Ok, so, the updates haven't been so regular, I know...

So, life has gotten super crazy, and I've been way internet deprived for a while now. Nothing that I won't push through, I'm actually really happy, but really busy and without a stable internet connection. And blogger has been kinda fucky about letting me update pictures, which is oh so frustrating because I have some cool, cool updates in the works.

You can look forward to...

A new "illustrated" story from the illustrious BearTrainer
Several detailed pictorial evolutions of some really big top gainers that if you read this blog regularly I'm sure you wouldn't be tossing out of your bed
Some postings of some of the stories that were on GainerWeb which is currently on hiatus -I was smart enough to save them to my hardrive before the site went on vacation.

In that vein, despite the fact that I can't upload pictures, I can embed youtube vids, so here is a hot little vid from a non-gainer and a great story from the GainerWeb archives. I think of this story as a sort of gainer version of Y Tu Mama Tambien. Hot guy, realizing he's gay, on a trip, lots of vivid detail, I imagine it would have a good soundtrack if it were a movie, they speak Spanish, etc... It has that whole bisexual en route to gay thing that totally got me off in high school. I dunno, it's a story you have to invest in, but some really hot imagery. Read it, slowly, while snacking on something.. The whole thing after the jump.


Los Playeros (The Beach Bums)

By Joey188@aol.com

When I got off the plane, the tropical air of the island hit me in sultry waves, making me sweat. I wished I'd left my jacket back home in Corona.

Announcements echoed through the terminal in Spanish, making me feel like I was in a foreign land and I began to wonder whether returning to Puerto Rico that year was such a good idea. It was 1982, I'd just turned eighteen, and it was a strange time in my life. I was horny all the time. Horny and confused.

Home for the summer between high school and city college, I was jerking off like five times a day while my parents were at work, and I was dying to fuck something - hell, anything ! Judging by the pictures in my mind, it didn't matter who wound up in bed with me. So long as they were hot and friendly, I'd take 'em. Anyway, there I was in San Juan, my jerking off and fucking days clearly over, at least for the next six weeks. My God, I was going to go crazy!

On top of all that, at the last minute my father had been called away on a construction job in Mayaguez, on the far side of the island, and couldn't see me till sometime late in July. He'd arranged for his half-brother Raul to come pick me up and take me to some boondock shanty pueblo called Vega Baja.

There for some endless stretch of time I'd have to sit on the mocassina, eat shaved ice, and watch the sugar cane grow. Major drag.

It's funny about Puerto Ricans and airports. You could fly back and forth between the island and the States a hundred times, but if you've got relatives, they'll dress up in their Sunday best, pack the whole family into the car and show up at the gate as if you were the Second Coming. I spotted the red lipstick on my Aunt Nilda and smelled the aftershave on Tio Raul from fifty paces. He was wearing one of those embroidered gentleman's shirts the older men on the island wore at formal events. She wore slacks and her three-inch fingernails were painted fire engine red to match those fiery lips. The two of them grabbed and smothered me, immediately starting to jabber in hundred mile an hour Spanish.

"Mas despacio," I grinned, and they burst out laughing as they usually did when I took a stab at the language. My Dad had taught me a lot before he split on Ma when I was six, but I'd forgotten most of it.

Predictably, hot on the heels of this greeting came the Dreaded Inspection.

I'd prepared myself for this, and thought this time I'd get by fairly unscathed. I'd grown about a foot since my last visit, and had been working out on and off for the past year. My black hair was short and fashionably cut, and a pair of contacts brought my dark eyes out from behind my old clunky pair of eyeglasses. I'd looked into the mirror in the can on the plane, checked out my tight muscles and sizable crotch bulge, and thought I was finally coming into my own. I should have known better. Raul and Nilda's turned me around between them, poking and prodding me, running their hands over me as if I were a workhorse up for market. Though I scored points on height, I was way too skinny, like a skeleton, if I got my translation right.

Also I was pale, como un fantasma .

"Does the sun no longer shine on Manhattan?" asked Raul in broken English, forgetting I'd moved out of the Lower East Side about ten years earlier.

I grinned and bore it, suggesting we get to the suitcase pick-up. To tell you the truth, my heart was sinking. I'd been in Puerto Rico all of five minutes and I hated it already. I wanted to go home and jack off. I was so depressed and horny, even old Aunt Nilda's persistent squeezings were getting me hard, and that was gross. There had to be something in the air on that island, I tell you....

