George Knopf
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Florida Gainer
🕑 Added 2025-01-01 16:00:12 +0000 UTCTrails of sweat slid from Philip’s armpits down the curves of his tits and love handles before splattering against the muddy ground. It was an unusually hot winter day. The sun beamed down against Philip’s naked back. His back muscles glistened with sweat as his hips thrust his cock inside the man splayed beneath him. Philip’s jeans were at his feet, slouched over well-worn leather boots and collecting mud stains. He felt close to orgasm.
The man receiving Philip’s cock was nameless. A burly Latino guy with a fat ass and beginner’s belly that Philip found on Grindr. He was on the “DL,” with a faceless profile, but an impressive album once unlocked. He was on all fours in the bed of Philip’s truck in the middle of some marshy grasslands. No one was around for miles, leaving the men free to fuck in the broad daylight.
The bottom’s ass jiggled ferociously resembling a water balloon ready to burst. White stretch marks striated the impressive curvature. He was on the shorter side and in his mid-thirties, meaning the weight was sticking more than ever. Two nice rolls of belly fat encased his center. They were doughy and grabbable, and would inevitably grow larger in the years to come.
The man grunted loudly every time Philip plowed into his hole. The noise was accentuated by his cheeks clapping upon impact, and Philip’s own belly sloshing and occasionally clapping against the man’s lower back. The sound of their fucking blended with the rustling marshlands. Philip’s hands traveled up to his own chest which hung heavy with a deep crease above his belly. His nipples were more sensitive since gaining weight. He played with them until he got across the line.
After finishing, the bottom plopped onto his back and jerked himself off. Philip played with the man’s belly and tits, both of which were softer than his own. When he noticed the guy’s balls contract he threw off his cap and dove down to finish him off with his mouth. Philip liked swallowing come, and the man unleashed a hefty load down Philip’s throat. Philip wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then the sweat from his brow.
The bottom hoisted himself off the truck, landing on the muddy ground with a splat. Both men pulled up their denim blue jeans and fastened the button beneath their respective bellies. Philip threw on a faded old tee and the bottom squeezed into an overly snug snap-button shirt. They looked at each other approvingly. Philip had learned not to expect a kiss goodbye from these types. They said “thanks” and then parted ways.
Two years earlier
Philip boarded the Amtrak at Penn Station with two suitcases, a backpack, and a cautious sense of optimism. He had turned 32 a few days ago in the midst of selling off the modest furnishings of his studio apartment in Bushwick. It sucked admitting this to friends and family, but after almost ten years, New York hadn’t worked out for him. He was in his thirties, still a server, and barely making rent. He was too skinny, but somewhat ripped, and losing hair due to stress. It was time for a change, which meant returning to Central Florida.
He would stay with his parents until he was on his feet, and had plans to pursue his passion: gardening and farming. He had skills from a local co-opt gardening space in Bushwick and had been reading tons of material on the subject. He was excited, albeit melancholy.
The first month at his parent’s house was rough, as one would expect. It wasn’t great being back under their thumb, but there was one glimmering positive: his mother’s cooking. Philip was eating better than he ever had in New York. Every meal was expansive, calorie-packed, and delicious. He worked in his parents yard for long days, eventually picking up some gigs from the neighbors too, and every day looked forward to resting at the kitchen table and nourishing himself.
The weight gain started subtly in his ass and belly. His rump was supplemented by gluteal gains from all the gardening work, smattered with a buttery layer of chub atop. The sight of this got him horny when he stood naked in front of the mirror. The belly gains were subtle but notable. His stomach was no longer a cavity below his ribs. It became filled out and sturdy. It wasn’t too paunchy, but it certainly wasn’t the muscle and sinew he was used to in New York. This development was a comforting change of pace, gesturing towards a healthy and sated future.
Philip embraced these changes and pushed himself to work harder both in the field and at the dinner table. His client list grew, as did his skills. He found the work meditative and calming, albeit strenuous at times. Over time, Philip made friends with some of his clients, mostly older folk who lavished him with Southern hospitality. He was treated to beers, meals, and desserts, as a thank you for his hard work. A nightly routine of a few beers at sunset developed, and on his days off he’d drive into town for a pizza or fast food.
