Recipes for Summer Gaining: Tagliatelle with Truffle Butter

The next recipe in my summer gainer recipe series comes from my dear friend (and beautifully accomplished gainer), DangerCocktail.

DangerCocktail suggested Ina Garten’s Tagliarelle with Truffle Butter as an easy dish to whip together on a weeknight or for a more formal dinner -a pretty classic, fattening recipe brightened up for spring by some fresh chives.

He suggests, “Pair it with a light, white wine -I don’t like white but you need something really light on the tongue, because the truffle butter with cream is rich. Serve that pasta with a great grilled steak or tri tip, and then a fresh spring vegetable with light butter/salt/pepper, or maybe a salad with oil and vinegar. Keep the other notes in the meal very bright and light.”

Fattening, luxurious, and easy. What more could you ask for? A recipe with both Ina Garten and DangerCocktail's stamp of approval. Yum.

Recipes for Summer Gaining: Cubanjew's Super Awesome Frittata

So, in my hunt for summery gainer friendly meals, I asked my pal Cubanjew if he had anything that was good for a breakfast or brunch type meal. He suggested his Super Awesome Fritatta recipe.

Cubanjew's Super Awesome Frittata Recipe

8-10 eggs (I prefer organic, cage free eggs -knowing the chickens are happy makes me happy)

2 or 3 not too small potatos, washed and sliced*

Shredded/grated cheese to taste*

Salt & Pepper to taste

Whole Milk (or for the adventurous, heavy cream or half and half)

Olive oil*

Butter*

*Organic if you can manage it

In his own, awesome words:

“First I cut one of my potatoes into thin slices and sauté them a little. Once the potatoes are decently soft, I mix in the salt, pepper and shredded cheese. Melt it down and mash it all up Don't use all of the cheese though! I generally do grated parmesan and then either a shredded cheddar or mexican mix and have it all combined. Trader Joe's has some really nice, organic pre-shredded cheese mixes, if you're too lazy to grate your own. Let it be a little lumpy! We like it like that!

Next, put your mixture aside and preheat the oven to 400. Wash your remaining potatoes and slice them fairly thin, but not transparent cause you want some substance to them, and microwave them submerged in water for a minute and 30 seconds to start their cooking process. Let them sit. Then, in a medium-large pan, combine your olive oil and butter and let it get hot, but don't burn the butter! I suggest medium heat on your range for this. Mix your potato cheese mixture up and cover the bottom of the pan in the mixture, and let it sit for a few minutes.

In a fairly large bowl, crack and combine your eggs as if you were making an omelette, and salt and pepper it to taste. Put that aside and look at your potatoes in the pan. Start flipping it over when it's brown on the bottom and add more of the mixture in. It's good when it's golden and crispy. When you have a little potato mixture left, remove it all and place it back in the bowl and mix it all together. Now you want to put more oil and butter in the pan, and arrange your potato slices in an even layer and let cook with a cover on the pan for 4-5 minutes. Put a thin layer of your grated cheese on top of that, and then your mixture of browned mashed potatoes and unbrowned mashed potatoes on a lumpy textural layer over that. You can toss in anything here; bacon, veggies, anything you have laying around, it'll taste good. I suggest if you add veggies to sauté them beforehand, and make sure that any meat you add is cooked through. Let it cook for another 3-4 minutes with a cover on it. Now you'll want to pour your eggs on top and then place a final layer of grated cheese and cook for 3 minutes with a cover on the pan.

You'll want to see it start to bubble. That's when you uncover and place in your preheated oven for 10-15 minutes, with you checking in 5 minute intervals by sticking a knife in. When the knife comes out clean, you're done and you can take it out of the oven. Let your frittata cool for a few minutes, then flip onto a plate and serve! When going to a party or somewhere I'm expected to bring a dish, my frittata never fails to impress! Or you could always, ya know, eat the whole thing yourself... lol”

And there you have it -a simple, fattening, versatile calorically gifted brunch recipe perfect for any growing gainer. Up next, DangerCocktail's summer dinner suggestion :)

Recipes for Summer Gaining: Quinoa and Avocado Salad

Like most annoying, health conscious yuppies, I’ve recently become interested in making an effort to eat locally and eat what is locally in season (in addition to trying to eat organic and as high fructose corn syrup and transfat free as possible). I'm also, obviously, working very hard to get my boyfriend bigger (haha gotta get in shape for swimsuit season). To that end, I asked a few of my gainer pals what their favorite spring/early summer recipes were so I could share them with my readers. I got all kinds of responses, so, I'm gonna post them up one at a time.

Firstly, the BF’s biggest Summer gaining tip is just add avocados to everything. He puts them on sandwiches, he puts them on burgers, he makes guacamole, he never makes a salad without them. And the effect is quite evident in his ever tightening jeans. In honor of my boyfriend’s devotion to avocados, may I present to you a Quinoa and Avocado salad with Dried Fruit, Toasted Almonds, and Lemon Cumin Vinaigrette.

Quinoa is super good for you, and avocados are loaded with healthy fat so, make a double portion and eat up! It's calorically dense, not filled with artificial shit that'll make you feel gross, and tastes amazing.

Try this and look forward to favorite gaining recipes from DangerCocktail, CubanJew, and others :)

Gainer/Encourager friendly Bearlesque in San Fran

A friend of mine tipped me off to an upcoming theatrical event that might be of interest to my readers. Any of you in San Francisco should check out Bearlesque, a four night bear strip-a-thon at the New Conservatory Theater Center, this April 14-18.

You can get tickets here. Get tickets if you can go. It's for charity! Don't be a bum.

It's not specifically gainer/encourager oriented, but an insider tipped me off that there might be a passing gainer related reference here or there. And you never know which one of the cast members might be growing ;)

I won't be able to go cause I'm on the East Coast, but it should be a great night.

Belly Bar

These images were originally intended as an April Fools prank, but, I decided that it would be too mean to get peoples' hopes up, so I held off for a few days. But here is the fruit of an hour's worth of daydreaming and some helpful suggestions from DangerCocktail:



I mean seriously, if this was real, wouldn't you wanna go?


And finally, the mock up of the drink menu. I think it turned out to be surprisingly drinkable for gainer oriented cocktails (and I think I should seriously consider opening a bar...).


Wouldn't that have been a cruel prank? lol Hope you guys enjoy the ridiculousness.

Percy Full from Rush Hour of the Gods

So, I read this story that NYCWriter posted to the BellyBuilders message board and I was totally blown away. It managed to evoke in me an excitement about gaining that no story had managed to evoke since I was 15 years old and just discovering gainer fiction. In other words, it's fantastic. You should read it.

In NYCWriter's own words:

"I'm working on a book of interrelated short stories entitled RUSH HOUR OF THE GODS. It's about a group of people navigating fetish, fringe sexuality, gender confusion, or weirdo relationships, etc. And I wrote a sorta gainer story for the book. The book is for "civilians" (so it's sort of devoid of code or identity monikers or any of that stuff), and I wasn't really writing it to be super hot or sexy to gainers and/or gainer enthusiast. I was rather trying to work the characters' conflict into the larger story of the book and use the metaphor of blah blah blah... God, writers are such douchebags.

Anyway, I figured I'd post it on here and see what you guys think.

Oh, PS - I hold the copyright to the story, etc, under my real name. So please don't post this anywhere else.

PPS - My writing's a little florid. I used to cream over Faulkner in English class. Sorry."

I got his permission to re-post it here (benevolent soul that he is) but, be respectful that he's a writer and this is his intellectual property, and don't re-post it without his permission. Now on to the awesome:

PERCY FULL
by
NYCWriter

Mike was early. The restaurant wasn’t full; he could see empty tables and booths here and there amongst the din of Sunday brunch patrons. But the hostess told him he couldn’t be seated until Sal arrived. She suggested that he wait at the bar. Mike told her that would be alright. Then she tightened her lips into a tiny closed mouth smile and shrugged, as if apologizing for the policy; as if she was saying that she would change it if only she could, just for him, but her hands were tied. Mike really didn’t mind; usually he would have liked to be seated when meeting someone for a date, or what he assumed might be a date, even though he had no idea what was going to happen when Sal walked through the door. Under normal circumstances, he liked to be seated, let the person walk in and slip into the booth with few expectations. Under normal circumstances, if he was standing, the other person would feel bad for being late (even if Mike was early) and then they’d have that awkward moment when they met – do they shake hands? Do they hug? Under normal circumstances, if it became awkward right away, it rarely stopped being awkward for the remainder of the date. But this was anything but normal circumstances. In this case, Mike thought it would be better if Sal saw him standing up, in full view, next to the bar when he walked in to the restaurant.

Mike unzipped his jacket. As he slipped it off of his shoulder, his fingers slid across his stomach, and he paused. Every time his hands discovered it, he felt a quick electric spark of surprise that made his heart beat a little faster and his joints dance like horny teenagers all over his body. He slid his finger along the surface of it, remembering the former definition, the way his muscles had felt like a clean symmetrical mountain range he’d tried to accentuate with tight shirts or the occasional, accidental flash when he ran his hand along the hem of his shirt and up and under to scratch some itch that didn’t exist; his very own continental divide he hoped attractive men at bars and clubs or on the streets or on the train would venture to cross with their eyes. Now that was mostly gone, replaced with this smooth, soft flesh, a fertile plain that stretched for miles but was still slowly expanding to new frontiers. As his fingers ran over his new belly, he applied pressure, and the skin bent and depressed, giving to his touch, the new fat vibrating for miles. Mike closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. Sometimes he would forget it was there until moments like these, when it met his hands like old flames meeting after years apart, and the attraction is still there, the passion seems to erase the time absent from each other, and possessed, they wrap themselves up in a swirl of heat and pleasure as if nothing else in the world existed but the thin line of contact between fingers and skin.

Mike removed his jacket, sliding it down his arm, pausing again as he noticed his massive shoulder and bicep bulging from beneath his shirt. Again, his body seemed to spark to life, but this time it was different, a cooler, more forceful electricity that shot up his spine and made him stand fully erect, grow two inches taller, to tower over himself, not as if he was outside of his body but inside it in ways he’d never experienced before. Mike placed his jacket on the back of the chair at the bar and looked down at his arms and his chest. The buttons on his shirt were barely containing his pecs, which had stretched wide and out and were now as hard as rocks. He clenched his fists and the muscles inflated in his arms like animals waking from hibernation. They yawned, full like moons, and growled with desire, desire to grab, to lift, to tear, to crush, and to punch the docile veneer of civilization hanging over everything and everyone around him like plates of fragile colored glass. He noticed himself flexing in the mirror behind the bar, and also noticed his neck was thicker, and his face was fuller, ringed by the tiniest halo of flesh that he only noticed because he’d spent weeks staring at himself in the mirror. The man staring back at him now oozed power from every pore, seeming to stretch the flat plane of the mirror with his size, threatening to shatter the glass with the next sudden move. The reflection, made real by the subtle creeping exploration of his fingers on his muscles, made his cock in his pants stir and swell, swell like his body; both, in his eyes, were becoming beautiful.

Thirty pounds. That was how much weight he had put on in the last few months. The thought of it made his cock slide down the leg of his pants, and he turned away from the mirror, placing his crotch against the back of the chair at the bar so none of the other patrons would notice his erection. At the beginning of the year, he was as he’d always been; svelte, athletic, the kind of man who went to the gym five times a week, ran miles and miles in desperate attempts to keep up with the standards of attractiveness set by those around him. He’d feared his body, the potential it carried to devolve from that rock hard athleticism, and he tried to beat it at every turn with the sweaty intensity of a marathoner hoping the finish line would appear in the distance when he got over the next hill, but then he’d realized there was no finish line, not for him, and he’d peeled off from the race. He’d given up, on the old path at least, and trotted down a different path. He changed his whole life around, and now, as a result, he had gotten fat. He had gotten big. And he was getting bigger. And he loved it.

It had always been in the back of his mind. Even as a child, he’d stared at men, big men, and felt his adolescent sexuality flare like nostrils smelling something sweet. He watched them at work, at construction sites, wielding implements and lifting steel structures that seemed impossibly large, ready to crush them, but then their muscles inflated in their arms and chest and legs and brought them closer to gods. He watched them when they ate, stealing glances while out at restaurants with his family, marveling at the way they consumed with abandon, almost crazed in the way they lifted forks to their mouths and guzzled down beer, letting their stomachs stretch in pursuit of the feeling of being full. When they’d finished, and they lay their massive shoulders against the back of their chairs, absent-mindedly rubbing their guts in celebration of that feeling, Mike couldn’t help but rub the bulge in his pants.

When he was younger, he’d figured he was just attracted to them; he wanted to be closer to those beautiful mountains of flesh. But the more he thought about it, late at night in his bed drawing pictures of plus-sized Greek gods in his sketchbook, the more he realized it was more complicated than that. It wasn’t just that he was attracted to them; he was jealous of them. They had embraced the freedom in their adulthood and grown huge; they’d consciously eaten more than they needed, lifted more than they thought they could, grabbed power like despots over their bodies, dictators who demanded the impossible to build their empires and who had made war on the peaceful societies around them to become so big that the sun would never set upon them. Mike drew the men he saw into the future, anticipating how they would grow, the places that would continue to thicken and stretch, the parts that would soften and sag, the parts they would rub until they were ripe, and they thought they were done, they couldn’t possibly get any bigger, all the while knowing they couldn’t stop. But then, Mike would run his hands over the drawings, feeling their flatness, their lack of dimension, a progression of fantasies that he knew could never be made real for him. These were men who might as well be superheroes; two-dimensional science fiction characters he dreamed about while he was buried under three-dimensional fact.

Mike’s mother and father were marathon runners. They trained constantly, pushing their bodies to leathery leanness with morning runs and constant, careful nutrition. They kept food in the house more as a challenge than anything else, to undermine the damage it could do to their physiques, and when they cooked, the tore apart and broke down lean meat and vegetables in ways that nature never intended. Taste was incidental; food was more of an unsavory chore than anything to be enjoyed, and when Mike complained as a child, his desires seemed to fester in his parents’ eyes like a cancer upon their house, something that needed to be cut out as soon as possible before it could spread.

“You can’t eat that!” his mother would say, nearly hysterical in the grocery store when Mike would ask for something sweet. “It’ll make you fat! Do you want to be fat? Fat and ugly?”