Then I saw my cousin, Carlos. He was leaning over the baggage carousel, a smiling macho god. He didn't even flinch when the loud buzzer sounded and the luggage started spinning around. A year or two older than me, he'd grown up, filled out, and then some! He was a native island boy with some boricua blood stretching way back into his family history. You could see it in the smooth darkness of his skin, the jet blackness of his curly hair, and the exotic, almond shape of his ebony eyes. He wore a yellow T-shirt tucked in (this was a special occasion, after all), and the short sleeves were tight around his big biceps. The word "Playero" in a sunburst was emblazoned over his left pec. It meant "beach bum". And last, but certainly not least, I noticed he'd managed to pour himself into a pair of white buttonfly jeans that had to be at least a couple of sizes too small for him. Even from across the room I could see his cock plainly through the denim, drawn to the right in that semi-hard state that sexy Puerto Ricans always seemed to be in.

I greeted him by shaking his hand instead of hugging him, like I should have done. Funny how men hold back when they find they really like a guy, even when there'd be nothing wrong with a good tight clinch at an airport. Well, I was drawn to Carlos immediately. In a place loaded with foxy Latin chicks with big tits and tight skirts, I found I couldn't let my long lost "cousin" out of my peripheral sight. Of course I couldn't let him know that. I guess I had nothing to worry about. Carlos barely spoke any English. He just smiled and set to work getting my suitcases together.

On the way home, Carlos and I sat in the back seat of Raul's car. The "meet and greet" now officially over, my aunt and uncle promptly ignored us, opting to complain incessantly about the rush hour traffic on the autopista . My cousin's arm was draped casually over the seat behind my head. I could feel the heat of it on the nape of my neck and at my ears. Somehow that calmed me down, made me feel safer.

"Tienes una novia?" They always asked that. I couldn't be on the island half an hour before being nailed with that one. My cousin was the culprit this time. But with that smile and those dark eyes, I couldn't hate him.

"No, no girlfriend," I admitted. "The girl I was seeing? She went off to college in another state as soon as we graduated. I broke up with her."

Carlos seemed satisfied with that web of lies I just wove. I hadn't had a girl since tenth grade, and we were drunk at a party. The B-boys in school were beginning to wonder about me, and I was having second thoughts about myself. Anyway, I was glad high school was over.

"You are picking up weights?" He leaned over, slid his fingers under below the cut of my chest and squeezed each of my firm pectorals through my shirt.

I felt his warm breath in my face. The lump in those tight white jeans of his got bigger, clearly forming an eight inch impression through the denim. "I have a bench in my house. Feel this-"

Carlos pulled his T-shirt out of his jeans and tucked the hem under his chin.

Then he took my hand and put it on his sunken, washboard belly. It felt like molten lead. I suddenly felt like passing out! He was doing this, making me touch his hot body, in the back seat of his parent's car, as if it was nothing!

"Wow! That's hard!" I had to lift my left leg to hide the massive boner I'd gotten. "You've been working out a long time."

"Yes," he smiled proudly. "Now we can do it together."

To get to Vega Baja, Puerto Rico, you've got to head west from the Carlos Munoz Rivera International Airport in Santurce, cruise past the sunny hotel district on Isla Verde, with its oiled and bronzed men cooking to succulence on clean sandy beaches, and get on the Numero Dos for thirty or forty minutes. You have to pass through Bayamon, where neighborhood paisanos work on old 1970s muscle cars in nothing but ripped up gym shorts and soaking bandanas around their sweaty brows. And you drive by Dorado Beach, where they put up fences to keep the homeboys out and the hotsy-totsy golfers tucked safely within. Surrounded by rocky hills and miles of sugar cane and pineapple, Vega Baja is a pueblo in the old sense of the word, a place where the poor people lived. Well, my father's half-brother's family may have been poor, but (gracias a Dios) having little money didn't mean squat when it came to looks, and my primo Carlos was about as handsome as they come.

No offense intended, but Vega Baja was a real shithole. My aunt and uncle's home was set precariously on a steep hill of earth and stone. It was supported by forty foot stilts, the kind you hear about on the news collapsing in a storm or mudslide in Bangladesh. Half-starved dogs, riddled with mange, sauntered up and down the road, and massive iguanas sunned themselves on rocks nearby. Every so often at night, a roach the size of a sparrow flew through one of the open windows and buzzed us as we watched TV.

The only things that kept me from going completely nuts were the magical songs the Puerto Rican tree-frogs sang from dusk till dawn -ko-kee, ko-kee - and the hypnotic sight of my gorgeous cousin Carlos, as he stretched languidly around the house in nothing but a pair of ripped cut-offs and that ever-present, sexy smile. We slept in the same bed, him in his underwear, me in my pajama bottoms. Feeling him asleep so close gave me the wildest of hardons, but I dared not touch myself for fear of being caught and ridiculed.

