting milkshake.

Arlen draped his muscled arms across the seatback, letting his fat round belly bulge out in front. Stretching the big tablemuscle lengthwise allowed him to get out several more manly belches, and he even twisted his hips a little to rock his tight round belly from side to side. Arlen even found it necessary to scratch his belly in several different patterns. Eager to devour the generous slice of tall apple pie I brought him, he leaned forward and used his fork like a trowel to shove bite after bite in. Melty still-thick milkshake followed each bite down his gullet. The ample dessert continued to fill his belly out and stretch it into an even tighter-looking beach ball. By his last swallow of shake, Arlen's belly looked much too big and much too good to be true. He sat there staring at the clean plate and empty fountain glass with a dazed expression on his face. His stretched-thin gray T-shirt had inched up slightly to bare a thick strip of belly above his strangling tight waistband, and his belly button was partially visible.

Returning to close view to remove his dishes, I couldn't help staring at his belly. Arlen had gorged himself far past my expectations, and the heavy round protrusion that sat in his lap begged for attention.

"Excellent dinner-- good recommendation."

"Oh, thanks. I thought you'd enjoy it."

"I sure did. I enjoyed it so much that I don't think I can move." He playfully tried to push himself off of the seat, letting his belly bounce as he allowed gravity to quickly suck him back down. Leaning back into his favorite position, he began to caress his bloated belly.

"That's OK, Arlen. You just sit there and relax; let that big ol' meal digest a bit. Take all the time you need."

"Great. I think I will. Got nowhere to go except home to go belly up on the sofa and watch some T.V." He kept running his hand up and down the front of his well-bloated belly with a friendly smile on his face. "Not much else I can do, ya know, with a bellyful this size."

"I imagine you're right, Arlen. I've never been that full!"

"Really? Not even at Thanksgiving?"

"Nope."

"God, I love it. Just love the feeling of a tight, full belly."

"Well, I kind of thought you did, Arlen. That's why I try to bring you enough food."

"You do a damn good job, too."

"Thanks. But you know, there's a byproduct of enjoying a tight, full belly regularly, Arlen..." I hinted, watching him rub his belly from side-to-side.

"Oh! Yeah!" The thought seem to hit him like a small electric shock and he thumped his belly in earnest. "I'm gettin' fat." We both chuckled. "Hell, I don't mind getting fat. I've always had a linebacker kind of build, so it's about time to fill it out a little."

"Looks good, Arlen."

"Thanks, guy. I'm glad you approve."

So he sat there with his bubblebutt spreading and his belly swelling as all of that family-style dinner settled while I waited on my other customer. His nipples were erect from his constant massaging, and they peeked over his paunch like two landing beacons. I had to stop what I was doing to watch him push himself up and out of his booth to go use the restroom. His belly led the way and wobbled back and forth like it were a heavy beachball strapped to his front. His cowboy boots were heavy on the floor as he languidly strolled into the back.

When he came out, I went back over to see how he was doing.

He smiled when he saw me coming, and just stood by his table as if he were waiting for me to say something. His second skin of a T- shirt had inched up a bit more, and I could see his bellybutton plainly. "Well," he began, "guess I'll go home and sprawl."

"OK..."

"How much do I owe ya?"

"Oh, $3.99..."

"What about the milkshake? And pie?"

"Naaah... forget about it. The pie was included and you needed something to wash down your dinner."

"Well, I suppose." He grunted as he got out his wallet and handed me a ten. "Say, you want to go see a movie sometime or get some dinner?"

"Sh-sh-sure. That'd be great. Wait here while I go get your change."

"Oh no, that's yours." He gave me a big smile and held back a hearty belch.

I gave him my number and then watched his exit; my mind drifting.

Part Three
Arlen seemed to be with me all the time. I saw him in his booth at the diner, and I saw him in my dreams; I guess I didn't want to think about anything else. The sight of Arlen sitting in his booth at the diner gorging himself to immensity was etched in my memory for all time, and the the pleasant surprise of him asking me out put hope back in my life. My pulse raced every time the phone rang, but was always disappointed that it wasn't him. Then, the Sunday after his last visit to the diner, my phone rang a little after eleven in the morning. The connection wasn't great, but I could still hear.

"Hello, Brian?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, it's Arlen. Say, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call you, but I'm in Italy."

"Italy?"

"Yeah, it was real short notice. My construction outfit decided to pull me off of that job there and send me over to Italy. I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be gone for about a month over here, and that I still want to go to that movie or dinner with you when I get back."

"OK. I was hoping you still did." I closed my eyes and drank in his deep velvety voice. "How's Italy?"

"Hot, really hot-- my ass is bakin' over here. But the food's in-cred-ible."