Eventually, Philip rented a small one bedroom home on a tiny plot of land from one of his clients. The rent was dirt cheap, especially compared to New York, in part because Philip was expected to grow a large and self-sufficient garden on the property. He was eager to move when he bid farewell to his parents, who were now a twenty minute drive away. It was in this new home that Philip stood in front of a full length mirror for the first time since leaving New York. He was surprised by his own reflection.
The lean, cigarette-addled, urbanite with sunken eyes was no where to be seen. Philip was now a stout country boy, well-fed and suntanned from manual labor. He looked fuller in every capacity. His muscles were pumped larger than they ever got from daily workouts at the YMCA. Any trace of gauntness had been filled in generously with dense chub that bulged outward. He wasn’t fat per se, but he was… thick. He looked solid, well-built. Even his belly was forming into that familiar paunch so many southern men carried around. As his eyes traced over the new man in the mirror, his cock began to stiffen in excitement.
Philip felt a rush of hormones flood his body. He pushed his hands through his chest hair and through the thick bush of pubes at his groin. Philip had stopped trimming altogether. Whiffing his own pheromones on his hands Philip became fully erect. He pushed back his foreskin and took another sniff. He was hornier than ever. He was hungry for sex. He needed to huff the testosterone of another man, hold someone else’s heavy build, finger their furry ass, and suck their thick cock. An animalistic urge to fuck took over him.
Philip downloaded Grindr but there was barely anyone within twenty miles of him, let alone someone with a photo in their profile. After ten minutes of frustrated scrolling, he gave up and jerked off. He let the come splatter over his chest hair while he gripped the roll of chub at his navel, sighing in relief. From that moment forward, a libidinal energy hung over Philip at all times. Between the scarcity of available dick, and his continually strong, growing body, sex was constantly on Philip’s mind.
He eyed the straight men at the hardware store or the grocery store hungrily, and sometimes they looked back at him similarly. Were they…? He couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to risk it. These men were everywhere throughout rural Florida. Dirty handyman wreaking of testosterone. Pinnacles of masculinity. Sometimes they stared back and sometimes they didn’t. Regardless, Philip was constantly aroused.
He channeled this energy into his work, expanding his clientele impressively. Philip was now driving all over the state, working hard and eating big. He lived out of his car and off of fast food. Eventually he started hitting one of the small local gyms when he had the time. It felt good to get the extra pump in and sometimes it was just the exertion he needed to truly tire himself out and prepare him for a big lazy meal at home.
By the time the weather started cooling off, Philip’s shoulders were broader than ever and a definitive belly was developing in his center. Consequently, he purchased all new clothes from a ranching store to accommodate his expanding frame. He opted for well-fitting Carhartt tees (not too loose, not too tight), blue jeans with stretch, and a few flannels with room to grow. He’d sized up from a 30 inch waist to a 34, and kept his shirts at an XL. With each passing day he was developing the physique of a local guy, and now he had the wardrobe to match.
As fall and winter rolled around Philip leaned into the “winter bulk.” He had tried this before in New York, but never gained more than a few pounds with his limited funds. Now, not only was he making a modest living, but delicious home cooked meals and artery clogging fast food were at every turn. One week each of his ten clients sent him home with a delicious dessert. Philip made a point to always eat every last crumb of anything he was gifted, as a sign of gratitude he believed would be paid forward.
When the holidays neared, Philip fielded invitations to several house parties in New York. He was tempted to visit, but the cost of travel was daunting and he hated couch surfing. Ultimately, he stayed in Florida with his family. For the month of December he primarily slept at his parent’s house. Work was slow and he spent the days entertaining extended family, doing the occasional home workout, and eating and drinking himself silly.
At this point, Philip’s winter bulk was becoming obvious and elicited commentary from multiple family members. Several told him he was “filling out” and that he looked “good” and “more grown up.” One of his female cousins, rather oddly, squeezed his bicep and flirtatiously told him he was “looking nice and beefy.” His fattest uncle who clocked in around three hundred pounds said: “Putting on a belly I see. I remember those days.” The observation struck Philip, who was aware he was developing a gut but never imagined himself as large as his uncle. Now that thought uncomfortably turned him on.