"Cojelo suave, popi," he'd tell me whenever I strained to keep up with him lifting weights or taking our afternoon walks up forty-five degree hills.

"Take it easy, my man."

His body seemed naturally muscular and powerful, and he moved with a lazy grace that made me want to snare him and devour him. One day, when we were playing touch football, I noticed the snap of his super tight shorts kept popping open whenever he had to reach up and catch a high pass. A thick, black swatch of pubic hair could be glimpsed there at the base of his belly.

He may have put on a couple of pounds since I got there, and he seemed healthy, happy and proud of the weight. I found myself tossing plenty of high passes. When Carlos finally noticed me staring, I almost died of embarrassment. But he just laughed and pushed his stomach at me till his shorts popped open again.

A smooth, deep suntan and bigger muscles had been my first priority, and fairly soon my body was adorned with both. Carlos loved working me out. He and his friend Nestor would spot each other out on the mocasina, where the lizards would look on as they climbed along the fences, and the tropical breezes sometimes got strong enough to make the house sway on its stilts.

Every few minutes they'd switch and pump away on the weight bench, working at the barbell until a buttery sheen glossed their dark skin from brow to belly.

Nestor was about six foot-two, long and lean, quiet and cool. He had thick eyebrows and a mustache that made him look tough, almost sinister. Carlos was shorter by a couple of inches. His body was more beautifully proportioned. We had both put on weight since I'd come down from New York that year, and he wore his well. As they lifted, I could swear I could actually see their biceps and triceps swelling across their arms and shoulders, full sets of solid, sculpted muscle seemed to expand and harden before my eyes.

When they spoke in Spanish with each other, they touched one another in a way I'd never seen back home. Carlos would make a point about firming up a pectoral by casually pushing aside Nestor's tank-top strap and squeezing the area around his buddy's nipple between his fingers.

Carlos and Nestor got erections all the time! Bulges appeared and grew larger whenever they touched, whenever a girl passed by on the road below, hell, even if the wind kicked up! I've got to admit, it put a little less stress on me hiding my own throbbing cock sometimes. These guys were driving me crazy!

Nestor would wear this ancient pair of gym shorts that tended to hike up around his thighs every time he did military presses, leaving his huge, uncut dick to slide down out of them.

Now I'd seen Carlos's fantastic cock, on account of the fact that he didn't seem to give a shit about being naked in front of me whenever he changed out of those shrinking short of his. But Nestor's huge piece was every bit as gorgeous! It was thick and wrapped so tightly in its skin, it looked like it was about to burst! His foreskin wrapped the plumb-shaped head of his cock in what looked like a luscious grape leaf of wrinkly flesh. The sight of it only gave me more to think about laying next to my snoring, sexy "cousin" in the dark of every night after that!

We trained seriously those first couple of weeks. There was little else to do, really. I'd marvel at Carlos as he scarfed down four or five peanut butter sandwiches and a quart of milk at a sitting, but then again he'd force me to chug-a-lug gallons of those crash weight-gain drinks on top of Nilda's daily Latin banquets of rice and beans, morsilla, chuletas, bistec criollos and two bottles of Malta India per meal. In a matter of days, we put on several more pounds, and I thought we were looking pretty good.

Nestor had his own thoughts on the subject of my new, bigger appetite, though. He would grin while lifting my T-shirt and patting the extra flesh gathering on my sides with the palm of his hand. "You got to work harder and don't eat too much, my man!" he'd coach in his sweet, broken English. "The ladies of Puerto Rico will get turn off if they see you get a fat stomach."

One night when Carlos and I were hanging out with a crowd of village teens at the bottom of the hill, I noticed some of the older girls kept glancing over at us and smiling while they spoke Spanish at a rapid clip. They were all dressed in tight jeans and frayed old button-down work shirts, thready shirt-tails hanging over plump, pouty asses, sleeves rolled to their forearms against the cool evening breeze. Carlos, his favorite Playero T-shirt draped over the antenna of the old Ford we were leaning against, folded his thick arms over his big bare chest, grinned, and started joking back at them. They laughed as he turned to me and pulled me away from the car, lifting my arms slightly, as if to show me off as he spoke.

"What's goin' on?" I said, enjoying all the sudden attention as the rest of the crowd looked our way.

"They say you are-" Carlos dropped his gaze to my middle, his smile widening with mischief. Then he looked to one of the girls, a sexy green-eyed brunette named Iris, and said, "Como se dice 'gordo' en ingles?"