Mike didn’t dare provide an honest answer. To him, it was his mother’s gaunt face that appeared ugly, the way her eyes seemed to narrow into slits and her cheekbones assaulted her face like knives stabbing from inside her skull. Her skin seemed so tight and brown from hours and hours in the sun starved of nutrients that she seemed unable even to smile when he relented. He went home with his mother to have a piece of lean chicken, bleached of any taste and amputated of any fat, while dreaming of the cake or ice cream he hadn’t fought for, but feeling his mother’s horror and harsh words bubbling below like a nightmare. After dinner, he’d go back into his room to draw, flaring out the curves of his fantasy men, but making their faces uglier and uglier, more damaged by their decisions, more monstrous as they grew in size.

Those images of trollish men followed him into adulthood, echoing the warnings of his mother about fatness and ugliness. They followed him into the gym, where he went to run five times a week, and no matter how far he went on the treadmill they always seemed to be right in his ear. They guided his hand as he chose his meals, burning him with irrational thoughts of the ways each item he ate could poison his body, turn him ugly. The shrill fear whittled away at his body, reshaped it in a different fashion from those men he’d seen at construction sites or stuffing themselves in restaurants. His waist contracted and hardened, balling his stomach into a powerful fist. His jawline became sharp, plowing through the air as he ran like the bow of a ship cutting across the ocean. His body tightened into a compact machine, all lean muscles and bones. And men noticed it. Out at bars with his friends or online on the cruising websites, he felt their eyes reach out, hungering for his tight body and handsome face, athletic and light and quick like the sex they wanted.

And for a time, he reveled in it. There was power in it; even if he couldn’t feel it in his bones, it coursed through his mind like hydraulic steam. He saw how the slightest smile could melt the proudest faggot at the bar, how a wink could make him flutter and shake, how a small turn of the head could make him deflate, make all the parts he’d refined like Mike had reveal themselves for artifice and fall apart like condemned buildings. When he had sex with them, they hugged at him like he wasn’t real, couldn’t possibly be, couldn’t possibly have deigned to welcome such a mortal into his bed. They thanked him with their lips, and wouldn’t hesitate to swallow everything he had to teach them.

But for all of the power Mike had over them, for all the ways he slid them over his fingers and his face and his voice like a preacher, it was empty. He didn’t believe any of it. They’d slide their hands up him like an altar but they might have been snakes. To him, he wasn’t nearly as beautiful as they whispered in his ear. He could control them, and liked the control, but there wasn’t something mean to it, dismissive, defensive, and he worried it would crumble at the slightest touch. And though they fawned over him, when he saw a big man somewhere, some powerful being, a God walking enormous with muscles that crowded him and a belly which stretched out in front of him like eternity and an ass that pulsed and shook like energy deferred, the tiny fawning faggots dissolved, they meant nothing, and all his work to tighten his lean body into a mask felt like a lie.

And then it had been there. On his waist, the slightest piece of extra skin. No one else would have noticed it, only Mike saw it, expert as he was in attention to his own details. The piece of extra skin was soft and new, and spoke to him through his body like a hypnotist, assuring him it was just a harbinger of things to come, age to come, slowing metabolism, creeping desire. Mike laid his hands on it, and it pulsed like possibility. Whenever this had happened before, some lack of exercise or increase in stress growing new skin on his midsection or some extra on his hips, Mike’s flesh had vibrated with panic. He’d felt sweat develop just under the skin, ready to be unleashed in a flurry of clawing, desperate exercise. His mind had cried out to fix this, fix it, fix his body, and the voice sounded shrill like his mother’s, glaring at him with those two slits for eyes and her cheekbones ripping through her face like claws to grab him. But this time, when his skin and sweat and mind cried out at him, he’d ignored them. He stroked the new flesh like it was precious, and stayed home from the gym.

And the next day, Mike didn’t go to the gym. And the day after that, he didn’t go to the gym either. On that third day, he walked down the street to the grocery store. He wandered off of his usual path and ventured into parts unknown, sweet parts, with bright colors and flashy names that promised pleasure and love and companionship he’d denied himself. He slid the items into his cart, each one falling in heavy and thick making his bewildered cock grow in his pants. They were joined by real food items he’d thought impossible to buy before: real butter; real mayonnaise; whole milk; heavy cream; ice cream, real ice cream, in myriad experimental flavors, his old childhood standbys of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry obsolesced and obliterated by the ingenuity of man; meat, red meat, and bacon, the frozen strips of pig fat crackled in his hands as he lifted them into his cart. He imagined grease running down his arms, across his chest, down his stomach, flooding his pubic hair and staining his cock. The thought made him hard, harder than he could remember being in some time. He raced the cart through the grocery store to check out.

Once home, Mike pulled out a skillet to make a hamburger. He greased up the pan and threw on the meat. He watched as it sizzled and browned, flipping it and letting the round, pleasing odor waft around his head, making him dizzy. He slid a thick piece of cheese onto the burger, and fried up three strips of bacon next to it. When it was ready, the cheese had melted, and the bacon was dancing on the edges of the skillet, Mike placed them onto a bun and beheld his creation, touching it carefully with his finger like God breathing life into Adam. It still sizzled with the quiet sounds of his body growling in protest, his mind angrily denouncing him for his coming transgression. They screamed in terror as he bit into the burger, and then he couldn’t stop himself. He consumed it roughly, like a starving man, his teeth growing and his face changing to accommodate his voracious transformation into a carnivore. And then it was gone, and the taste of it ran over his lips and down his throat and up behind his eyes and into his head with a soothing, sensual voice. But Mike was still hungry. Without thinking, he opened his freezer and took out a carton of ice cream, digging into it with a spoon and letting the cold minty confection dance together with the hot grease that still lay on his tongue. The ecstatic heat of his hands melted the ice cream in the carton, and he swallowed the soupy cream in large gulps until he was drunk on it, until it filled his stomach and stretched the edges, and he felt full. The feeling of being full was the most intoxicating part; it was new and dangerous, and his body panicked happily as his midsection bulged, putting pressure on his organs. But none felt the pressure like his cock, which swelled with each bite, engorged with blood and fat in celebration of Mike’s newfound gluttony. On his couch, stuffed full, he explored his excited cock with his hands until he came, the pressure of the food and pleasure and purpose inside him shooting the semen so high it hit the ceiling.

The next day, Mike went back to the gym, but he walked past the treadmills and the exercise bikes. He’d spent hours on them, hours of his life he realized he had to get back now. He walked instead to the weights. He began to lift as much as he could, feeling the soreness crawl over his lean muscles, challenging them to go further, feeling them expand in painful death-throes to be replaced by bigger ones the next day. One of the trainers approached him, asking if he wanted advice. Mike nodded, and the trainer began to explain some of the newer equipment and exercises Mike could do.

“What kind of look are you going for?” the trainer asked, pausing between machines. “Are you looking to tone up or are you looking to add mass?” Mike saw the trainer’s eyes swiftly rake over his body, taking him in, and the thought of him getting sized up in this way stirred a deep tremor in his libido.

“I want to get bigger,” Mike said, and the truth of it echoed like reveille.

From then on, Mike was a machine. He went to the gym regularly, glancing meaningfully at the bikes and treadmills before joining his trainer by the weights. His body seemed possessed, even his trainer was surprised at how quickly his strength developed. Mike increased the weight faster and faster, ascending to more and more advanced levels, even as his muscles screamed in pain. After coming home from the gym, he ate, as much as he could, beyond his capacity, until his stomach stretched and he felt that full feeling again, that beautiful feeling of being stuffed that seemed to break him free of the bounds of his body and send him floating into some sensual caloric euphoria, only to be transcended by the towering nirvana of his hand upon his bellowing cock.

And as this routine continued, Mike’s body changed. His arms widened, his biceps ballooned, his shoulders inflated, and his back flew away from the rest of his body, forming spines like a dinosaur. His chest breathed out like a ship’s sail in the breeze, his nipples seemingly always erect and growing more sensitive by the day. His stomach slid away from his body like a glacier, dropping to lower elevations and spreading out across the floodplain of his waistband. When he walked, it began to move independently, shaking and quaking with new life. His waist thickened until he couldn’t button his pants anymore, and had to buy the next size up. His ass sloped away from his body, and his hands seemed always to find it, perpetually fascinated by its new dimensions, they snuck back there when he wasn’t looking to weigh their options for growth. Each new pound transformed him, no part was extra, every piece was used to its absolute fullest. Every piece of clothing that became tighter, every new section of weight, every new movement of his growing body made him want to eat more, lift more, and become huge. He had never, in his life, felt sexier.

Of course, not everyone agreed with him. His friends, the men he accompanied to the bars, seemed to regard him at first with puzzlement. A few said they thought the muscle suited him, but openly critiqued his decision to lift weights. You’re doing too much, they’d say. You just want to tone up a little, don’t you? You’re going to end up looking weird. Mike brushed off their criticisms, but when the fat began to pile on along with the muscle, they confronted him the way they might a drug addict. They accused him of being unhappy, and demanded to know what was wrong. When he assured them that nothing was wrong, and that he had just changed his diet, this confused them even more. Why would he do that, they demanded. Didn’t he realize how bad he looked now? He used to be so good looking, and now he was just getting fat and ugly.

Their words seemed to grab at his body like judgmental hands, clutching with claws and handfuls of fat and shaking it to show him what it was. They left marks as they dug down, trying to find his bones. He told himself he didn’t believe them; he told himself he was happy, that every new, growing part of him turned him on in ways that no other man could. But their derision cut through his security and unwrapped him to feel shame. Their points were underscored by a marked change in attention Mike received from other men. The fatter he became, the more invisible he seemed; the more space he took up the more he seemed possessed of a vacuum that would bend space and light and male attraction around him like a black hole. Now his looks were met with confusion; his come hither glances elicited nothing but laughter. Every day his libido was rising, soon he thought of nothing but food and sex, but he wondered if he’d made a fool’s bargain and could only now have one or the other. Maybe his friends were right, maybe his mother was right. No matter how he felt on the inside, he had turned himself ugly.

Mike was filled with a swirl of emotions. They wrapped themselves up with all the food he was consuming and made him nauseous. Soon he found he was eating less, and less. He didn’t want to stop, but he didn’t know where he was going, or what the point of this experiment was (if it was an experiment). He had discovered something about himself, something pure and true, the most inner truth he had, that had transformed his body and unlocked his sex, but was he now supposed to go back to the way he was?

It was around this time that he heard from Sal. He met Sal several years prior, at a party. He was a friend of Mike’s friend Peter, someone else from the old neighborhood, another son of Italian immigrants like Peter. Mike and Sal had run into each other a couple times since they’d met, always within a group, always exchanging a few casual, friendly words. They were acquaintances, only, so Mike was surprised to receive a call from him asking if they could meet for brunch the next day. Sal said he’d had a reservation and a friend had cancelled at the last minute. And besides, Sal said, they needed to catch up. Mike wanted to ask why they needed to catch up, but the words in his head sounded rude. He agreed, more curious than anything, and later that day when he saw Peter, he asked him why Sal would invite him to Brunch.

Peter had looked Mike up and down slowly, and then nodded. “I’m not surprised,” Peter said, with a smirk. “Sal likes fat guys.”

Peter meant it as a cutting remark, another in a long line of comments from Mike’s friends that seemed designed to convince him to lose weight, but instead it hit Mike like a jolt of electricity that made his knees shake.

“But he hasn’t seen me,” Mike said, clamping down on his voice to keep it from excitedly stammering. “Not since...” Mike didn’t know how to describe it, so he let himself trail off. Peter snickered.

“Maybe someone told him how huge you are now,” Peter said, with a judgmental flick of his head. “Go if you want. But the guys Sal dates are monsters.”

Mike realized he might have seen one of these “monsters,” at a party, hanging out with Sal, though he wasn’t sure the two had been together. Mike noticed him immediately, his feelers out as they were constantly for big men; the man was dark-skinned and enormous, nearly 280 pounds at quick estimation. He leaned against a wall near the kitchen in the apartment, his back arched, and his large stomach stuck out into the room like a fjord. Mike stared at him, sipping his glass of wine, not noticing anyone else, only barely noticing Sal beside the man, but now in his memory he noticed Sal’s eyes climbing up and down the man’s giant geology. But that man really was huge, so much bigger than Mike. No matter what Sal had been told, he had to know that, but still there was this mystery invitation, some rendezvous arranged on news that Mike had gained significant weight, moving closer to this ideal, the man at the party leaning back like a baron stealing glances from the smaller men at the party, from Mike with plaintive fascination, and from Sal, who in Mike’s memory now reached out with his hand to stroke his giant boyfriend’s massive gut. The new thoughts, the possibilities, that he would be like that giant man under Sal’s hand, clenched his sex like a fist until it bled hot, stronger now than ever before from his exercise of it.

So Mike had come, and now he was waiting, his heart beating faster to match the rapid syncopation of ice clinking in glasses and silverware scratching against plates. Looking at the food, he felt hunger rage through him like an angry child, banging its fists against his bones, demanding to be sated. Ever since he started eating more, he’d been surprised to find himself almost always hungry. He would eat an enormous meal until he was full to bursting, and then two hours later, it was as if he’d eaten nothing. His stomach would wake and dig its claws into his throat until he ate more. He’d eaten a big breakfast not three hours before, but now the wafting smells of eggs benedict and Belgian waffles and sizzling meat and melting butter made his insides rabid. The panic of hunger pushed his heart further; he thought for a second that he was going to vomit from anticipation, and that he should sit and put his head between his knees. But he wasn’t even completely sure what he was anticipating.

And then Sal was at the door, talking to the hostess, who pointed him back towards the bar. He rounded the corner, and Mike took a look at him again for the first time. He was tall, taller than Mike, and his black hair was tossed back on his head, though when he rounded the corner some of it fell into his face, and his face registered the slightest annoyance, as if at constant war with his style, every product possible put into it to placate its rebelliousness but nothing seemed to work, like a child who now only acted up because he could. He was wearing a fitted shirt that showed off the oeuvre of his body; slim waist that slid into his jeans, but as you ventured up, his torso flared in all directions, making his body appear like a V. The muscles of his chest and arms were visible beneath the shirt, but Mike smiled as he realized they were so much smaller than his own. Mike had never before entertained sexual thoughts of Sal, but looking at him now, he realized just how handsome he was; his dark Italian features punctuated by the slightest five o’clock shadow, his eyes verdant and sparking with life, his lips curving into a smile as he approached Mike. Mike wondered why he hadn’t noticed him in this way before.