In fact, being cloistered amongst family had Philip fiending more than ever for some sexual contact outside the house. He scrolled through Grindr almost daily, making contact with faceless profiles and DL guys sneaking around on their wives. They’d swap pics and dirty talk, but nothing ever came of it. Most of the guys deleted their profiles randomly or blocked Philip before anything escalated. Finally, a few days after New Years Philip had the nerve to meet up with one of them.
It was another guy on the DL, corn fed and stocky like Philip, but younger, only 25. He lived on his parents ranch and when they left for Miami for the weekend, Philip snuck over. The kid was unbelievably sexy. He was chunkier than his profile let on, but Philip enjoyed the surprise. He was straight passing, but shy and awkward. Philip wondered if it was his first time with a man. They sucked each other off in the living room and then Philip went home, greatly relieved. The next day Philip messaged the kid, hoping for round two, but was blocked.
That winter, Philip spread his seed all over Florida. He became addicted to Grindr and Sniffies, hooking up with burly DL guys almost every week. Almost all of them were rugged and beefy with bodies similar to Philips own. Contact with these men was strangely encouraging, and Philip found himself more comfortable with both his masculinity and femininity than ever before. He relished his macho bulky body, yet he was not confined to the heteronormative society like many of the men he tasted. It was liberating.
Now, those long furtive glances at the hardware store or grocery store made more sense. In fact, some of them led to a quickie in the bathroom stall or in the front seat of a pickup truck. Philip was learning that gay men were everywhere regardless of appearance, and that cruising was a shared art form. In fact, at times Philip was getting more dick than he ever did in the gay metropolis of New York City. Nevertheless, he did sometimes miss the nights out and the openness of hitting on a man without fear of blowback.
As winter turned to spring, Philip’s business picked back up and he had less time for hookups. He also discovered his winter bulk was bulkier than he thought. Suddenly, his thighs rubbed together aggressively, his belly had a slight overhang that rested in his lap when he sat down, and his nipples had grown extraordinarily sensitive beneath coarse cotton work shirts. The shirts he had bought at the beginning of fall became snug and revealing. The fresh insulation was noticeable too, as thirty minutes of hard work left big pools of sweat staining the area beneath his arms and around his chest. His pants were also snug, especially around his thighs and ass causing his rump to grow swampy at a moments notice.
Although he had good stamina, the weight announced itself when he was doing manual labor. He learned to squat when he had to get low to the ground. This accommodated the extra space his belly took up. Over time it added to the girth of his quads. Reaching cross body was also less accessible with his tits in the way, so he became more ambidextrous as well. He could lift more which was a benefit and saved time on certain projects. His physique seemed to demand more respect in social situations too. Nevertheless, Philip sometimes got sick of hauling so much beef around especially when it was hot outside. Still, he never stopped pushing himself and he consistently ate big, which meant he was only getting beefier day after day.
His size appealed to the men who he hooked up, and scared off the smaller guys. As a result, Philip was mostly hooking up with men his size or bigger. In doing so, he developed a deep appreciation for hefty men. The way their bodies bulged and formed deep creases that smelled of musky testosterone. The way their bellies and chest and ass hung heavy with dense man meat, quivering and sweating with the slightest of movement. He even enjoyed how some of the fatter men were inhibited by their weight, struggling to move quickly or gracefully. He even enjoyed the way their fat pads swallowed up inches of their manhood. It was all delectably sensual. Philip couldn’t get enough.
And the further Philip grew in size, the more he fit in with the culture around him. Each fresh pound of muscle and fat lent him the image of a straight man to those who didn’t know better. That is, until he held eye contact with the attractive gas station attendant for too long, or grinned at the guy in the gardening section lifting a tree onto a palette. Those moments were spectacularly gay and more electric than anything he ever experienced back in New York.
Four years later
Philip squatted down, the hole in the crotch of his jeans tearing a little further, exposing his worn white briefs stained with piss and precum. He then got on his knees and wrapped one hand around the fat dripping cock bobbing in front of his face. He looked up at its owner, a burly cook from the diner out back from. He was an attractive guy, with light blue eyes and a square jaw covered in greasy scruff. The man’s lips were pursed in anticipation, as if to say: “suck it faggot.”