The crowd of girls shrieked with delight at Carlos's efforts to explain. They clapped their hands and came over to us. Iris spoke to me, her red lips smiling broadly and she teased me in broken English:

"Carlos is telling you that the girls here are notice that you are in Puerto Rico only two week," eyes sparkling, she bit her lip and made a gesture indicating roundness just above the waistband of her jeans, "and we see you are getting a fat belly already!"

She squealed and lay her hands delicately on the over-nourished source of everyone's amusement. I must have blushed a deep shade of red, 'cause about six girls nearly burst their blouses with laughter. Nestor had been right on the money about these neighborhood girls. They watch you like starving hawks!

The pretty Puerto Rican girls gathered close around me, their hands sliding around my soft waist, their fingers poking into my belly through my ribbed T-shirt, pinching me as if I had been chosen to be the main course in tomorrow night's dinner. They were taking enormous glee in my mortified embarrassment.

I'd never been so much as pleasingly plump in all my life! But there I was, pounds of voluptuous flesh hiding my tight belly muscles, forming a soft smile that was pushing out over the button of my low-slung jeans. I'd been a handsome missionary, lulled into an erotic stupor by the friendly locals, only to realize I'd been tricked into being fattened for the kill and suddenly dropped like a tasty dumpling into a boiling pot of vegetables by what was turning out to be a hungry tribe of man-eating jungle girls. Well, I was determined to pull my dear cousin, my giggling training buddy Carlos, into the stew right along with me:

"And what about mi primo ?" my fingers easily found the roll of flesh that I'd noticed starting to bulge over the side of my cousin's jeans sometime last week. It was nice and plushy now, a sign that just like me, he'd started to enjoy lazing around slurping on mangoes more than working his body with weights and sit-ups. "Carlos is getting fat too, huh? Puttin' on the love handles?"

"Ah, no, no, no, mi amor," laughed Iris, wagging one of her wildly painted fingernails in my face. "It's okay for Carlos to grow fat por que he already has a girlfriend. It is not okay for you to become a fat boy here because the girls will be not liking it, and you won't get a girlfriend."

This was the first I'd heard about Carlos's girlfriend, but I was too flustered to let it sink in. I had to make a great comeback:

"And would you be my girlfriend?" I put on my most devilish grin.

"Ayyy, que chulo!" she cried, and everybody got hysterical. She slipped her hands around me and followed a kiss to my cheek with a playful bite. "Te come todo todito."

I guess I'd won them over, because the girls hung out with us the rest of the night, flirting with me and Carlos, playing with his big biceps and his St.

Christopher medallion, kissing us and inspecting our muscles with their fingertips, forcing us to compare our bodies and teasing us nonstop about how fat we were letting ourselves get.

Sometimes Carlos would draw me near him and put his arm around my waist, like he was proud of me. Like he was proud of his handiwork. He'd lean into me as he spoke in that strong soft Spanish voice of his, taking the meaty pad of flesh at my side from under my T-shirt and absently, tenderly squeezing it between his powerful fingers. I wanted to grab that perfect Latin face and kiss his lips right there. I wondered whether the girls noticed how hard my cock was through my jeans...

It hadn't rained at all for the first fifteen days of my stay, and one day Tio Raul told me and Carlos that we couldn't use up any more water. We'd have to pee out back, and take showers together. Carlos took this in stride, but I almost had a heart attack. Anyway, that afternoon, after a tremendous workout, we sat on the mocassina sunning ourselves, sucking on sweet canepas and watching the neighborhood girls walk up and down the hill below us. I'd been resisting the canepas, because I knew how fattening they were. But Carlos insisted we have as many of them as we could eat. Canepas would make us gain weight, he explained, and we needed the pounds for our work-outs.

Those were his orders. And the strange little pulpy things did taste good...

Nilda and Raul had gone shopping and we'd decided to waste some time teaching each other dirty words in our native tongues. Carlos slouched in his chair, holding the small round fruit in his fingers, beaming his radiant smile at me whenever I got one of his bad words right. He sucked on the pulp and smiled, sucked and smiled. His muscles seemed to be throbbing in the hot sun. A vein beat warmly from under the warm flesh of his neck, down the glossy flat plane of his right pec. His torso looked full and ripe, that once concave belly of his looking well-nourished and full. The flesh between his pecs and groin had swelled up some, pushing over the elastic of his shorts. This added beefiness gave him a carnal quality I'd never seen in him before.

Carlos leaned over lustily and proclaimed the latest amply endowed passerby "biscocha," which meant she looked like a piece of cake, but sounded a lot more filthy in Spanish.