"Great! I suppose it's 'Eat, Eat, EAT!' huh?"

"That's been the theme so far."

"Enjoy yourself, Arlen, just sit back and let those Italian chefs stuff you with continental delights, pasta, and cakes." I heard a muffled belch on the other end of the phone. "What time is it there?"

"A little after eight o'clock...shortly after dinner time for me. It's pretty amazing how much I can eat when the food's delicious, charged to an expense account, and when I wear loose-fitting pants--" he paused, "well, they were loose before I went to dinner."

"So, Arlen, are you all stuffed?"

"Yep. I did a little sight-seeing, but all I really did today was eat. Now I'm laying on this hard hotel bed like a big fat beached whale, belly sticking up like a mountain. I should call downstairs for a massage. Have someone come up here and give me a rubdown."
My cock was throbbing at the mention of a rubdown, and I tried to even out my breathing. "You like that?"

"What? Rubdowns?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I do. You know, being in construction and all. My muscles get sore. The guy here was a little surprised at first when I told him I wanted my belly rubbed." Arlen belched again, this time treating me to hearing the raw gutteral noise that escaped from his full belly.

"Well, I'm gonna take a nap. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I hadn't flaked. I'll call you when I get back."

"OK. Bye."

"Bye."

The next couple weeks passed horribly slow. Days at the diner were hopelessly ordinary without Arlen coming in to feed, and both Jennifer and Shirley had asked about "the handsome young guy with the big appetite". I mean, there were interesting guys stopping in, but none as interesting as Arlen. Even Shirley's son Brent didn't seem as entertaining as he'd once been. Of course, he had continued to gain weight since his marriage last year, and his belly had grown into a small planet; nonetheless, his gutstretching marathons back in the kitchen were an inadequate replacement for Arlen.

Then, on Thursday, in the middle of a rented video, my phone rang.

"Hi Brian. It's Arlen."

I could barely contain my enthusiasm for hearing his deep sexy voice.

"Hey! So, are ya back?"

"Yep. Got in late last night. Been sleepin' all day. I was wondering if you would like to go to grab a bite to eat and see a movie tomorrow."

"Sure-- sounds like fun."

"OK. I'll pick you up around five-thirty. Where would you like to go for dinner?"

"Any place is fine with me, but you must be hungry for something different after a month of Italian food, huh?"

"Well, variety is good; however, there are worse things in life than a solid month of Italian food. Say, we could go to Dos Amigos for dinner, how's that sound?"

"Perfect."

I gave him the directions to my house.

"So, I'm dying to hear about your trip to Italy..."

"Is it OK if we talk about it tomorrow? I'm really lagged."

Even before saying goodbye, I knew what I was going to dream about that night.

I worked the early shift at the diner, and then went to the market to pick up a few things. I decided to get a twelve-pack of beer and the makings for a fattening banana cream pie which I intended to whip up with Half 'n Half; I couldn't wait to get home and prepare for the evening's festivities.

I really didn't know what to expect, but my hopes were high. Trying not to think of it too much, I treated myself to a couple shots of frozen Stoli to feel the warmth come across my face. There was a knock at the door at thirty-five past five, and my heart thumped in my chest as I ventured toward the front.

The knob seemed to sink back into the horizon as I reached for it, but I clumsily grasped it and swung the door open. A sensation shot through me that made me feel like a kid again at Christmas opening the "best present"; Arlen towered directly in front of me, poured into black Levi 501s and squeezed into a white tank top so tautly stretched that it might as well not have been there at all. He wore black cowboy boots that made him even taller, and his black cowboy hat made him look taller still. A smile curled onto his lips as my eyes ventured along his impressively curved sphere of fattened belly, and he politely cleared his throat.

"mm-hmm... Hi, Arlen. Come on in."

"Thanks."

I watched as his beefy form passed, carefully noting the increased bulge of his love handles and the fullness of his bubblebutt. His Levis were new-- 38" x 34", and he packed them with perfection. He took off his hat and sat it on the table.

"Good to see you, guy," he said, holding his hand out for a friendly shake.

His soft, moist hand gave a firm handshake.

"You too, Arlen." I was still getting an eyeful of his big round belly, calculating the inches and pounds in my busy little head. His fat ball of flesh was unmistakably and most delightfully larger.

"Can I get you a beer?"

"Sounds great."

He followed me into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter. I handed him the can while still entranced by his fatter belly.

"So-- you checking out my souvenir from Italy?" he asked, thumping his solid round belly.

"Yeah. I have to admit that I was, Arlen."

