Show Off: Part One

“My God! Look at the size of your stomach!”

It was always the same. Every time I started at a new school I dreaded the first time I’d have to undress in a new gym locker-room. At 18 I had already been to three different high schools. My dad was in the Army and had been transferred so often there were some boxes of my stuff that I didn’t even unpack from house to house. Maybe that sense of insecurity was why I ate so much. Maybe that was why I was so fat.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anyone so fat in my life. Buddy, you are sick!” No matter where I was, the guy with the big mouth seemed to be exactly the same: lean, muscular and good-looking, but with a sneer and cold expression. This guy – Bradley – was no exception. I had tried to hide myself in a corner out of the way while I took off my clothes. But when you’re my size it’s kind of difficult to hide anywhere. “Getta load of this fucking fat load, man,” Bradley called out to his jock buddies. “You guys gotta see this. Fuck!”

Bradley led his posse of gym-built friends over towards me. Most of them were in tight, white underwear and a couple of them were already in their jocks, the heavy pouches jutting out in front of them as they gathered around me. Bradley had already stripped down to a tiny red Speedo, which sat obscenely low on his rock-hard hips. His torso was incredible – totally hairless and tanned, with smooth muscles rippling under skin that looked as soft as a baby’s. Two massive, pumped mounds of pectoral muscle were topped off with hard, nut-brown nipples. He ran one of his hands over the bricks of abdominal cobblestones that glistened under the overhead light. “I like the light in here,” he said, to no-one in particular. “The shadows show off my muscles.”

I was only half undressed, clutching my enormous jeans in front of me as I stood there in front of an audience of half-naked muscleboys. I was wearing just some 71” waist boxer shorts and a clinging white T-shirt – size XXXXXXL. “Wh . . .what do you want?” I stammered.

“We want to see how fucking fat you are, blimp boy.” The other boys nodded in agreement. I paused for a moment. The locker-room clock ticked, suddenly seeming very loud.

“Okay.”

“Wait a minute? ‘Okay?’ What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I like showing off my big belly,” I smiled. “I eat so much because I want to get fatter.”

The boys couldn’t believe it. “Oh you sick fuck!”

Bradley sneered in disgust, but I could see a glimmer in his eye that meant he was turned on by the thought of me eating myself up to this weight on purpose. He swallowed, and adjusted the growing pouch in his Speedo. “You’re disgusting, you know that, you fat pig?”

“Yeah,” I answered, “all this flab is pretty disgusting, isn’t it?” With that I lifted up the hem of my straining T-shirt, which exposed a good 60lbs of blubber-roll at the base of my gigantic stomach; the boys’ eyes widened in amazement.

“Holy shit, man! Look at that flabby fucking gut! It sticks out forever.”

“There’s more guys; much more.” Slowly working the hem of my shirt up over the unending bulge of my massive belly I could hear the threads snap as the thin cotton fabric couldn’t take the strain of encompassing so much flab. Just the effort of lifting the shirt up over my colossal bulge exhausted me, and I was breathing heavily. Bradley was looking at my now exposed belly and licking his lips; the heavy breathing seemed to be turning him on.

“Fuck, this dude can’t even get his fucking belly out without running out of breath. You lazy fat pig – why don’t you lose some weight you greedy fat fuck?”

“I want to gain weight, Bradley. I’m nowhere near fat enough yet.” I started to run my hands over the gargantuan mountain of flesh in my huge stomach – lifting and dropping the blubbery bulges that hung of my 18-year-old body. “I want to get bigger and bigger and fatter and fatter. So fat I can’t fucking move! I want this big fucking belly to blow up so big I won’t be able to see over it! I want more and more fat in this massive stomach of mine – so much fucking fat you won’t believe how big I’ll be. They’ll be able to see me from fucking space, Bradley! And if I don’t eat more, if I don’t keep stuffing my face with all the fattening food I can find – how am I going to blow up these puppies?” With one movement I slipped the T-shirt over my head. My breasts were so big they caught on the hem and then slapped down with an audible thwap onto the vast expanse of my gut. Bradley shouted in astonishment.

“Oh my God! This dude’s got fucking TITS!”

The boys were pointing and laughing; some of them shaking their heads in disgust at my mammoth breasts; others inching closer to me and hoping to cop a feel. My gut was so incredibly big that my tight CKs were barely visible under the drooping overhang of my colossal belly. Bradley seemed overcome: transfixed by the sight of my hugely obese body; flab bulging out in every direction as I stood in the locker-room. The pouch of his red Speedo was tented in front of him, struggling to contain his massively erect cock. Glancing around at the other athletes I could tell that most of them were sporting major boners and I smiled to think of how some of these straight Adonises would spend that evening guiltily jerking off as they replayed their mental videos of me – fat and half-naked – bulging before them.

WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? LEAVE A COMMENT.