"What kind of taste do you have?" I scolded him, and chucked one of my pulpy half-eaten fruits at his bare chest. "Her butt's way too big!"

"Fuck you!" he laughed, and threw one back at me. It splattered wetly on my neck, and we proceeded to pelt one another with sticky orange canepas for the next ten minutes.

Next thing I knew, we were in the shower together dancing around under the tepid water, naked as bucks in heat. Long, thick and semi-hard as usual, my cousin's uncut dick bobbed between his hairy legs and brushed against my thighs whenever he turned to grab the soap or adjust the tap. Every so often, he'd move to the slotted window high over the tub, stand on his tiptoes, and peer out into the dusty daylight. He was looking for that girl, that slice of biscocha, but I couldn't have cared less.

His ass was perfect. Shimmering with droplets of water, it was strong, lean and muscular. His legs were coated with black hair that rose into thick tufts at his groin and up the crack of that beautiful behind before turning into dark peach fuzz from the waist up. I noticed that his lower back dipped in a bit, tilting his voluptuous hips and belly forward while thrusting his pouty ass back toward me, forming a sort of "S" shape out of his torso. Maybe it was this slight, sexy, distinctly Puerto Rican swayback that turned me on so much about him. My father had it, I had it, but boy did my cousin have it good.

Or maybe it was the weight he'd been putting on recently, all that hard muscle was being brown sugar coated with an ever plumpening layer of sleek flesh. I could see it better now than when we were sitting outside, now that I was standing so close to him. Between his firm chest and heavy thighs, a satiny cushion of savory belly meat had blossomed around his navel and pushed out over his hips. His tummy, fully relaxed now, hung out some and bulged over his groin. He was the fattest I'd ever seen him. He could no longer fit into the jeans he'd worn to pick me up at the airport, I was sure of it. I wanted to poke that soft, sweet pillow belly on Carlos and pinch his round cheeks, tell him he was getting chunky, tease him like he and the girls had teased me the other night.

Then I saw that his dick was starting to get hard.

"Come here! Look this!" Carlos slid his arm around my back and pulled me to the window. He held me tight, pulling me against his warm, wet body as he spoke excitedly. "There is a real hot girl for you, my friend."

Looking through the window down the hill at an angle, I could see a bikini-clad morena taking off her top and settling into a ratty lounge chair to sun herself. Her tits were nice, but she had a beer belly and her fat ass was squishing through the bottom of the seat.

"No accounting for taste," I mumbled.

"Ah?" said Carlos, his eyes transfixed. He'd placed his free hand between his stiffening cock and the tiled wall of the stall and pressed himself into the palm. He kept his other arm around me, absently kneading the firm, rounded flesh up and down my side with his long fingers. I was so close to him, standing there in the shower, that I could smell the sweet canepa juice on his lips, the sweaty, masculine musk of his hairy armpits.

"She's good," he whispered through the dizzying steam, now toying with the healthy flap of wrinkly foreskin on top of his big dick. "Good to fuck her."

Suddenly, my cousin's nipple was in my mouth and I was licking it and pulling it between my teeth. I slid my hands around his soft waist and kneeled there in the tub at his feet, kissing and licking his body. He was silent. I half-expected to get smacked up the side of the head. When I finally dared to look up at his face, I saw him through the warm spray of the shower, grinning down at me, his eyes sparkling. His long hands grabbed me by the sides of my head and drew me into his abdomen, rubbing my face into its edible softness.

Then, taking me by the hair, he pushed his tremendous hard cock right into my lips, that fat, red cockhead emerging from its foreskin to force itself against my clenched teeth.

"Tomalo," his command was warm but firm. "Tomalo, hijo. Comelo, nene."

I had never sucked dick before. Hell, I'd pretty much always thought I was a straight boy. But that cock on my cousin Carlos, it was so big and beautiful I had to have it. Besides, he was using that sexy, macho voice of his.

Throaty and silky, it echoed off the tiles as the water ran down over us, telling me to take it down, like I was his son, his little boy, and he was the Popi I'd never really had. He said it as if he was holding a spoonful of vegetables in front of my petulent lips, forcing me to put my mouth around it whether I liked it or not, because it was "good for me."

"Tomalo!"

That eight inch cock of his filled up my mouth and throbbed inside of it, shocking me with its aliveness, forcing pre-cum to drool out of my own big dick. I tried to relax my throat to take more of it down, and before long I had him moaning and pulling my wet hair.