And then, Sal’s expression changed. As he approached Mike his eyes widened and ventured down, burning holes into Mike’s undeniable girth, caressing his thick belly as it bulged from beneath his shirt. His walk slowed, each step finding the floor of the restaurant like a surprise, expecting nothing physical in the world to be real, dimensions impossible now, impermanent, the whole world moving and changing like time lapse film of flowers seizing towards sunlight. The slowness of the moment caught in Mike’s throat like a cold hand, and he momentarily forgot his hunger; Sal’s look, hungering over his fat in a way that until that point he’d only seen in the mirror, made his body swell and his organs shift and his cock thicken; until that point, it seemed only by eating, and eating seemingly ridiculous amounts, could he create that central, sought-after sensation, but here it was; Sal was feeding him with his excited stare.

Sal greeted Mike, and hugged him, his arm sliding conspicuously around Mike’s waist, his hand laying flat on Mike’s soft love handle. The contact returned Mike’s hunger to him, and his stomach growled. Sal pretended not to notice.

“You look great,” Sal said.

“Thanks,” Mike said, smiling and blushing. “I feel great.”

The hostess showed them to a booth, and they sat down. Mike had never been to this restaurant before, and Sal gleefully pointed out menu items that he recommended. The waitress returned, and Sal ordered eggs benedict. Mike examined the menu thoughtfully, and felt the hot radiating anticipation of both the waitress and Sal for his choice. He settled on French toast, but as the waitress collected his menu, he paused, and asked if he could have an extra side of sausage. The waitress took note and walked away. Sal was holding back a grin.

“Sounds like you have quite the appetite,” he said, trying to be nonchalant, but the question caught in his throat on the way out, and he nearly swallowed the word “appetite.”

“I’ve been so hungry, lately,” Mike said. “I’m eating all the time.” Mike leaned back in the booth, letting his stomach slide over his jeans like an advancing army. Even though they had just sat down, their conversation nothing but small talk and incomprehensible winks and suggestions, Mike wanted to push Sal further. He felt compelled to figure out his motives. “I’ve put on so much weight,” Mike fished.

Sal stared at Mike, deep in thought, carefully mulling over the words that sat on the table like a shared appetizer. The waitress returned with coffee and their drinks – two mimosas, one for each of them, included in the price of brunch. Sal quickly grabbed his glass, his eyes digging into Mike’s eyes, trying to unearth him.

“It suits you,” he said, and lifted up his glass to toast. Mike took his, and they tapped their glasses together. Sal devolved into some quiet giggles before drinking down whatever silent, secret thing their toast had contracted between them.

“You really think so?” Mike asked.

Sal shot him a look, a shorthand look, amused at Mike’s continued prodding, as if his eyes had already dug to the core of Mike and there were no secrets anymore and Mike’s code seemed superfluous and comical now. “Of course,” he said. “I always thought you were too skinny. And the muscles suit you well, too.”

Mike blushed again, the heat of his blood making his head reel. He was hungry, and his mimosa, already drained, was sticking to the back of his throat and making him light headed. Men had looked at him before, taking inventory of his body, extrapolating his limits, predicting a future in which they would be closer to him, taking in his smells, feeling the rough friction of wet hair against skin as they scratched and clawed to get deep inside him, to one tiny island of pure pleasure encased in meat. But no one had ever looked at him the way Sal was looking at him, hungry for conquest in some ancient Roman way, like he was a new country who was letting down his defenses with this coy, seemingly innocuous discussion of his new weight. And where the others traveled to that isolated island, Sal’s eyes surveyed the expanse with more ambition, every surface kissed by sunlight lifted his eyebrows, and even the parts not visible, rumors pressing against Mike’s shirt as he leaned back in the booth, and each inch was pure pleasure; to Sal, staring at him over his mimosa, he was the ripest country on Earth. This was nothing compared to his power over men in the old world, as his old self. He flexed his arms, felt his muscles explode, and drew Sal across the curves in his body with the powerful thrust of a beast of burden.

Sal became conscious of his staring, and quickly changed the subject from the dimensional discussion, their small talk clicking together to match the rhythm of the other conversations in the busy restaurant. They talked about work. Sal worked for a large financial services company as some kind of analyst. “Basically,” Sal said, “I grow assets. The banker at the head of my team brings in people’s money, and we invest it in products to make more money. It’s not very interesting. I’m jealous of you.”

“Why?” Mike asked.

“Well I used to be an actor. Did you know?” Mike shook his head, no. “That’s what I went to school for. I was on Broadway. But in the end it became too difficult to wait tables, go to auditions, sit around waiting for the phone to ring. There didn’t seem to be a goal I was working towards, so I got out of it and went into finance. But I still miss it… Being an artist.”

Mike chuckled. “I’m hardly an artist,” he said. “I work with Photoshop all day. I never get to draw anymore.”

“You still stayed closer to the person you wanted to be,” Sal said. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that.” And then he laughed, flashing teeth without subtext, simply happy, and sweet, and full of energy that seemed to scrub the room of other sounds and caught Mike off-guard. Coming out to meet him that morning, Mike expected that Sal might make suggestive remarks, tickle his eyes over Mike’s new form, but he didn’t expect the warmth, the goofy humor; he nearly forgot why he came. Before now, Mike placed Sal with all of the rest of the guys he hung out with, who lived in a world of cut or be cut, that even Mike played into as well, like a native dialect of defensive dismissal. But as Sal told Mike more about his job, and his family, and growing up in the old neighborhood with Peter, and the other details of his life, he was less like those bitchy queens and more like an excited child; the quicker he spoke, the more his city Italian accent would crawl in and out of the cracks of his words, so different from the clipped language of the others, making Mike feel ashamed he ever spoke in the old tongue. It relaxed Mike, and he also opened up, telling Sal more about his family, more about his job as a graphic designer, and it felt like a date, assuredly like a date, there wasn’t any doubt anymore, but for those few moments, sex seemed to have disappeared, their bodies were incidental, only their voices, and their stories, and Mike realized how long it had been since he’d been in this place where he had everything but could forget it at the same time.

The waitress came with a new mimosa for both of them; they’d finished theirs absent-mindedly during their deepening conversation. Mike remarked that he probably shouldn’t drink too much in the middle of the day, but when Sal raised his new glass to Mike, such promises felt unnecessary and they drank, and would drink, until their heads were hot and their minds were free. Almost immediately after, however, the waitress returned, laden with plates of food – Sal’s eggs benedict and Mike’s French toast with a side of sausage.

Mike ran the side of his fork through the soft, egg-bloated slice of bread, and as he did, syrup and butter and cinnamon overflowed from the sides like organs of a body as he dissected it. The wound screamed with voices, his mother, always there, his friends who were rapidly departing from his world, and as the white and brown and yellow dripped from the sweet piece at the end of his fork like the head of an enemy on a spike, his mind anticipated the transgression, each transgression like the first, his body making room for it, shifting his organs and bones and skin around to receive it. He slid it onto his tongue and the shock of it, the sharp sweetness turned up the corners of his mouth in surprise and he counted the seconds of pleasure as the piece of French toast rolled down his throat, into his stomach, his body roaring into action, the thought of the calories in that one piece, soon to be joined by more, exploded through his veins like a flood, going straight to his cock, which inflated, and demanded more. Mike cut more pieces, repeating the action, quickening his pace, the sugar rushing through his body, turning every sensory node to its highest setting, until he was a machine again. He became aware, hyper-aware, of movements and changes, his stomach filling up and stretching, his belly distending and straining the buttons of his shirt, his pants digging uncomfortably into his body as his waist crept outwards to accommodate the burden, his cock growing as he increased. But even as he focused inwards, he felt eyes upon him. He looked up. Sal regarded him with fascination, his mouth hanging open slightly, his eyes wide like a revelation.

“You look like you’re enjoying that,” he said, and his voice trembled. His eyes were popping out of his head; there was more here than appreciation for Mike’s body.

“It’s really good,” Mike said, and speared a link of his sausage. He lifted it to his mouth, watching Sal the whole time, watching his eyes grow, his eyeballs straining against their cages, his irises dancing skirts lifted up in ecstasy. Sal’s reactions made Mike’s heart beat faster, though that could have been the sugar rushing in and out of his chest, but it was different than before. Mike didn’t feel powerful, he didn’t feel like he was playing with Sal as he bit into the fatty meat. This wasn’t some new translation of the impersonal power he held over the men who’d loved his old body, who’d put him up on a pedestal even though he didn’t trust them, it was something else, it was… Happiness. That’s what was flowing out of Sal’s eyes and his ears as he watched Mike eat. And Mike ate now not because he was hungry, he was getting full after all, but because by doing so he could coax happiness from Sal, until it was stretching Sal’s skin from beneath like the meal was stretching Mike’s and they shared it, the happiness, in contented silence.

A woman at a nearby table cackled at some unheard joke, and the sound broke Mike and Sal out of their symbiosis. Mike knew the woman hadn’t been laughing at them, but he immediately became self-conscious. He could only imagine what they looked like; two men, silent, the bigger one pigging out on French toast and sausage while the smaller one stared at him with a lascivious look on his face, barely touching his own meal. He wondered if anyone had been watching them. He wondered what his friends would say, especially their mutual friends. Mike put his fork down for a second and stared at the food, not yet finished, still looking delicious, visibly weighed down with fat and calories, but also with significance, and the significance was making it taste funny, like something from his past; it brought up memories but nothing specific he could describe, sounds, blurry images, and then his mouth was filled with the taste, and his appetite seemed dead. He thought, in that moment, that he could never eat another thing for the rest of his life if it was going to taste like that.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sal asked.

Mike said that he was fine. There was a long pause, and the sounds of the restaurant grew, and the conversations around them became clearer, and Mike couldn’t concentrate on any of them, but still his mind tried to shift through them, looking for descriptions of him or of Sal. Someone had to have seen them. Someone knew what was going on between them.

“I thought about going to a movie later,” Sal said. “You’re welcome to come with me if you want. I mean, if you don’t have anything going on.”

“What movie?” Mike asked.

“Well, I wanted to go see this movie a second time. Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Have you seen it?”

Mike thought he hadn’t heard of it, then remembered seeing advertisements on television. “Isn’t that a kid’s movie?” he asked.

“Sort of. It’s based on a series of kids books. Kind of like Harry Potter.”

Mike wasn’t sure how to react to this suggestion. The strange taste in his mouth was rising again. He said he didn’t usually go to movies like that.

“I know, it’s weird, right? Probably sound kinda creepy for suggesting it, but… I dunno, I’m sort of fascinated with movies and books like that, you know. They’re all built on the same structure, it’s all very psychological. About getting to kids on their level. It’s sort of a hobby, I guess. Seeing the ways they’re similar.”

Mike shrugged. He wasn’t sure what Sal meant.

“Well… Do you mind me telling you the premise?” Mike said he didn’t.

“Basically, it’s about this kid, Percy Jackson, who is a demigod. Like, half man, half God. Like Hercules. But at the beginning of the story, you think he’s just a typical middle school kid. And he thinks that, too, he’d adopted, he’s kind of thought of as a trouble-maker, and also he’s hyperactive and dyslexic, so he has trouble in school… All of these stories start out like that, the characters are losers, and nobody gets them. Harry Potter is the same way, his adoptive parents make him live under the stairs, but secretly, he’s actually this really powerful wizard. Same thing with Percy Jackson, and the story starts with him at this museum with his class, and he sees this statue with Ancient Greek lettering on it, but the letters rearrange themselves into letters he can read. And his teacher asks if anyone knows who the statue is, and since he can read it, Percy is like – oh, it’s Perseus, blah blah blah…” Sal was starting to get more engaged in his description now. His speaking became more rapid and excited. “Anyway, then people start following him, his teacher is watching him like a hawk, she turns out to be a harpy… Like a real harpy, you know, half-woman, half-bird? But this guy finds him and says, you’re a demigod, like Perseus, you’re the son of Poseidon. And you’re supposed to be a hero, like in the Greek sense. And Percy’s says, no way, I mean, I’m a troublemaker. I’m hyperactive and I’m dyslexic. And the guy says, of course you’re hyperactive, you’re not built to be sitting in boring class, you’re supposed to be out doing heroic labors, and of course you’re dyslexic, you’re not supposed to be reading English, you’re supposed to be reading Ancient Greek, so anyway, he ends up going to this special high school with all of these other demigod kids… It’s the same thing as Harry Potter, it’s almost funny how unoriginal it is. But the thing is, it’s that way because it’s effective. It’s every kid’s fantasy. Every person’s fantasy really. That you live within the wrong world, and eventually someone is going to come along and deliver you out of that world, and all of your faults, or all of the things that make you weird or different will actually be because you’re meant for something greater, and somewhere more important that you can go values those things more than where you are now. You see what I mean, right?”

Mike nodded. He did understand. His fork scraped the empty plate in front of him, and he lifted his napkin to his lips, searching for excess syrup. While Sal told him the plot of the movie, he’d finished everything. He’d barely noticed. He’d even started spearing potatoes off of Sal’s plate, and Sal had subtly pushed his plate closer to Mike, who’s fork moved faster as Sal’s words came faster, until even the potatoes were gone.

“You were hungry,” Sal said. Mike nodded. He felt full, but somehow more than full. He seemed overcapacity, ballooned, and the pleasure of it made his hands shake. Sal’s words, the plot of this movie Mike might never see, pressed against his skin like his fingers, and pushed underneath, massaging the meat, wrapping around his bones, and going further in still, until his words were deep inside, pushing out, growing him from within, doubling him, and Sal was part of him, his voice speaking behind Mike’s ears, and Mike realized this was the feeling he’d been chasing, full of food, yes, stuffed full, but these words filled him further until he had no borders; he was an expanse, without limits, like the universe itself.