Philip sucked it. He pushed back the pale foreskin, his fist in the bushy fat pad surrounding the man’s pipe. There was a faint musk that blended with the smell of frying oil. It was an average sized cock, made smaller by the plumpness of its owner. Still, it was a pretty one and Philip gladly swallowed it down, burying his face in the chubby fupa and underbelly of the cook.
Bent at the knees with his ass resting over the heels of his feet, Philip could feel the full brunt of his own heft. In the past four years, Philip had crossed the threshold from “bulky” to “fat guy.” He figured it happened around the 220 pound mark. At 210 the image he projected to the world was that of a fit corn fed guy with a strong appetite. But at 220, it became obvious there was no going back. Around that time people started calling him “big guy” while simply assuming he needed bigger portions than average. Strangers and close friends alike casually joked about his weight and appetite. Now, at 250, he was undeniably fat and the consequences of this were straining his own limbs let alone his pants.
The hole in his crotch tore open slowly until it reached the seat of his pants which exploded open. His cheeks burst forth, contained only by the white briefs with a sweat stain up the crack. Philip was enjoying himself too much to even notice, and reached beneath his overhang to undo the button on the jeans. It was a struggle despite the tear loosening things up. He succeeded though, and whipped out his own cock to stroke.
Philip stood when the man’s balls tightened. He wasn’t ready for orgasm. They locked lips, their scruffy beards, grown to conceal double chins, intertwined. Their bellies pressed against one another and their cocks stabbed at one another’s groins eagerly. Philip grabbed the man’s right tit and thumbed the nipple. He had a softer chest than Philip’s, bulbous and fat from laziness and overconsumption. Philip was fat, but he had maintained a base of muscle from yard work that kept the chub pert and firm. The man groaned in pleasure.
“You wanna fuck me?” the cook said.
The question took Philip by surprise. The man had seemed too straight to want to bottom. Philip nodded eagerly.
The cook turned around with both hands pressed against the cinderblock wall, his ass already out and his shirt riding up around stretch mark laden love handles. He looked even fatter in this position. Certainly bigger than Philip, at least by twenty pounds, maybe more. Philip had seen more impressive asses in his day, but wasn’t disappointed. This one was coated with a layer of cellulite and nothing more. It could have been bigger, bubblier, but it was still soft as hell.
With some spit, Philip guided his cock inside while holding the man’s love handles. As he got into a rhythm he pushed up the man’s shirt. Tiger stripes extended up his back rolls and presumably across the front of his belly too. They were bright red, soft indentations. Philip imagined the cook eating everything he made in the diner one for one. Whatever order came in he always made a second for himself. Perhaps this was too fantastical, but there was no denying this man’s job was partially responsible for his waistline.
As Philip got closer to orgasm, he leaned forward and let his own belly spread across the man’s lower back. He had enough fat of his own now that the chub stayed fairly stationary while he thrusted, glued between the bottom’s robust handles while Philip’s hips gained in speed. Philip’s face was buried in the fat roll between the man’s neck and skull while he fucked. It smelled like sweat and cheap shampoo. His arms fully wrapped around the bottom’s gelatinous gut, squeezing the fat in and letting it bounce to the rhythm of their sex.
The cook could barely reach his own manhood like this, but managed to create enough friction with his fingers that he started to come. The man vibrated beneath Philip like a jelly candy as he orgasmed. Philip shut his eyes and let his own load unfurl inside the stranger’s ass. It felt good to come and Philip let out a prolonged “fuuuuck yeaaaahhh.”
Both men were breathing heavily, propped against the concrete wall as Philip pulled out. They pulled their dirty clothes over their bulging bodies, Philip’s pants still in tatters. The cook’s come hung on the cinderblock next to them, illuminated by the harsh glow of fluorescent lighting. Fireflies buzzed in the distance.
“You hungry?” the cook asked.
“Always.”
“I’ll close up shop and make you another burger then. Triple patty, and curly fries. There’s always left over curly fries. I usually take them home.”
“Sounds great to me.”
Comments
Poppa Jim
Great detail 👌