Within minutes he was trembling, filled with lust, and my heart was pounding at how great I was making this hot young man feel. Then I felt his hands on me, forcing me up and around, his dick popping out of my hungry mouth. I didn't know what was going on. He was handling me so roughly, deliberately, he was almost hurting me.

My arms were brought up to hold onto a washcloth rack, and I was now facing away from him. He was spreading my legs, leaving my ass to stick up high in the air. For a second, nothing happened, but then I felt something wet and slippery run right up against my butthole. Instinctively, I tightened up.

"Cojelo suave, nene," said Carlos. "Take it easy."

With those words, I knew exactly what he meant, and relaxed. I wanted this guy. I wanted him real bad, and I loved it that he wanted me right now. He slid his hand around me and grabbed my dick, squeezing it, sending thrills of pleasure into my belly. Then he pushed his big uncut meat into my soaped up asshole and slowly forced his way deeper and deeper.

My eyes bulged! I groaned a strangled cry before his hand covered my mouth and he told me, "Shhh!" He took hold of my dick again and started jerking me off as he pumped my ass. I felt him behind me, a big, macho, Puerto Rican animal who had mounted me and wouldn't get off till he got satisfaction.

Before long, he was slamming it to me, grabbing me by my budding love handles, squeezing them, making me grit my teeth and gasp with pleasure.

Something cut loose in my cock and I started firing my load big-time against the moist tiles. Two weeks worth of creamy cum shot from my balls into the air, tossing me into the throws of ecstasy. My head was spinning so hard I began to lose my grip, but that was okay with Carlos. He was almost done.

Before I knew it, I was on my knees again, my cousin's huge cock having slipped from deep within my ass to wave, still-hard, in my face. I grabbed it and pumped. In seconds, Carlos started growling curse words in Spanish, and five hot jets of pearly white cum shot out of his dick to splatter into my face. I wanted to shout with joy!

But then came a knock at the bathroom door!

"What is going on in there?" It was Tio Raul, back from the supermarket. I almost died.

"Salvajamos el agua, Popi," said Carlos, the picture of serenity, his index finger suddenly planting a firm warning into the soft flesh of my slightly bulging belly.

"Yeah," I agreed, seeing my future in a whole new light. "We're saving water!"

It had been almost three weeks since I'd come to visit my Dad, and there was still no sign of him. They told me a tropical storm that had hit the east side of the island had set his work back another week or so. I would have been totally pissed off if it weren't for how much attention Carlos was paying me. We'd become friends. He was like the older brother I'd never had.

The sexy, totally hot older brother I could have only wished for!

Cristina, Carlos's girlfriend, returned from Ponce at the end of my third week in Vega Baja. She was dark and lushly gorgeous, with ruby red lips and shimmering black hair that fell over her shoulders in thick ringlets. There were round, voluptuous curves to her tits and ass, making her easily the most fuckable girl in the pueblo. She was cool towards me at first, but, despite ourselves, pretty soon we were having long conversations, hanging out together, and clowning around like sister and brother.

I could see why Carlos really loved Cristina: she was sharp and full of mischief, a spirited extrovert to offset his quiet, brooding machismo. She was a sex-pot with some brains, so it was hard for me to hate her. Besides, I think she caught on right away that I had a devastating crush on her boyfriend, and it seemed to cause her no end of delight.

Carlos loved his basketball, a hell of a lot more than Cristina and I did, and one night in the living room Cristina decided to play a little game of her own. Aunt Nilda and Tio Raul were out playing bingo, and wouldn't be back for hours. We were all slightly buzzed on beer, Nestor and I sprawled on a love seat, and Carlos spread out on the couch. He was laying in Cristina's lap, his head turned away to face the TV set across the room. Cristina had been absently rubbing his beefy chest through his thin, white T-shirt (it had a stain on it from where he'd dripped some of his huge dinner's salsa de tomate ), and I'd been transfixed by the sight.

At the next commercial she turned and smiled when caught me staring at what she was doing. Carlos remained equally absorbed in the go-go dancers and flying Don Q bottles as he was in his baloncesto superior. Wrinkling her nose mischievously, her soft tongue protruding slightly between smiling lips, Cristina began to trace the lines of Carlos's body with a nonchalant fingertip. She'd been teasing him all week about all those the pounds he'd put on while she was away (her pet name for him this week was "Gordito"), but I could tell she really adored it. Her hands were always all over him.