"Can't blame ya. It's hard to miss. I tell ya, all that gourmet food and my generous expense account did wonders for the size of my gut. This waiter at my hotel took a liking to me and suggested some very tasty dishes. Usually, several at a time."

Arlen chugged some beer.

"Cool. So, you had a very memorable experience, huh?" I asked, going to the freezer for another shot of Stoli. Since I hadn't eaten anything that day, I was really starting to feel uninhibited.

"Yep. Several very memorable ones, in fact."

"Oh, really?"

Arlen hastily finished his beer, proclaiming that warm beer is a waste and cold beer should be enjoyed quickly. After getting him another, I turned to probe deeper into his memorable experiences. He started talking as I went to the freezer once more for a double shot of Stoli.

"You're going to get drunk, Brian."

"Oh not really," I giggled under my breath.

"Well, let's see. I started to tell you about that night I really overdid it..."

As he went into detail about one evening's neverending dinner, I found myself getting hotter and hotter for all sorts of reasons. I became anxious for him to finish his beer, and let him know by tipping the can when he put it up to his lips. He chugged it all down and then treated himself to a raucous belch. Going to the fridge, I pulled two beers from the cardboard case and handed him one. Arlen continued his story about how his Italian waiter had coaxed him into trying so many different kinds of fresh exotic pastas and sauces that his pants popped open one evening.

"He tells me he likes my 'big American panzone', and goes and gets me dessert. I was already past the point of not being able to eat anything more, and I was sitting there in the restaurant like a budhah statue when he comes out with this cake. He says 'it's just a little cream cake' and starts to put it in my mouth. I mean the guy is practically forcefeeding me. After he'd made me eat the whole thing, he stood beside me and rubbed my full belly. He said I could grow my panzone at his table anytime."

Arlen ran his hand down the middle of his rotund studbelly.

"And grew I did. I fattened up about twenty pounds worth over there."

"Twenty is a nice round number, Arlen. The weight looks right at home, too. Hmm. Panzone, huh? Sounds like Italian for 'fat belly'."
I reached over and poked his belly.

"Yeah...or 'paunch zone' or something. I know it had something to do with my gut."

Arlen took another drink of beer and sat the can on the counter. He seemed to be opening himself up to me.

"After all, it's getting hard to miss," he admitted, patting his fattened middle.

"I know! I missed it quite a bit when you were in Italy."
Reaching over and planting my hand on his middle, I began rubbing his big round belly in small, deep circles. Arlen's eyes closed.

"Yeah..."

As I rubbed Arlen's fat belly, I felt the distinct rumble of a stud-sized hunger pang.

"Arlen, we should probably go have some dinner. I think you need to be fed."

"I am pretty hungry. Let's go."

Before he grabbed my hand to hurry me out the door, I stole another shot of Stoli.

On the way out to his truck, the smile on my face grew wider as I stared at his wider bubblebutt.

Feeling a bit silly, I sat there and stared at Arlen while he read over Dos Amigos' menu. He had already ordered a Corona and started in with the chips and salsa. Arlen was more tan than he'd been before he'd left for Italy, and his teeth looked even more perfect. He'd gotten his hair cut shorter on the sides, probably because of the heat he'd complained about so much.

"Hey!" Arlen startled me as he looked up from his menu, "do you know what you want to eat?"

"God, do I ever. Huh?"

I started to giggle and dropped my head into my hands.

"You're drunk."

"I am not. I can hold my liquor."

|"Yeah...by the ears, right?"
"
Oh, quit it," I joked, feeling my face get hot.

"I like it when you turn red. You're like a big kid," Arlen said, looking at me in such a way which made me forget just about everything.
"Waitress!"

Arlen's arm went up.

"Bring him a shot of Stoli."

"A what?"
"Vodka."

"We don't serve hard liquor here."

"Is a beer OK, Brian?"

I nodded at him and smiled.

"Two Coronas, please."

"Are you about ready to order?" The waitress seemed a bit short on patience.

"I think so, are you ready, Brian?"

"Oh, definitely, " I answered, not having the slightest idea of whether or not the menu was even printed in English. The waitress turned to me.

"I'll have a tostada thing. With chicken."

"Uh huh, and you, sir?"

She turned to Arlen, who had leaned back and started to scratch his belly.

"Tell me about this Gordo Especiale?"
"Well, you get some of everything. Really, it's enough food for two people, but you look like the kind of guy who's appetite is maybe big enough for two," she paused, watching Arlen's face light up as he ran his hand across the width of his belly.

"Cool. I should get that."

The excitement had a sobering effect on me, and I felt my cock leap up in my pants.
"Sounds great, Arlen!"

While we waited for the dinners to arrive, we drank our drinks, talked about tight clothes and how uncomfortable they can be in the heat of summer.