Sal leaned across the table now, and lowered his voice. “I know what you want, Mike,” he said, his eyes massaging the contours of Mike’s face. “I suspected it as soon as I heard the guys talking, about the weight you’d put on. But to see you now… This wasn’t an accident.” Mike shifted uncomfortably in the booth; his first instinct was to deny it, but he held his tongue.

“It’s working for you,” Sal continued. “You’re fucking gorgeous, man.”

“Thank you,” Mike said, quietly.

“A real man,” Sal said, smiling now, baring his teeth ever so slightly and running his tongue over their sharp edges. “I don’t think you should stop.” Mike felt his breath get caught in his throat again, sticky with the orange juice and champagne. “I don’t think you want to stop, do you? Go back to how you were before?”

Mike closed his eyes. “No,” he said.

“I can help you.”

Mike opened his eyes, and everything in the restaurant seemed brighter. He had to squint. How long had they been sitting there? It was noon when they’d arrived, but the sun was already moving across the skin of the world, casting light diagonally across the city, bouncing off of the street and into the storefronts and restaurants. It was nearly late afternoon now.

“Help me how?” Mike asked.

“Any way you need so you don’t get lost,” Sal said. “Make sure you’re still eating big. Lifting big. Making sure you know just how beautiful you are… And how beautiful you can be.” Sal grinned, and some of that childlike energy came back. “There are a lot of guys like me, Mike. I’ve got friends you can meet. We all know each other. And they’d love to meet you.”

The waitress came back and removed their plates. Mike watched her go, not because she was particularly interesting, but because he needed to look at someone else, he didn’t want to look back at Sal, his smile scared him and excited him at the same time, moving him too fast even as he sat still. And the food in his stomach felt like it had doubled inside; he thought he was about to explode.

“How… If I’m not going to stop… I mean, eventually I have to stop. Right?”

“If you want.”

“How big do you think I’m going to get?”

“Well, that’s not really up to me, is it?” Sal slid his hand out and held Mike’s hand. Mike looked at Sal’s arm and was surprised to notice that his forearm was almost twice as thick as Sal’s. He squeezed Sal’s hand and watched the muscles in his forearm become continents colliding, raising mount ranges with the flick of his wrist. “It’s up to you,” Sal continued, “how big you get. It’s all about what you want.”

Holding Sal’s hand like that, Mike felt flooded with an image, a prediction of the future, the two of them sitting in a booth like this one, their hands entwined but they were different; Sal’s was the same, perhaps a little older, but Mike’s was different, enormous, his hand dwarfing Sal’s, and up the wrist the muscles flared out, thick like ancient oaks entwined, spread wide apart by shoulders to rival Atlas, and in the middle of them the skin rose to his head and face, a face Mike could barely recognize as his own, framed as it was by muscle, and with his neck swallowed nearly completely by fat, and down the front was his chest, wide and full dividing his shoulders like tectonic plates, sticking out from under his shirt and rising and falling as his lungs breathed love and contentment and sex; but nothing compared to Mike’s gut, which had grown out in all directions, spread out over his legs, filling up every available space, so huge that it was wedged against the table in front of him, and to Mike, finally, he looked like those men he’d watched as a child, he saw it in himself, he saw the possibility, he saw the path, and it lay somewhere here, in Sal’s hands, that were holding his, and when Mike looked back into his eyes he realized that Sal was imagining the same thing.

Mike let go of Sal’s hands. He smiled. “I think I’m still a little hungry,” Mike said, and realized he wasn’t lying. He was already starting to feel hungry, his desire to eat rising from within his stomach faster now than before, faster now that he knew he was about to make an ecstatic leap into the unknown.

“Do you want to order something else?” Sal looked like he was about to signal the waitress.

“We don’t have to stay here,” Mike said.

Sal grinned, wider than ever. “Well… I could make you something back at my place.”

Mike nodded, and they paid their bill. By the time they walked out of the restaurant into the late afternoon, Mike’s stomach was already growling.

Milestones

Today I received a cute email from my stat tracker service that The Encourager had just received it's 300,000th hit. Wow. This also happens to be my 100th post. I figured I should celebrate this amazing numerical synchronicity with a quick post.

I cannot begin to thank you guys for reading this blog. The kind emails, the friendly IMs, the comments on posts, it's been so rewarding to hear that people actually care about what I write. I started this blog with the intention of giving back to the gainer/encourager community, and I really feel like I actually have to some degree. It's an amazing feeling. I'll try not to go on, but, I really, deeply thankful for all of you guys, and the ways that writing this blog has made me grow as a person. I feel like I am a much better guy for having this outlet.

I really hope that anyone who needs it can take the stuff I write in this blog and use it as one more reason to be who they want to be. You guys are awesome. And you're not alone. Not alone x 300,000, just from this blog.

Eat big!

-The Encourager

Hard Fat: The Gainer Documentary

Hard Fat on Vimeo.

Although it's not perfect, this is as far as I am aware the only documentary ever produced that openly focuses on gay gainers and encourager. It's got great eye candy, some thoughtful discussion, and is a much watch for any gainer and/or encourager type.

Who knows how long it'll be up there, so, take a few minutes and watch it today.

Encouraging Cocktails Episode One

DangerCocktail: Let's start with introductions.

DangerCocktail: I run the DangerCocktail blog and represent the gainer end of this blogging duo. I don't remember how long my blog has been up, easy thing to find but lazy at the moment. We started around the same time, right sport?

Get A. Snack: I believe so. I'm Get A. Snack and I run the blog The Encourager, which I believe started in 2006.

DC: No way. Have we been blogging that long? That's crazy. In my head I was thinking six months.

DC: My internal clock is fired.

DC: And in addition to the blogging we've been friends for ages. We were talking about that last night.

Get A. Snack: Yeah, jeez, almost 10 years now, right?

DC: hee hee. yes.

DC: we were both 8 when we started. Soon we'll be able to drink. Legally.

G: Those were the days

DC: and speaking of those days...today's topic:

G: Topic: How and when did you first know you were into gaining and encouraging?

DC: Want me to barrel into it?

G: Sure.

DC: Alrighty. I was actually talking with a coworker today who asked when I first knew I was gay. The answer to that was simple: Sleeping Beauty, Prince Phillip.

DC: What's interesting about the gaining is that it predates Disney princes by a long shot. I have really early memories of looking at guys who were muscled and rounded in the middle and being fascinated.

G: For me, I did things that were kind of diagnostic of being into gaining & encouraging long before I realized it was either gay or sexual.

DC: Yea exactly. There were signposts along the way that you can look back on now and say; damn I was pushing gaining early.

G: Totally. I remember at first it wasn't even specific to bellied guys.

DC: Really? What was it?

G: It was just "big guys” -muscle, gut, whatever, and I was super interested is how one could become super muscled and huge; like, I was obsessed with the Hulk cartoons

DC: I thought his face was for radio. Always a sucker for a handsome face.

G: ha well, it was more Bruce Banner outgrowing his clothes that interested me. Bruce was cute.

DC: Interesting. I do seem to recall your interest in pants not buttoning. Did you ever do something utterly embarrassingly along those lines in your golden youth? Letting someone know?

G: As far as embarrassing. Hmmm...

G: I was obsessed with our gardener, who packed on prolly 30lbs in the time he worked for us, and was constantly busting out of his clothes

DC: Did you rape him when you were 12?

G: I don't remember anything too specific, but I'm sure I generally was weirdly ogling him and spending way too much time hanging around him. I think it would have been embarrassing if he had realized it was sexual, but, I think because it was such a not common interest, he never put two and two together.

DC: Was the gardener hot?

G: He was dreamy - 5'10'', Italian, dark and handsome. He went from a thick 180 to a starter bellied 210

G: and moaned about it all the time.

DC: Damn I love the Italians. I'm apparently really into dark and handsome.

G: Tight polos and khaki shorts. Sigh.

DC: Gah, I would have died. Were you dying?

G: Constantly

DC: He verbalized it?

G: He'd go and rub his belly

G: and be like "I weighed in yesterday, and somehow I've packed on another 10lbs -must be too much candy."

G: Hence me knowing exactly how much he gained

DC: I'd be baking cookies and making sandwiches way in advance of his arrival. Did you ever do anything like that, with your encourager proclivity?

DC: He was probably sweaty from the work too right? Haha my brain is working overdrive in visuals

G: I didn't learn to cook till I was older, but I always offered him anything if we had something tasty on hand. He got lots of glasses of lemonade.

G: He was really dreamy, especially to my horny, 12/13 year old closeted gayboy self

DC: My hardest gainer crush on a straight guy when I was closeted was in the 8th grade. One of my best friends, another Basque kid, had a brother in law who was HUGE.

DC: He had been a football jock and ballooned when he married my friend's sister. Basque food is all breads and cheeses so he hit it hard.

G: Oooh yum.

DC: His belly was so round, he was stabbed in a robbery and the knife didn't hit anything but fat.

G: Omg that's insane.

DC: I have distinct memories of waterskiing with them and being excited on the way to the lake, knowing he'd be shirtless. Plus he had one of those very round thick bellies. I tripped into him once. On accident.....

G: ha!

DC: I wonder how fat he is now. I don't really talk to that friend since high school

G: Facebook my friend, Facebook.

DC: I was a dictator with my foundling entries into gaining. Whenever I had a friend over for sleepovers, I would make sure we did chugging and eating contests.

DC: This is right at the beginning of the sixth grade, and I was lean and tall; thrilling with the swollen belly my friend and I would be sporting and showing off. I made up games where the punishments for failing were food. Horse, checkers, etc. Traditional boy stuff, gaining bent on it all.

G: I remember one thing I would do that was hugely dorky.

G: I remember, long before it was sexual to me like, maybe 6 or 7.

G: I would read the dictionary because I was a huge nerd.

DC: Haha yes that confirms it.

G: and I would use the thesaurus to look up synonyms to fat and related words

DC: gourmand?

G: and then read their definitions and examples. I’d get boners and have no idea what was going on cause I was 6.

DC: Did you ever stuff your shirts? Padding I guess

DC: I pulled a 1960 teenage girl move. I used toilet paper to build it up and shape it. Wrapped myself like a mummy sometimes.

DC: Horrifying moment. I'm with my friend going to the movies...

G: mm?

DC: I'm talking about how I put on five pounds and wow I'm huge. Probably 145 lbs. And toilet paper falls out of my shirt.

DC: <>

G: You walked around like that! Oh wow

DC: I know. I was ridiculous

G: Kids are weird though. I'm sure everyone forgot.

DC: Yea I always wonder who suspects.

G: Especially homosexicals.

DC: Based on my early days fumbling around

G: Yeah -I've spent a lot of time thinking about that. I did fumble a lot. Drooling over the gardener, watching The Santa Clause hundreds of times and that commercial for Yoshi's Island.

DC: God I saw that movie with friends and was full blown turned on and embarrassed as hell by it.

G: but I think most people just didn't put it together cause it wasn't something they were looking for. Even though it's just as sexual, looking at bellies is very different than looking at tits and dick.

DC: Yea plus guys talk about their bellies and weight all the time so there was some shade to hide in with that.

G: Yeah

DC: Ew breasts. Unless they're Joan's. Her's are brilliant.

G: I think breasts are hot on the right woman –Betty for example.

DC: Yea I guess. They're too soft for me.

G: Some bellies are too

DC: Women's nipples freak me out. Don't ask why.

G: Haha

DC: Did you know some women have hairy nipples? Gah! Can you imagine?

G: That's horrifying.

DC: *runs in circles of terror*

G: We have lasers for things like that.

DC: We have cliffs for things like that. You're out of here.

DC: Alright let's wrap this pony show up; we’re talking about breasts now.

DC: Final thoughts?

G: I actually wanted to kind of make a point.

DC: Oh hit it up.

DC: *puts on glasses*

G: I think that the unconventionally sexual focus of our sexuality made the whole gay thing all the more confusing for me. I had these feelings that were sexual, or pre-sexual but they weren't anything close to what I was told would be the feelings I had, gay or straight, with East Coast liberal parents.

DC: Yea that's a good point and I hadn't considered that. It was definitely more muddled with it showing up as the first impulses.

G: I think that confusion has sort of shaped a lot of people's confusion about how sexuality is blurred by this.

DC: Do you think other fetishes have that going on? Do shoe people think about sandals when they're eight years old?

G: Totally.

DC: Really? That's wild.

G: My first bf had a foot fetish, and he discussed that very issue with me.

DC: Okay now I want to have a major chat with you about that off record.

G: But people talk about foot fetishes, so, there's less confusion on that.

DC: Final thought from me is more of a question that you've brought up and that I've wondered for awhile. I have a minor in Psych and I used most of that to study serial killers. Has there been a study on why? Why does this show up, what are precursors or causal environments? I know we don't have any answer right now but I'm curious.

G: I have a double major in psych actually! I didn't know that about you. I've also spent a huge amount of time studying serial killers.

G: People generally feel that sexual maps are established when people are really young, like, 1-2 years old. I imagine there's some element of the just born gainer/encourager associating pleasure with having a full belly and rubbing it, something like that. But who knows really?

DC: Yea we need to sidechat about that current serial killer who was on the Dating Game as Bachelor #1.

G: Omg yes.

DC: Insanity.

G: I love talking to you.

DC: Haha we're both nerds so it works.

DC: Cute nerds

DC: Alright, we're wrapping this entry. Good night everyone.

G: Email us at GetASnack@gmail.com interesting topics for future episodes of Encouraging Cocktails.

FATMAN
or
The Boy Wonders

by Cube

"Bruce?"

Dick called out the name, hoping that there might finally be an answer.

But as before, there was only silence.

With a sigh, Dick walked on through the halls.

There had been other times when Bruce had been gone for long stretches.

"Business trips" is what Dick had always been instructed to call them -- and after all, any man as rich as Bruce was would be expected to constantly travel to see to his affairs. Still, every time Bruce went out alone for the night and did not return, Dick worried.

And it had been weeks since Bruce left for that routine evening.

Walking into Bruce's study, Dick locked the door and went to the bookshelf.

He smiled as he pushed over the volumes of Agatha Christie novels. Bruce had made such a fuss when Dick had replaced that old copy of "Crime and Punishment" which used to help hide the switches. Lifting a panel under the books, Dick activated the door. With a muffled clicking, the bookshelf slid open to reveal the secret Elevator...