Slowly, she pulled up his T-shirt, tugging gently to free it from the tightness of his jeans. Between the thready hem and the worn denim waistband, a dark quarter moon of his stomach was revealed. The tawny manflesh of his belly was forming an ever-thickening, plushy cushion over his lower abdominals, a ripeness that was now easily pushing out over the tightness of his jeans. She poked it, admiring how the soft flesh gave under her sharp nail, like a juicy roast cooked to perfection and ready to be basted.

Carlos still looked sexy, fantastic even, but if he didn't watch out he was going to wind up on Cristina's dinner menu, I mused, fattened into one of those butterball Latino men forced to clean his plate every night by his foxy wife, who then turned around and flirted with the young, hot-looking salseros at the shopping center.

Cristina gazed at me as she rubbed Carlos's belly in smooth, even circles, soothing him, making him drowsy, turning him on a little. A moment later, she reached over with both hands and opened the button of his jeans to make him more comfortable. I'd watched the two of them do this in order to finish eating some of Nilda's bigger banquets. Their bellies would pull their T-shirts taught, slowly rolling forward as they stuffed themselves. Though I'd always wanted to, I'd been too embarrassed to do the same.

Still laying there watching TV, he let her do this, his T-shirt hiked above his navel, his sumptuous middle now free to swell out a bit more. To my growing delight, Carlos's belly actually forced his zipper wide open, leaving an expanse of rounded manflesh nearly four inches across between the button and buttonhole on his jeans! His cock, of course, had done some bloating itself, and seemed just about to pop out of the taught denim.

Carlos seemed perfectly comfortable under her probes and playful teasings, as if it was his destiny to allow his hot, muscular body to grow soft and contented in the arms of one of the sexiest Puerto Rican girls alive. In fact, each pound he gained seemed to be a source of pleasure to these women.

Each day since Cristina's return, she and Nilda would force Carlos onto the bathroom scale. As the numbers crept steadily higher, pushing closer and closer to that major 200 pound mark. I couldn't help but feel they had some ulterior motive, as if this were some kind of bizarre pre-marital ritual. Or as if the size of added bellyfat gave Cristina status with her cheerfully ogling girlfriends. After all, the flesh on his body was little more then meat and muscle, there to be nourished, cultivated, fattened and ultimately enjoyed by women, and Carlos knew this. Nilda, Cristina, Iris and the girls--even I treated him like a god, gorging him on home-cooked meals, watching each morsel of food pass between those sexy, kissable lips; squeezing him into tight clothes at the plaza so we could tease him, admiring his progress all the same; stroking him, praising him, letting him fuck us when ever he wanted it. What was a set of love handles and a growing beer belly but more of sexy Carlos to tease and cherish, especially when the shoulders were so broad, the biceps so thick, the chest so deep and the cock so big? The softer edges and fattening gut did little or nothing to diminish the package of hot machismo that was my cousin Carlos.

Flushed and half-dead with embarrassment, I nervously looked toward Nestor.

To my surprise, his long, sexy fingers were absently stroking the growing mound of his own crotch! He was smiling at Cristina and had to be just about as turned on as I was!

Taking note of the effect her handiwork was having on all three of us guys, Cristina leaned down and whispered into Carlos's ear. Whatever she said did the trick, because in the next five minutes all four of us were piled on the bed in Carlos's room, and Nestor and I were watching Cristina peel Carlos the rest of the way out of his T-shirt and jeans.

"Vamos, gordito, I want to see how my little fat boy looks in just his underwears," she grinned. "Y los playeros, tambien."

Before long, Nestor, Carlos and I were comparing our bodies for her. We were posing, flexing, and making muscles for her in that sweltering little bedroom, like eager school kids trying to impress the prettiest girl in the class. She was merciless with Carlos, poking him in his fat belly with her painted fingernails and teasing him in Spanish about how chubby he'd gotten; that is, until she set her sights on me!

Carlos won easily, of course. His body was in its top form, despite the extra of weight he'd put on. He was prime beef from his strong chin and hairy pecs, down to his fur covered ass, round as globes and hard as stone. Cristina rewarded him with hot, wet kisses all over his body.

How me and Nestor cracked up! Cristina's kisses left glossy red lipstick marks all over Carlos's wriggling, writhing, slightly chunky torso. When he suddenly pulled out the giant snake of his cock in an effort to shock her, she didn't blink an eye. She even left a shiny red lipstick ring around the bloated head of his flesh-coated shaft!

Well, Nestor couldn't take it anymore and, sweating like a bandit, he pulled out his own monstrous pinga for a few quick jerks. Light-headed, all I could do was stand there and gaze at my cousin's and his buddy's hunky, macho bodies as their big, hard dicks rose hypnotically, and bobbed and swayed in front of them like dancing cobras.