"Finished," Dick sighed aloud. The only response was the humming of the Batcave generators and the squeaking of a few restless bats in the far reaches of the cave. Even Alfred wasn't around to make the dry observations that would have masked his nervousness. The Wayne butler had been called to London on urgent family business. He had only been willing to go after "Masters Bruce and Dick" had spent days reassuring him that his charges could fend for themselves for the months he needed to be away.

Dick had upgraded the computer files, plotted out the patrol route for the night and checked for any possibility for a signal from Bruce.

"C'mon Bruce, you've gotta be out there..."

But as before, Bruce wasn't. Dick blinked trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes.

"You have to be careful" Batman had warned him on that first time that they dressed for patrol together. Bruce had looked haunting in his dark mask, the tights and cape that blended into the dark. Dick felt pretty dangerous himself in his own outfit -- the outfit that turned him into Robin -- youthful sidekick to Batman

Well, that had been several years ago, but ever since Dick had scrupulously followed his mentor's advice.

Much more than Batman did.

How many times had he or Alfred had to haul Batman home and bind up the wounds that criminals had inflicted on his hero's trained body? Then there were the nights that he, Alfred, or both had been woken from a sound sleep as Bruce stood in front of him his costume stained in red. Dick learned the hard way how dig out the bullet, clean the gashes, or set the broken limbs.

Dick knew that the fact that Bruce was his guardian had helped prevent Batman from taking the ultimate life-threatening risks. But Dick was over twenty now and more than able to take care of himself as an independent adult.

So now Batman was set do destroy himself in the line of duty.

And Dick would lose the man he loved.

"Yes, damn it! I love you!" Dick shouted as he slammed the unresponsive communication console, tears now streaking freely down his face. He had never told Bruce how he had felt as there had always been an unwritten rule between them that all they could be was guardian and ward. The two men were close in every other way, but the fear of scandal, loss and overall questions of sexuality had kept Dick from expressing his feelings.

And now Bruce might never know.

"The hell he won't!" Dick muttered as he made up his mind...

Soon Robin was gunning his motorbike as he sped through the dark streets of the city, hot on the trail of Batman.

Robin slipped through the long corridors of the abandoned chemical plant.

It had taken days of searches and disguises, but he was almost there!

He hoped...

Inside a small storage closet, the unconscious form of Batman lay chained on a cot.

"Batman!" A voice whispered anxiously in his ear.

"Nnnnh!" The masked figure mumbled as he began to regain consciousness.

Batman felt his face being slapped. His mind was clearing.

"Robin"

He had never been so glad to see his sidekick as he was now -- suddenly he remembered.

"Get out of here, or they'll get you too!"

"You've been missing for almost a month!"

"Just go!"

"Not without you!"

"Please!" Batman insisted.

It was clear that he didn't care if he died or not. This was too much for Robin...

"Mmmmppph!" Batman suddenly found himself in a rugged embrace, his mouth being covered by that of his sidekick. Against his better judgment, Batman put his arms around Robin and returned the hug.

"I said I won't leave without you!"

The sound of footsteps echoed from outside.

"Then hide! Don't move!" Batman said, his mind whirling from what had just happened.

Robin had just managed to hide when six burly men entered the room, followed by the maniacally laughing Joker.

"Ready for your treatment Bats?"

Batman kept silent.

"Oh come on, Mr. Needle WANTS you..." The Joker pulled out a filled hypodermic "...after all, you two pricks are PERFECT together!" The Joker lost himself in insane giggling.

Batman sagged limply as the thugs held him forward while the Joker pushed aside his cape and poured alcohol on his backside...

From his hiding place, Robin got ready to move out

"Can't give you an infection now Bats can we? OK, One, two, three...

WHOOP!" The Joker jabbed in the needle.

Batman grunted.

And Robin froze in shock.

He saw a look in Batman's eyes that kept him in place. He understood why Batman had him stay put.

Batman NEEDED that injection.

He was hooked!

Soon Batman was lying on his cot again, the roaring, laughter of the Joker fading away.

"We've got to get out!" Robin's whispered as he stepped out of hiding.

"I - I can't!" Batman groaned, "I need that fix!"

"You're better than that!"

"Maybe a month ago I was, but all I think about is that injection and how I feel after it -- Oooooooh!!!" Batman gasped as the drug kicked in. His despair was now replaced by the warm happy sensation he felt...

And there was Robin in front of him.

A man who had kissed him!

Batman looked at Robin's mouth.

He traced it with a gloved finger.

"Don't be so sad..." He murmured.

Taking his partner's face in his hands, Batman pulled it forward to his own...

Robin's mind was racing with thoughts of rescue, battle, and rehabilitating Batman.

The lips touched.

Robin's mental race came to a screeching halt.

Taking off a glove, Batman feverishly opened his rescuer's tunic and rested a hand on his hard pecs.

Robin slipped his hands under the Batman's dark shorts and squeezed a small round buttock.

Utility belts dropped to the floor.

Shorts and tights were pulled off and left around their ankles...

Two nude forms crumpled to the floor, locked in each others arms.

Robin gently got up from the floor where Batman still lay in a doze. He shivered slightly as the chill of the store-room met the bare skin that had just been warmed by Batman's embrace He looked at the prone body of his partner. How many years had he wanted to run into Bruce's room and be held his mentor's arms. How often had he seen Batman standing before his bed, summoning him to duty and had to fight the urge to say "Gotham can wait -- I can't!"? If it hadn't been for the danger they were presently in, Robin might have been depressed by the waste of time that they could have been together as more than guardian and ward, hero and sidekick.

But he had better things to think about...

"Why don't we off him boss?"

"Yeah, why are we keeping the Batman here?"

"What if he gets away?"

The Joker smiled with poisonous sweetness as he heard the same henchmen ask the same questions. But it didn't matter -- he loved hearing himself describe his magnificent plan.

"Boys, boys," He chuckled, "I want Batman to be humiliated first. He's a junkie now, a masked junkie. And softie as I am, what could happen to him without his "little friends" here," the Joker chortled and patted a box filled with ampoules and syringes, "tempts me to turn him out here and now..."

Only a few feet away, Robin hid himself, listened and thought.

He had to get that box. Batman would probably do anything to get his fix and if Robin had the only source...

"Robin!"

"Yeah!"

"I've got to have it NOW!"

The young man stopped in disbelief as he turned to from the Batmobile. The Joker was hot on their trail and Batman had to have a fix!

And how could he help Batman's addiction?

"MY BOX! MY BOX!!!" The shriek of the Joker echoed through the passages.

Robin heard voices yelling, footsteps pounding and the Joker screaming louder and louder.

Steadying himself, Robin grabbed an ampoule from the bulky package he held...

Batman sat slumped in the Batmobile, his mind a blur from the latest dose.

Robin floored the pedal ramming through the Joker and his men, tossing the half full syringe out of the window...

"OUCH!" The Joker clutched his hand.

"Oh no! NO!!! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He dangled a hand that had been stabbed through by the flying needle. The villain knew that the drug was already running into his blood. He knew that he would already have to have more.

Or else...

The laughter that emerged from his mouth curdled the blood of his own men.

Seeing their stunned faces the Joker kept laughing louder and louder until the drug kicked in and he collapsed...

"PLEASE DICK! I'VE GOTTA HAVE SOME PLEASE! -- DAMN YOU!!!"

Bruce pleaded as Dick pushed him back to the bed. They had been locked in a battle of wills for days. Bruce begging, threatening and searching for a fix. Dick held his ground grimly, grateful that the drug had weakened Bruce enough to keep him from becoming dangerous as he withdrew.

Dick had kept the box of drugs, hiding them carefully. Any other time he might have been proud that the man who was Batman could not deduce where the box had been hidden, but right now ego would have to wait....

"YAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

Dick jumped and looked towards Bruce. The man was thrashing in his bed now, sweating and yelling incoherently at the top of his lungs.

It took a while, but soon Bruce had calmed to a mildly manic state and was crying for a dose.

"I'll give you anything else Bruce, but not that!"

Some more demanding and rebuffs followed until a rumbling in Bruce's stomach made him shudder.

"Food -- eat -- something," Bruce whispered savagely.

"Munchies?"

"Yeah -- get me anything!"

Soon Dick watched as Bruce sat hunched over a tray of sandwiches, tearing away at them...

Dick watched with concern as Bruce tossed uncomfortably in his sleep. He had just gone to sleep after a thorough bout of munchies, taking in more food than Dick had ever though him capable of, so it might very well be that Bruce was just sleeping off indigestion. Still, even though Bruce had finally taken hold of himself, there were still moments when his inner cravings just burst out and turned him once again into a desperate man. These happened most often at night. As a result Dick kept watch, providing food and support, fighting off sleep and resisting the longing to climb into bed and comfort Bruce more personally.

5:00 AM, the clock on the night table shined the numbers as if taunting Dick to close his eyes.

"Hell!" Dick thought "I've been up longer lots of nights!"

But those nights had never been so consecutive...

Slowly Dicks eyes drooped...

"UhhhnnnUhhhnnnnnOooooohhhh!" Dick moaned with pleasure as he felt the results of a wonderful dream involving Bruce, Superman and the Green-Lantern's power ring. He gave into the pressure of his crotch.

"MMnhhhh!Mnnnhh!"

Dick opened one eye. That wasn't HIS moan of pleasure!

Looking down he saw a mop of tousled hair and saw the broad shoulders resting against his legs as a firm mouth took in the surging of his cock.

"Oh Bruce!" Dick whispered happily.

Dick felt the warmth of satisfaction as Bruce looked up at him and smiled.

Dick placed a finger on the corner of the other man's lips, touching a bit of the come that streaked the corners of his mouth.

"Come into bed, chum" Bruce said as he stood, pulling Dick up with him...

Bruce stirred dreamily in his sleep, his unshaven face scratching and tickling against Dick's chest. Dick was awake and smiling with pride and relief at the man alongside him. It had been a few weeks since he had had to bring home the wreck that had been Batman, and now they had just spent their first night of sound sleep -- no nightmares, cravings or anything unusual.

Well, perhaps the sex the two men were enjoying constantly might be unusual, but it was a very welcome development!

Dick stroked his hand along Bruce's torso. The time under addiction had caused Bruce to lose some tone, and the sculpted middle was now padded with a fleshy pot-belly. Dick pressed a finger gently into the navel and watched it sink down into the yielding gut.

It was crazy, but he liked holding and cuddling up to that paunch! Dick felt himself stiffen as he remembered how just before they slept, Bruce pressed on top of him with that softened middle, rocking with pleasure as Dick nibbled and sucked at his still powerful pecks.

"Nice," Dick though as he felt the softness of Bruce's waist, "but he'll have to get rid of it..."

Suddenly, the bedroom door softly opened. A tray entered the room followed by the Alfred's silent presence.

"'Morning," Dick mouthed silently and put a finger to his lip.

Without permitting a single expression to flit across his face, Alfred quietly placed the tray by the bedside and uncovered the second cup that all butlers keep prepared just in case of surprise company.

As Alfred left, Dick slipped out of bed and followed the butler into the hall...

"I ought to say, it is not what you're thinking, but I can't." Dick said, scanning the Alfred's face. But for all their training in understanding human reactions, Alfred was one of the few people who could stay unreadable under the gazes of Bruce and Dick.

"Come to the kitchen Master Dick and we shall have a talk."

"...and thats when you found us..."

Dick sat at the table as Alfred sipped at his breakfast tea thinking upon what he had been told.

"I should have remained here," the butler said as he set down his cup.

"It would have happened anyway. Bruce has wanted me for a long time too."

"No, not that. I mean, you shouldn't have to have gone through all that on your own."

"You had family to deal with."

"And you two are not my family?" Alfred permitted an eyebrow to rise.

"Well, he's better Alfred, but he will still need the both of us to get back on his feet."

"We shall have our work cut out for us -- especially you Master Dick."

"I know that."

"You are no longer the innocent young lad that needed protecting and care."

"I haven't been that for a while"

"I know that and so does Master Bruce, but I think that becoming his lover is going to force you to make some very hard decisions."

"I haven't even thought about a future with Bruce just yet. How could I with all this?"

"True, but I can assure you, Master Dick, that you are going to have to look far ahead. Things you took as a matter of course may turn out very differently."

"You're right, I know that."

"Master Dick?"

"Yes, Alfred?".

"Master Bruce couldn't chosen a better person.

With a surprised laugh, Dick hugged his old friend.

"Jeez, can you look at that?"

Dick sat forward and looked at Bruce. He was standing in front of a mirror, trying to button his shirt. The munchies had taken their toll, pushing out the muscular broad chest with a layer of fat and swelling out Bruce's middle far past the capacities of any of his carefully tailored shirts. Very few of the buttons were able to lay flat under the strain of the bulk they had never meant to cover.

Strangely enough, Dick felt himself get rather stiff at the sight of it.

Why, if he had spent years imagining Bruce's sculpted Adonis-like body all over him, was he even hornier for the more Bacchus-like figure before him?

"Bruce, why don't you use the new clothes that Alfred ordered for you?"

"I will, but I just had to see how much damage I had done."

Bruce then pulled on his trousers. Pulling at the top of his fly, Bruce sucked in hard to get the ends to close.

Dick also inhaled sharply.

The legs of the trousers went smooth as they filled out with the meaty upper legs, pulling out at every pleat and fold that had once bagged loosely. Up above, the colors of Bruce's briefs showed out defiantly through the open fly, covering the sizable cock that had no other place to go but forward from in between his plump thighs. Up a little further, Bruce's gut pushed out between the shirt tales forming a full roll over the pants.

Dick got out of bed and walked to Bruce, his rigid penis bobbing along with each step. Standing behind him, Dick looked in the mirror and placed his hands on top of Bruce's softened middle.

"I'm running to fat, chum." Bruce said with a smile, enjoying the pressure at his backside.

"A little out of shape, maybe getting chubby," Dick countered rubbing himself harder against the other man's back.

"No -- Fat. Feel this belly!" Bruce made Dick's hand squeeze his paunch and jiggle it a bit.

"Fat?" Dick breathed softly against Bruce's ear and began to shake his middle until it snapped a button.

Quickly Bruce spun around and clamped his mouth over Dick's falling with him to the carpeted floor as they feverishly pulled the binding clothing off...

Bruce walked amongst the crowds of guests at the Reception Hall. The Wayne Foundation was supporting a new anti-famine drive and Bruce was now beginning to wonder if it was perhaps the most sensible place to make his first public appearance since his "Ski Accident in Europe." Everyone had noticed that his figure was -- well -- not as dashing as it usually was and a few jerks had pointed out how he was becoming the perfect representative of the Anti-Famine movement...

"Ya got the stuff?"

"All that the boss is askin' for," a thug nodded at the loaded cart he was wheeling.

"Then bring it in."

Ever since the escape of Batman and Robin, the Joker had been acting even madder than usual. His laughter as they drove away became a nonstop sound in the hideout, only getting louder when the Joker used the up very few drugs that had not been taken by Robin.

Then the laughter stopped -- and the demands for food began.

Soon almost all the Joker's Henchmen were gone -- there were no heists being planned, no schemes for cash being organized. All that remained were two clods who had no imagination or ability to think of trying for anything else.

The cart was wheeled in and left by a massive figure that sat quietly.

The Joker reached out a fat thickened hand, pulling out a box of doughnuts and began to eat, a tear rolling down his chalk-white face as he munched and looked at the shining white flesh that just kept getting bigger and bigger.

The moment the last of the drug had left his veins, the Joker had gone into violent withdrawal. He locked himself into his room and watched himself sink into levels of lunacy that even HE never thought were possible. Even now, his throat was tender from the laughing and giggling that he thought might rip out his vitals. But somehow he got through it.

Only to feel the hunger.

It had been a small pang in his middle that wasn't too hard to ignore., but he knew that unless he had more of the drugs he would just get hungrier.

And fatter.

It had been with a fascination that the Joker watched his violently colored suits push out as his sticklike figure began to get fleshier. Nothing else seemed to matter -- money, revenge -- no, nothing at all.

Just the growth of his figure as his body accepted food for the hunger that wasn't really there.

The Joker never bothered to fight it. He simply ate away and watched his buttons snap off and his clothing tear to shreds.

The Joker's shirt opened out as his flat chest filled and blossomed into huge nippled tits. His twig thin legs thickened and made the trousers he still put on look like odd tights or striped sausages. The ass that had been painfully small rounded and rose out of the back of his pants and underwear until they simply rode above, exposed to the world. Arms that had been slight but muscular grew heavy and hamlike.

The source of the Jokers mad hunger, his gut, swelled into existence like a flat mass of warm dough that finally took on yeast. Within days, he had to leave his shirts open to accommodate the dome of fat. Soon it rose down and over his trousers, flooding his hips and sagging lower and lower on his growing body.

Now he was turning into mountain of mime-white blubber with green hair and a constantly feeding blood red mouth.

"Fat clowns ought to be jolly..." he sniffed and let fly with a loud belch.

Patting his tremendous gut with his chubby hand, the Joker thought the one thought that would keep him going -- even if he got so fat that he'd be immobile, so fat that he'd out grow the room and see his belly break through the wall that it was already inching towards:

Batman wouldn't be very far behind.

And better still, Batman had no idea what he would be in for...

"Fatman, I mean," he burbled, his thick lips buried under a mass of pastry...

The Anti-Famine speeches went on and on.

Seated close to the speaker, Bruce sneaked a look at his watch.

10:15 AM.

It wasn't so long after breakfast, but Bruce was already feeling a bit hungry.

A grumbling noise echoed out.

Everyone looked around -- some wondering, others giggling.

Bruce glanced about as if puzzled too.

And hoped no one knew that his stomach had growled.

Maybe if he had some fresh air...

As the next speaker was introduced, Bruce quickly slipped out through the nearest door...

And entered the kitchen...

"Bruce? Where have you been? You're being introduced!" A Wayne Foundation associate whispered urgently as he found Bruce standing by the kitchen door, wiping his mouth.

Bruce smiled amiably, his belly feeling comfortably full, if a bit snug at the belt -- a result of his having a spree in the hall kitchens --, and proceeded to the podium.

Upon reaching the podium, Bruce waited for the applause to die down and opened his mouth to speak.

"BUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPP!"

Bruce turned bright red as a crashing belch leaped from his mouth and roared across the hall. Thinking quickly, even as his embarrassment grew, Bruce waited for the wild laughter of the guests to subside and continued:

"And that should be the result of this Anti-Famine drive!"

Reporters and attendees laughed delightedly and gave Bruce a standing ovation...

Bruce squeezed under the wheel of his sports car.

"It'll have to be major workout time at the Batcave."

Even as Bruce thought this he smelled the odor of ribs wafting from a restaurant.

Five minutes later Bruce was driving along, one hand guiding the spicy tangy ribs to his mouth from one of the three bags of them he had purchased.

"Welcome back Master Bruce."

"Thanks Alfred. Is lunch ready?"

"I thought you had luncheon at the Foundation drive Sir?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't much" Bruce said hurriedly.

"I'm getting Master Dick's lunch in a few moments sir. I'll just set it up for two."

"Great. Where is Dick?"

Dick splashed in the pool, completing his daily set of laps. As he stood, toweling off in the sunlight, two arms grabbed him from behind.

"Careful bud -- I'm packin' a Rod!" A voice grunted into his ear.

"So am I!" Dick growled back, pulling one of the hands onto the cock that was threatening to snap out of his speedos.

He turned and kissed Bruce tenderly.

"How did the Drive go?"

"I kept thinking of you all the time I was there, chum."

"Romantic, aren't you?"

"I'll show you how romantic I can get!"

Bruce pulled off his suit-jacket and Dick noticed that Bruce seemed -- well -- fuller in the middle. He noted how Bruce was now tugging at a belt that was at the last hole -- a few notches past where it had been in the morning.

"I'll do that," Dick whispered as he undid the shirt, kissing Bruce's middle and chest as he opened each button. Bruce was happily caressing Dick, never noticing the slight frown of curiosity that flitted over Dick's face as he took in the slowly fading ridge in Bruce's gut where the steering wheel of his car had rubbed hard. Every touch and kiss of Dick aroused him as he discovered the new increase in Bruce's belly size.

"There you go" Dick said, as he tossed aside the shirt, quickly noting the small streaks and smudges that stained it.

Bruce must have stopped at every fast-food place he could as he drove home!

And he was definitely fatter!

Slowly Dick lowered his head. Bruce softly sighed as his partner's lips traced along the underside of the belly that was now free of all restraints.

He shuddered in pleasure as sensual fingers ran against his thick inner thighs. "Yes! Yes!!!" he repeated as an eager tongue licked the top of his trembling, stiff penis.

Shifting forward, Bruce shifted onto Dick so that he covered the man who eagerly mouthed his erection, his own mouth now hovering above the taut mound of speedo crotch that was now wet more by Dick's pre-come than by the pool water. Bruce began to suck at it, cloth and all.

"Press on me Bruce, all your weight!"

As Bruce relaxed and let his belly push onto Dick, he was delighted and aroused at the sight of Dick's erection popping out around the cloth of the swim brief. For a moment it stood right in front of Bruce's face, before being taken in his mouth...

At a discreet distance, Alfred waited with the laden luncheon cart. He heard the cries of pleasure, the groans of release.

He smiled at the pleasure and happiness that it symbolized.

But he was already bracing for the storms that would eventually break.

Sounds of splashing signaled to Alfred that it was time to get the lunch down to the pool, while the men were discretely immersed.

"Let's eat!"

"Just another moment," Dick said as he relaxed against the wet tufts of Bruce's chest. They were soaking in the pool, in a sun warmed embrace.

Bruce's gut rumbled.

"Please Dick..."

The two men were soon next to the lunch cart. At Dick's insistence, Bruce lay his head in Dicks lap.

It seemed a very romantic meal as Dick fed his partner -- and Dick did enjoy it.

He knew that every spoon and forkful was helping to make Bruce's pot belly bigger and rounder than ever.

"Lets go, chum!"

The Batmobile streaked through the streets of Gotham, in hot pursuit of a getaway car. Inside the Batmobile, Robin furtively looked at his partner's tight pecs and sculpted muddle. He licked his lips as watched the muscular thighs ripple as Batman shifted his foot pressure on the accelerator.

Batman turned and looked at Robin. Robin smiled at him, but the stony face that Batman returned sent a chill down the young man's spine. It was the same intense, driven look that Batman always had when he was ready to hurl himself into the role of avenger without a thought of danger.

Not now after all that they discovered!

The crook's car skidded into a blind alley and with a screech the Batmobile slammed to a halt. Before Robin could say a word, Batman jumped out and ran towards the trapped crooks.

Guns began to blaze in the dark as they shot off their rounds.

"NO!" Robin yelled, racing after his partner.

Batman staggered, but kept running.

Right behind, Robin heard the Joker's hysterical laughter.

A hypodermic crunched under his shoe.

Looking ahead, he was stunned to see the Joker rapidly firing what looked like a large cannon at Batman. Batman's mouth was open as he caught the flying projectiles and swallowed them down.

"Eat Bats! Eat it all!"

The missiles seemed to fly in slow motion and Robin could make out hot-dogs, filet-mignon, ribs, hamburgers and more. All of it landed in Batman's mouth and ran down his throat.

The tiny waist was rounding over the utility belt.

"Eat Bats..."

Little snapping sounds roared through the alley as thread gave way on Batman's costume.

"Eat..."

The lines of the middle swelled into a silky-haired belly which pushed up and out, lifting the shirt higher until it caught the yellow Bat-insignia pushing it into a mass of wrinkles.

Batman kept swallowing...

With a pop, Batman's shorts gave way, leaving him clad in his tights for just a moment before they too split apart.

Robin tried rushing forward, but he fell, pulled forward by the length and weight of his tremendous erection. Getting up, he grabbed it like a bat and held it upright, trying to ignore the throbbing and twitching that increased with every step he took towards Batman.

Batman looked odd with the double chin that filled out the bottom of his cowl, but he was now dressed again in a tuxedo that could barely fit his bulky figure. His navel pushed out from the shirtfront, right below a small pin that read -- "INSERT HERE!"

Robin's penis leaped out of his hands and hovered ahead of him, leading him closer to that navel. He looked down and saw that he was also in a tuxedo that was richly embroidered around the fly with the words "OFFICIAL LIFE-LINE."

Batman grabbed the head of Robin's cock and pushed it into his navel.

Almost automatically, Robin felt himself coming and with every surge Batman seemed to grow even fatter.

"Will you, FATMAN, take this youthful ward as your loving consort?"

The Joker and Commissioner Gordon were looking over their comic books and reciting a sort of marriage service.

Fatm - well - BATMAN smiled sweetly and belched a "Yes" that flooded the air with bubbles.

"And you, Boy Wonder, do you take this filthy rich man who likes running around town at all hours and in all conditions, for thinner or fatter?

Especially now that you're helping turn him into a fat whale?"

Robin looked at Batman, only to see a huge wall of belly only interrupted by the navel that he was plugged into.

As Alfred began to play the "Too Fat Polka" on the xylophone, Robin said "yes."

Suddenly the wall of belly threatened to engulf everyone. Robin stepped back, his penis falling limply before him.

"Help me! Robin...."

Batman began to deflate like a balloon, whizzing around the street.

"I'll catch you darling!" Robin yelled as he ran after his flying shrinking love.

"I'll bring him down," the Joker yelled as he pulled out a rifle and fired.

With a loud POP, Batman burst and vanished, leaving only his cowl to drift to the ground.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Robin yelled and began to weep.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Dick heard his own cry as he opened his eyes. He felt Alfred's hands gently shaking him awake.

"Master Dick! It's just a bad dream."

Dick covered his face and breathed in deeply.

Then he noticed the empty place in the bed.

"Where's Bruce?"

"That's what I really came to see you about Master Dick. He is in the Cave and seems very distressed. I'm just lucky that I came in time to pull you out of your upsetting sleep. Please hurry and see what you can do."

Bruce was sitting in his chair. He was in his Batman costume -- or almost in it. His legs were splayed apart to let the large belly he had grown rest forward more easily. His large tits pressed out the part of the shirt he could fit over his plump chest, weirdly stretching out the Bat-insignia in front. In one hand Bruce held a chicken drumstick and in the other, the utility belt that been outgrown several massive meals ago.

"I'm FAT!"

Saying this, Bruce took a savage bite of the chicken.

"And I'm gonna get FATTER won't I?"

Dick gently took the chicken bone out of Bruce's hand and placed a hand tenderly on the other man's doubling chin.

"Let's get to bed for now lover and we'll talk this out tomorrow."

"We've been trying to ignore it haven't we?"

"Yes, but we now know and we'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll have a lot to think about."

Bruce slapped at the round belly and watched it jiggle.

"How can you want me, getting so fat?"

Dick's tiredness and dream got the better of him.

"I love you fatter!"

Bruce stared at him.

As they went, arm in arm, back to their room, Bruce wondered at Dick's answer.

Dick was turned on by his fattening figure?

Bruce recalled the wonderful way Dick made him feel as he kissed the sensitive parts of his gut.

If he WAS getting uncontrollably fatter, Bruce did feel some comfort to know that not only would Dick be there for him, but that Dick also found his swelling gut sexy.

For deny it as Bruce might...

He LIKED how Dick was admiring and enjoying his increasing blubber!

"...SEVENTY-NINE...

Bruce grunted as he sat up trying to reach beyond the paunch toward his toes.

"...EIGHTY!!!"

Bruce lay back, sweat drenching his chubby frame.

"Great Bruce! Why don't you rest for a moment?"

"Great chum!" Want to help relax me?" Bruce looked up at Dick and grinned wickedly as he saw how the young man's workout shorts pushed out. No further urging was needed as Bruce closed his eyes dreamily and felt Dick pull down his sweat pants.

He had been doing these workouts long enough to know how much the sight of him working out his big-bellied frame was turning Dick on. Dick had even creamed his pants as he helped Bruce carry out certain exercises.

How would it have been if his partner hadn't been in love with him -- or if when Dick had gotten older, Bruce hadn't found himself falling for him?

Dick would have helped him out -- that much no one would deny. But it would have been a very different experience altogether.

Bruce chuckled slightly as Dick tickled a sensitive spot.

Definitely a different experience.