Cristina then spoke in Spanish to Nestor. She asked him if he wanted to kiss her! After looking at his grinning (and slightly tipsy) amigo, he said "Claro que si." Of course, there was a condition: first Nestor had to make me kiss Carlos first! And not just once, either. I was supposed to kiss him everywhere she had kissed him and left lipstick!

Without hesitation, Nestor grabbed me, pinned my arms behind me, and shoved my face into Carlos's chest. They all laughed as my mouth was pushed onto one of his nipples.

"Suck it!" Cristina commanded.

I did as she told me, and lost control. My own thick cock sprang free of my briefs and shot up like and arrow to thump against my plump belly. It was all everybody needed to see!

Carlos, Cristina and Nestor laughed and started talking in Spanish really fast. I could barely understand them, but from the tone in their voices I guessed they intended to have a little fun with me. "There is a kiss mark on Carlos's culo, Nestor, put his mouth on that one!" said Cristina

She made her boyfriend turn around and backed him into me. I found my face plunged into his beautiful backside, and I took the opportunity to inhale deeply. He smelled musky, manly, and I was glad that Nestor was responding to this triguena's orders with so much vigor.

I pushed my tongue up into the rim of my primo's asshole, thinking that he would scream and stop this whole, crazy scene. But to my surprise he laughed and said in Spanish that a little dog was licking him up his behind.

"Maybe the doggy is hungry," said Cristina with a sly grin.

"Nestor, give the perrito something to eat. Let's turn Carlos around once more. There is another kiss mark in front!"

"No!" I shouted. I figured if I didn't struggle and put up some token resistance, the guys would rag me for the rest of the summer-even though we were 'drunk'. Struggling mightily against Nestor, I could feel his hot breath on my neck, and his huge prick rubbing up against my back as he pulled me around to Carlos's waiting meat. It had gotten so hard, the fat head of it was pushing through his entire length of foreskin. The lipstick around it looked like a bright red collar about the neck of an angry serpent.

"Go ahead, Popi," tempted Cristina, here eyes aglow, her fingernails scraping at the soft flesh at my sides. "Eat it. Que se come todito. Spanish food is good for you. It will make you fatter!"

Straining to get away only made my cousin and his friend try even harder to make me suck that gorgeous cock. It was dribbling pearly cum now, and every square inch of my flesh felt like it was on fire. Carlos had to grab my hair, and Nestor had to pry my jaws apart before I would take it into my mouth, but when I finally did...well, letting out a long, slow moan was all I could do to keep from devouring it whole!

"Tomalo, Nestor, tomalo, tomalo," said Carlos. He was telling Nestor to fuck me! To this day I thank my lucky stars that Nestor seemed to like being told what to do!

Before I knew it, tall, lanky, blackhaired young sex-god Nestor had fired a wad of hot spittle between my spread cheeks, and started drilling his nine inch monster where very few had been before. Grabbing my hips, he shoved himself more and more deeply into my aching bowels. It felt like a hot iron was being pumped into the pit of my belly. It only made me suck Carlos harder.

Skewered like a happily fattened pig between Carlos and Nestor's cocks, sucking and being fucked, jerking myself off all the while, I literally stopped thinking. All I could do was feel these hot, young Puerto Rican men using me for their pleasure, plunging themselves into my body. Looking back on it all, I guess you could say there wasn't a guilty bone in their tough, muscular (and in Carlos's case, gloriously overfed), swaybacked cuerpos.

They pumped me as thoroughly as any workout we'd ever had, jamming me until they started trembling and breathing hard. Then they pulled away from their respective holes and waved their cocks in my face.

"Mirame," said Nestor, the palm of his hand flying up and down the shaft of his dick. He stepped a few feet back from me, and let fly an amazing jet of sizzling cum. It hit me in the face from a yard away.

"!Ave Maria!" cried Cristina, and she gave the proud island boy a round of applause.

"!Sangano!" said Carlos, who then stepped back a full five feet from me.

Gasping, pulling at his huge dick like mad, he manage to shoot an arc of cum clear across the bedroom and onto my hungry lips. At that point, I had no choice but to release my own volley straight up into the air.

When some of my cum landed on Cristina's bare ankle, Carlos and Nestor made me lick it off before we all fell into a big, exhausted pile.

A few minutes later, as my primo and his sexy compadre dozed, Cristina slid over to give me a warm kiss, a deep affectionate poke into the soft of my Puerto Rico-fattened belly, and a knowing wink.

"Gracias, Cristina," I whispered with what must have been my most satisfied smile of the summer. "Muchisimas gracias..."