And how about his bloating up? Had Dick not been there, treating him as a sex-object as he got fatter, Bruce shuddered to think how he would have coped, feeling and watching the pounds that swelled out the powerful build he had been so proud of. In his secret heart, Bruce enjoyed the sensuality and breaking of self-disciplines that growing fat had represented.

Could he be happy letting go and enjoying himself with Dick always by his side?

Yes.

But he had a duty and a mission as Batman...

"But...not......at.........the............moment!" Bruce gasped as he and Dick were rewarded for their efforts to "relax."

The two men lay quietly, getting ready for the next session of exercises.

A pain ran through Bruce's gut like a sword, forcing him to double up.

Quickly Dick took a bottle out of his pocket and gave Bruce two pills of a powerful hunger suppressant. Bruce's will was strong enough to let him ignore the hunger for a while, but until he ate something, the pangs would keep coming back harder and harder as if demanding him to stuff his belly OR ELSE! The pills helped reduce that tearing sensation in his vitals to something bearable.

Bruce still ate heavily at times.

But now that he could control it, hopefully Bruce could work himself back towards the athletic figure that he needed as Batman.

"Bruce! Alfred! Look at this!" Dick called as he raised the volume on the TV.

"The Gotham Police didn't quite believe it when two men came to the 89th Precinct, claiming to be working for the Joker. But when they finally followed the men to the place they claimed was his hideout, they found a surprising sight..."

The men were fascinated as they watched the screen image policemen and firemen breaking through a brick wall. It crumbled and finally fell forward creating a large gaping hole. The news-camera zoomed through the opening.

Collectively, Bruce, Dick and Alfred let out a gasp.

A chalk-white mass seemed to fill the room

A mass with stubby arms and a bump at the top which had fluorescent-green hair, wild eyes and thick red lips that kept opening and moaning in a low wail:

"FOOD, PLEASE I NEED FOOOOD!"

"The thugs said that the Joker has just spent the past few months having them buy him carloads of food and experts estimate that the Joker now weighs well over two thousand pounds..."

The three men remained fixed at the television as they watched the rescue operation. A Bulldozer with a mattress attached to it gently pushed the greased blubbery figure of the Joker onto a padded flatbed, that a straining crane lifted onto a truck. The moment that the final weight of the Joker rested in the vehicle it began to groan and bend under the pressure of his flab.

Eventually, the Jokers was shifted until the truck was stabilized and could cope with its load, but before he drove off, the Joker gave a fat-deepened howl of laughter and shouted at the camera.

"Well, FATMAN are you having as much FUN as I am? I know you MUST be a hungry hero now and I love knowing that you're going from BAT to PIG!!!"

The reporter's voice returned, "If what the Joker says is true, this could explain the long absence of that vigilante known as Batman. Could he have turned into FATMAN? If not, what has happened to --"

Dick switched off the TV and looked towards the chair where Bruce had been sitting.

It was empty.

Dick and Alfred looked at each other.

And rushed to the kitchen.

"Why bother?" Bruce said to himself as he loaded another spoon of ice-cream in his mouth, "I'm gonna get as huge as the Joker anyway!"

"Bruce!"

"Master Bruce"

Bruce ignored the pleading voices behind him and crammed more into his mouth.

He could feel his belly pressing out larger and rubbing against the table...

Another spoonful...

Bruce was sure that his ass would begin to overhang the chair at any moment...

"Please Bruce..." A comforting hand rested on his shoulder.

Bruce shrugged it off roughly, frowning as he heard the spoon scraping the bottom of the container.

Dick and Alfred looked on sadly as Bruce got up and lumbered to the freezer and brought back another frozen box.

He imagined his thighs swelling up like sponges as he worked through the new batch...

"What a horrible night," Dick thought as he woke up. It had taken hours of pleading and cajoling, threats and declarations of love before Bruce finally left the kitchen -- although, not before he had undone all the effort they had put into his workouts. Bruce's belly now assimilated everything he took in and stored it as fat so when he stood up from the carton littered table, Dick was shaken to see that Bruce's gut was larger than ever, hanging out from the burst open front of his shirt and drooping over thighs that were rubbing firmly together in the overstrained shorts.

At another time Dick would have been aroused by it. But the distress of his lover overrode all considerations.

"Master Dick...." Alfred whispered and motioned his head to the toward the door.

"It's the Bat-Phone," Alfred said as soon as Dick was out of the bedroom, "Commissioner Gordon is concerned over that news item of last night. Its made it to all the papers and is threatening to become national news."

"And he wants Batman to appear and reassure everyone."

Alfred nodded.

"Perhaps I should put on the Batman costume and go there. It's worked before."

"Yes, but Master Dick, what would Master Bruce's reaction be? Its not quite the same as the other times."

"I think Bruce ought to go, but how? He's gotten fatter than ever and it'll take ages before he'll ever get close to his old figure."

"Master Dick, I think he may never see his old figure. But you are right, Master Bruce must be Batman..."

"It's all a matter of proportioning and reinforcing, Master Bruce."

"We'll see, Alfred" Bruce said dubiously as Dick helped push him into the tight, reinforced body-stocking.

"It helps." Bruce admitted, looking in a mirror. The bouncy abundant flesh was still there, but the ribbed fabric seemed to make it sleeker and less unwieldy.

"Now lets get you into this," Dick said.

"A corset?" Bruce asked, sighing as Alfred and Dick placed it around his lower body.

"One -- two -- PULL!!!" Bruce grabbed onto a post for support while Dick and Alfred pulled the cords with all their force. The laces tightened and began to pull the reinforced fabric around Bruce's waist. His fat and fleshy torso compacted as far as the two men could possibly squeeze it. Quickly they fastened the binding.

Critically they checked Bruce out.

"You might get away with it, Bruce but you still don't look right in the Batman gear."

"I know. Too much here still," Bruce thumps his firmly encased middle.

Alfred and Dick looked at him thoughtfully.

"I know!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up. Quickly he rushed through the Batcave and into the elevator...

Minutes late Alfred returns, lugging a furry mass of plastic and cloth.

"Alfred what are you doing with that old King-Kong costume?"

"I had almost forgotten about this, Sir. I had it put in mothballs after that Halloween party," Alfred said as he grabbed a pair of shears and began cutting at the upper part. I should have gotten rid of it, but I am glad I didn't."

"Phew! Mothballs is right!" Dick wrinkled his nose.

Soon the large furry chest section was cut free from the rest of the fabric.

Alfred held it up, tailor-fashion over Bruce's chest.

"Now do what you think, Sirs?"

They looked at the large chest that pushed out with its rigid larger than life pecs. The dimensions were big enough to make the bound gut and secured hips and thighs look significantly smaller.

"You'll just look more imposing I think."

"Blockier not fatter..." Dick agreed.

"You know Alfred, I don't know what we'd do without you!"

"All in a days work, Master Bruce," Alfred beamed.

The Batmobile raced along the road to Gotham City. Batman was at the wheel, looking imposing if a bit restricted in some movements -- but that was expected with the tight confines of the car.

"I never appreciated the Tilt-a-Wheel feature before..." Batman thought as he handled the raised steering wheel with ease.

Soon they were close to the Gotham Police Plaza Building...

"You checked the cables?"

"Yes Robin, the grips and snagging lines too"

The two men looked down at the crowd that had gathered in the plaza in front of Police Headquarters. It was swarming with journalists, cameramen, broadcast crews.

"Good luck, Batman," Robin squeezed his partners hand.

Batman turned and smiled. "I want to kiss you now, but I guess we'd better wait."

They held hands for a moment quietly.

"Here goes!"

With a joined report, two projectile pistols shot out above the crowd, sending lines which hooked onto a nearby building. Soon both men were soaring across the crowded park, swinging down to land next to Commissioner Gordon.

The next few minutes went off like clockwork. The crowd applauded their arrival and reporters, clearly disappointed to see a seemingly fat-free Batman, resorted to their usual questions and comments of the Batman/vigilante/"lunatic in tights" category.

Then just as everything was about to break up...

An armored truck, driverless, smashed through the police barricades blocking the Police Plaza. and headed towards the crowd, aimed to where Batman and Robin were standing.

Without thinking, Batman raced forward until he was close to the vehicle.

He lobbed a few explosive charges in front of the truck, sending it veering to one side away from the mass of people. Grabbing his projectile pistol, Batman hurried towards a massive steel lamp-post. He quickly attached one end of a cable to the base of the post and fired the gun, smashing a grappling hook and the other end of the cable through the grille of the truck. Smoke began pouring out, but the truck continued on, following the running Batman...

The cable lost slack...

The truck spun wildly against the pull of the line, and turned over inches away from Batman.

Papers fell out of the smashed window of the cab and fluttered at his feet.

Breathing hard from the surprise exertion, Batman remained motionless for a moment, looking down at the scraps as a wind started to push them along.

JANUS JEWELRY HOUSE...

A hauling sheet? Was that the company the truck was supposed to be sent to, before it was sent hurtling through the Plaza?

Batman tried to bend down to pick a sheet up, but threatening popping sounds forced him to stand upright again, his mind on more urgently personal matters.

Robin stood by looking at him anxiously.

"Lets -- get -- out of here!" Batman gasped as he shot off another projectile line and hauled himself into the air.

"Pant - Pant - Pant..." Batman sat back in the Batmobile while Robin Drove.

Only now was he beginning to get his breath back and in truth, the bindings around his middle were no help. Pulling up his shirt, Batman reached back as well as he could and undid the knot of his corset.

"You were amazing out there!" Robin said in admiration.

"Not bad for FATMAN, eh chum? Ooooooh! That is MUCH better" Batman smiled in relief as he rubbed his slightly freer middle. "I wish I could get this damn body stocking off!"

"I'll be glad to help you, Fatman."

Robin quickly reached over with his hand and briefly patted the bulge of Batman's belly.

"You sure will! And when you finally let me get out of bed, I'm going to redesign this suit properly."

"You mean?"

"Absolutely, Robin. Today has shown me that fat as I am, I can be as good as I ever was!"

"Oh that's good!" Bruce moaned as he lay flat on the bed. Dick lay on top of his bulk, resting his stiff penis in the deep crack formed by Bruce's widening ass and rubbing the bruises and stiffness of the day out of the large torso with a firm massage.

Lulled by the kneading and stroking, Bruce dozed off, leaving Dick to his thoughts...

Dick knew that it would be wrong for him to ever convince Bruce to give up his commitment to fighting crime. But at the same time he knew that he had to stop Bruce from always cast himself into danger without a thought or caution.

At times, Bruce had barely survived even in his slimmest peak condition...

It had been so wonderful to dream about Bruce being with him always. All the same Dick fully realized that the moment Bruce hit the street again as Batman -- especially now that he was fatter and for all his skill, less agile and still subject to that hunger -- his very dreams would be filled with a million wounds and thousands of deaths...

Each involving the man he had finally given his love to.

With a sigh, Dick moved off of Bruce and stretched out alongside his lover's warm flesh, letting him sleepily toss his arm around him.

"I'll just have to wait and hope," he yawned...

It was closing time at the Janus Jewelry House. All the guards were at their usual places in the empty complex of showrooms. Suddenly, one after the other, the personnel seemed to nod off. When they were revived by the police, the watchmen were shocked to discover that the place had been emptied and thoroughly trashed.

It was when the news cameras panned through the damage rooms that Bruce caught an odd detail.

"The symbol that the Janus House uses."

"The double faced head?"

"Every one of them was bashed in on one side only!"

Dick lifted his head from Bruce's vanishing lap.

"Two Face!"

Bruce nodded.

"And remember that scrap of paper I saw falling out of the wreck of that truck? This is an inside caper."

"And Two Face'll be gunning for you!"

"I'd better get Gordon on the phone...."

At the Janus Company Security vaults, several figures crept along the silent, dark corridors of the central vault complex. They had used an old abandoned pneumatic mail tube to sneak past the police lines outside. A few gas grenades eliminated the guards inside and as the boss had planned, the security system blanked out on schedule.

"Help yourselves boys!" Two face whispered to his accomplices, using a flashlight beam to point out the diamond cases..

"And get fifteen years!" the vault echoed with that harsh sentence. The lights went on as Batman and Robin stood before the criminals.

"Two unarmed against eight armed," Batman said to Robin.

"You'd think he's know better."

Glib words, but nearly accurate. Batman and Robin nearly did win out, but as well Batman moved and fought, it wasn't with the same speed and sure-footed ability that had triumphed in pre-belly days. Robin tried to keep up his end of the battle, but he was constantly distracted and concerned over how Batman was holding up.

Soon they were lying on the floor, tied up and helpless.

"Sorry I missed you before Batman!" Two-Face growled, "but I've heard from the Joker and I think I know how to deal with you!"

The men carried several large hampers into the vault chamber. When the containers were opened a delicious smell filled the room.

"Any little pill or shot you take to cut your hunger will be used up soon.

So even if I free you, you're gonna be at those hi-cal eats like a pig in the trough."

Bead of nervous sweat began to form on the foreheads of both Batman and Robin. Batman was already feeling the gnawing in his gut that the smell of food always brought on, even under the pills -- and they would be wearing off at any minute, leaving Batman to the hunger that would rip through him once again.

"I could just kill the two of you, but 'honor among thieves' you know," Two-Faces smile looked equally fiendish on both sides of his face as he heard the first gentle rumbles emit from Batman's middle, "the Joker wants me to leave you for the police to find, FATMAN face first in the food. And I'm sure it'll be a treat for your sidekick there to watch you humiliated too."

Ten minutes passed -- the growling and churning noises getting louder and louder with every moment.

Batman was squirming and shifting uncomfortably. He was trying desperately not to look at the food, but his eyes always kept wandering to the containers.

"Let him at it boys!"

The bonds were cut and with a cry, Batman threw himself at the baskets, slurping and chomping away at their contents.

"Now lets get out of here fellows and leave FATMAN and Robin to the cops and the press."

Robin looked on sadly. How could Batman ever face anything after what was clearly about to happen? Especially if his bindings give way?

The image of a burping, overstuffed Batman, naked except for his cowl, filled the sidekick's mind. He pictured his hero towards the last of the baskets, his belly hanging down and resting firmly on the floor as he sat and finished the food, oblivious to the news-cameras around him.

Then there would be the humiliation as Batman lost whatever effectiveness he had as a crime fighter.

And Robin would be there to comfort him and give him all the love he needed.

He would show Batman all the other things life had to offer...

There's be no more nightmares of Batman's violent death. No fears that Bruce would be gone forever "on business." Dick would have Bruce for himself, safe and sound...

And gorgeously fat!

Robin snapped out his reverie to realize the Batman, his cheeks crammed with edibles was staring at him. Involved with eating as he was, Batman seemed to be looking into Robin's eyes, seeing his thoughts...

Turning red, Robin shut his eyes tight, forcing those thoughts out from his mind.

Suddenly two hands reached down and untied his hands.

"Batman!"

Robin couldn't believe it, but there he was, perhaps a trifle gravy smeared around the lips...

But away from the food!!!

"Quickly Robin, Help me!"

Following Batman out of the chamber, Robin soon found that they were at the opening of the forgotten pneumatic tube.

"Close the air lock!"

With a clang Robin had sealed the tube opening.

Batman pulled at a rusty wheel. His arms shook at the strain against the unmoving valve.

Robin joined him and soon the wheel began to turn. First with a squeal as the rust crumbled off of it, then more smoothly.

A hiss began to sound out of the sealed tube.

CRASH!

"Oh no!"

The pneumatic seal, corroded and neglected blew open, unable to take the first blast of air.

Leaving Robin to keep opening the air valve, Batman ran to the opening and forced the seal back down...

And then sat on it -- hard.

Months before, Batman's weight would have mattered little against the force of the air thrusting its way through the tube, but with all the fat he had put on...

"What's doing in there Don?"

"Quiet -- Maybe Gordon's flipped a cog?"

"Yeah, like maybe he ought to stop buddying up with old pointy-ears..."

"BAM"

Like all the other officers in the area, two cops covered their ears at the loud explosion and were stunned to see the pavements blast out in chunks, hurling up a surprised Two-Face, his crew and millions of dollars in precious stones into the air, finally landing them in a pile, ready for the taking.

Batman got up from the air valve.

"Robin..." He called out, the blood draining from his face.

Robin rushed over just in time to catch Batman as he began to fall forward, his stomach growling loudly. Gritting his teeth, Robin began to haul the heavy load in his arms to the vault chamber where the food was still waiting.

"It must have taken a lot of will to leave this," Robin thought as he grabbed some roast chicken and placed it into Batman's mouth. Batman chewed, swallowed and began to breathe easier as the sounds from his middle began to ease off.

Robin reached under Batman's shirt to open the corset a bit, only to have Batman shake his head.

"Someone might come in..."

For the next hour, Robin sat on the floor tenderly feeding his heroic comrade.

Luckily, they were...

"Lets head off to the Batmobile, chum" Batman finally said.

As they made their way out of the back of the building, Batman absently nibbled a pastry he had taken as the left the vault room.

"SNAP!"

"Wha-?" Batman halted.

"RIP!"

"Oh no!" Robin whispered as he watched.

That final pastry had done it.

Under the costume, lacing eyelets began to be pop loose...

The reinforcements of the corset began to warp outward...

The back side of the seamless body stocking began to tear into a ragged split...

Now free again, Batman's belly pushed forward in a rush of fat that lifted his shirt and caused his snapping utility belt to whip across the room. Soon it was at rest, drooping ahead like fleshy sack dotted with a navel and littered with the rags that had minutes ago been part of the imprisoning corset. Then his ass which now looked strangely undersized and flat behind this paunch, rounded out over his thighs which themselves immediately widened as the body stocking and binders disintegrated.

For one brief moment, Batman's outermost garments held fast, making him simply look like he had been simply inflated. But the seams began to stretch -- showing glints of skin and torn underclothing -- and then snapped altogether. Trunks, tights, shirts, the fake pecs Alfred put in, began to fall in tattered segments, leaving behind just a few segments of body stocking which still covered Batman's bulk.

The two men rushed to the waiting vehicle, Robin's arms were filled of the tatters of Batman's clothing. From the corners of his eyes, he watched the jiggling of Batman's fine fatty figure, the jouncing of the firm round paunch and saddlebags that hovered lower and rounder than ever at Batman's hips, the ample tits that bounced their nipples with each thudding, panting step the heavy thighs that forced on ahead, then back, as they brushed against each other, and when the cape lifted in back, the large globular cheeks of the plumped up buttocks.

.Robin felt himself moisten as he ran alongside.

"This is stupid," the young man thought, "We have to get out of here and all I want to do is screw him right now!"

Robin started the motor as Batman finally squeezed into the narrow seat of the Batmobile.

The car zoomed across town its passengers keeping a tense silence...

Safely in the tunnel to the Batcave, Robin cut the motor and looked at Batman. The hero was wedged in his seat, his large belly pressed against the dashboard, his hips and legs overflowing at the sides so that every time Robin had to shift, he had to do it against the pressure of Batman's thighs.

He was clearly uncomfortably seated.

And so sexy!

Pulling off a glove, Robin laid a hand on Batman's pillowy pec, squeezing its nipple. Leaning across the cramped area, he pressed Batman's head back into the headrest with the force of his kiss. Batman, reached out and pushed his hand under Robin's short, cupping his sidekick's tight bubble-butt with his powerful, but gentle fingers.

"Batman...I......love.........you............so..................muuuuchhhh!" Robin breathed, as he felt himself spirt out, his full crotch getting wet and sticky with the come that began to drip, where he leaned over, onto his lover's belly.

"I love you also my Robin...my sweet Dick," Batman answered, breaking the rule (which applied to most heroes) never to call his partner by his real name when behind the mask. As he felt his partner's come slicking up his curving gut, he felt his own cock already hard and hot, swell up even more almost ready to shoot.

"Call me FATMAN" Batman breathily.

"Oh you are FATMAN, so fat and so sexy." Robin bumped against the dashboard as he kissed the length of the fat belly.

"And am I -- fatter?"

"Oh YES!"

Batman's logical mind screamed out "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!?" but his heart and desires were in charge now.

"Am I a pig in tights?"

"A sexy hog."

"Would...you......want.........me.........to.............get..............fat ter?" His cock was rubbing Hard against the curve of his gut.

"And...fatter!" Robin answered, his own cock becoming inflamed yet again.

"...And..............fatttterrrrr...!!!"

"FATMAN......FATMAN.........FATMAN......!!!"

Batman chanted his "and fatter" to Robin's "FATMAN" as they held each other tighter and tighter. He squeezed his chubby thighs together against the shaft of his painfully erect penis, holding back as much as he could until...

With a burst, his fleshy high-pressure hose streamed out the milky, sticky liquid out over the seats and floor of the Batmobile. Robin held in Batman's tight grip buried his face deep into the fat chest and surged off another stream as well...

Two naked figured finally got out of the Batmobile, leaving their costumes, tatters and masks all over the well-ejaculated interior.

"We have a lot to decide, don't we dearest chum?" Bruce asked as he and Dick scrubbed each other down in the showers.

"What do you mean!"

"As Batman and Robin."

"Well..." Dick turned his head away, his mind going back to those thoughts he had when tied up in the Vault Chamber.

Bruce kept looking steadily at his flinching partner.

Taking Dick's face in his hands, Bruce made him face him again and meet his gaze.

The only sound was the falling water...

"Master Dick! Master Dick!"

Still half asleep, Dick tried to ignore Alfred's urgent call and rolled over to snuggle against Bruce's warm figure. Instead he found himself rolling into the empty side of the bed.

"Bruce...?"

"He's gone Master Dick!"

"Bruce!"

"The Batmobile is gone, so is that other large costume..."

Dick sat up, hardly able to breath. As he shifted to get out of bed, his hand hit a folded note.

"My Chum, My Love,

There is something Batman -- I have to do. I hope to be back soon. When

I am back we can figure out our future as Bruce and Dick and also as Batman and

Robin -- As US, damn it! Do not trace or follow me this time -- Please.

I know I can trust you and Alfred to do what's right.

With all my love,

Bruce

Dick, still undressed, rushed to the Batcave. Ignoring the chill of the cave, Dick ran through calling and searching for the man he knew he would not find. Finally, He stood at the empty spot where the vehicle usually stood.

"BRUCE! BATMAN!"

"Please Master Dick," Alfred approached and gently helped the shivering young man into a robe. "Lets go up and get something hot into you."

As they walked forward, Alfred's shoe crunched on a small piece of glass.

"What is this?" Alfred reached down and picked up a broken small ampoule.

Dick's eyes widened.

"Alfred, come with me a moment!" He asked the butler in a hollow voice.

Ten minutes later Dick and Alfred were at the hiding place. It was empty -- every syringe, ampoule and vial of the fatal drug was gone!

In one moment, Dick's worries increased a hundredfold.

Did Bruce think he could slim down on the drugs? Was he going to do himself in with the doses now that it was getting so hard to be Batman?

So many scenarios -- all bad -- flooded Dick's mind.

Dick wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek.

"Damn it" He thought, "I'm not gonna cry!"

All the same, he felt his chest pounding, his stomach squeezing worse than ever and his throat dry.

"What has happened, Master Dick?" Alfred asked anxiously.

"The drugs...gone! I hid them here! I -- I should -- have -- destroyed them!"

With a sob, the flood of tears began and Dick stumbled into Alfred's protective embrace, crying as if he could never stop.

The weeks passed by in a painful and slow progression of days, hours and minutes for Dick.

Before Alfred's eyes, the man who had wept so heartrendingly, turned into a cold robot with only a glimmer of hope to keep him going.

Dick attended to all his usual business as well as Bruce's. It was all very automatic from the communicated instructions he faked for Bruce to the Wayne Foundation, to his occasional patrols as Robin -- careful, yet without thought of himself.

Alfred watched in helpless concern as Robin began to come back with bruises, gashes and wounds. The butler knew that he was becoming like his vanished mentor -- once he lost the man he cared about to the members of the criminal underworld, Robin was going to try to kill himself fighting against them...

"Master Batman!"

Alfred rushed down to meet the Batmobile as it roared into the cave.

Batman stepped out of the vehicle and rubbed his limbs and body, stiff from travel, patrols and all the binding needed to control his gut. Finally able to move freely, Batman pulled out the box of drugs and placed them heavily onto a table.

"I took these to every damned lab and organization I could think of. No one could crack it!" Batman spoke, not noticing the look of concern and worry on Alfred face. "All of them say that I'll always have to take suppressants or just keep eating and growing..."

"Master Batman!"

"Where is Dick? I want him to peel me out of this gear and see how much fatter I've gotten. He'll get a kick out of it -- I know I will...

"Master Batman!"

"Sorry for rambling like this Alfred, I'm tired and more than a bit horny!"

"It's Master Robin!"

"What!"

"He needs help!"

"So glad you worked that radio, Sidekick," the Riddler grabbed his hair and forced Robin to look up at him. "I preferred to set up my Riddle trap for Batman, so thanks for signaling him."

Robin smiled ruefully, knowing that while Alfred wasn't Batman, he could at least summon the police...

"Think that Batman will get you out of my little surprise? I doubt it..."

Robin looked down at the woven meshwork that bound his arms and upper body.

He had already found it hard to breathe as the mesh tightened slightly.

"What and idiot I am," Robin thought as he felt the pressure increase.

He had been following the Riddler on what seemed to be one of his typical sprees and found himself in an ambush. Had he been thinking clearly he would have realized that it was a trap. But Robin's mindless behavior for the past few months had been perfect for the Riddler's plans. After all, the Robin of old would never have plunged alone into a throng of criminals working a job.

As Robin gave a pained gasp under the slowly shrinking mesh and lay still, the Riddler nodded happily.

"Now riddle me this! The more you escape me the worse you get caught -- what am I?"

As the Riddler laughed, Robin tried shifting his arms again and felt the mesh contract further...

"Wonderful! WONDERFUL!"

The Riddler cheered as he rubbed his sore jaw and watched his men his men force Batman to sit next to his unconscious partner.

"Poor young fellow, he'll be a sad loss for you, won't he?"

Batman's mouth kept in a tight line.

"Well, you won't have to worry about missing him for long," the Riddler added savagely, gritting his teeth at Batman's lack of reaction.

"Ah well," the Riddler said, shrugging his irritation aside to look at the brighter prospects, "two for one, today! I'm on a lucky streak"

The Riddler began to walk away, then turned back.

"Oh, before I forget, riddle me this," the villain began...

Batman was left alone with Robin. Turning his head stiffly, he looked at the prone figure next to him. Robin's figure was wrapped so tightly that his skin was beginning to turn blue in places from the pressure and lack of air.

His breath was barely coming out at all.

He had to get Robin free before the young man's lungs could no longer move at all.

Which meant he had to get free first and immediately. Batman began to think of what the Riddler said.

"The more you escape me the worse you get caught..."

Batman carefully shifted a shoulder up. It loosened a moment, but then the weaving around it shrank quickly, leaving Batman wrapped tighter than before.

Every motion that might have freed him seemed to tighten the mesh around his chest and arms tighter, anticipating every possible move that could free him.

Stopping for a moment, Batman rested...

Then an idea flashed into his mind.

What if he moved out in a way that wasn't really an escape move?

Batman sucked in air and tensed the middle that was wrapped under mesh, costume, corset and spandex...

Then exhaled.

Inhaled...

Exhaled...

For once, Batman was grateful to hear snapping sounds that would have filled him with dread at any other time (save a choice moment with Robin).

Inhale... Tense..

Exhale... Relax...

Batman smiled at the ripping sounds, he heard and felt his middle free itself from its restraints...

Inhale... Tense...

Exhale... Relax...

The cool tight mesh began to press against the flesh that was creeping out of his costume.

Inhale...Exhale...

Batman gritted his teeth as the metallic links cut into his skin.

Inhale...Exhale...

Inhale...Exhale...

"TCHING!" The first strands of mesh snapped apart. They had been designed to hold and strangle an escaping hero with a muscular build, not for the relaxing belly of a FATMAN!

Inhale...Exhale...

'SNICK! SPRING! TCHIK!" Batman's fat gut advanced forward breaking apart the links...

Inhale...

Exhale...

Inhale...

Exhale...

Using the same regular deep breaths, Batman leaned over Robin, he full mouth pressed against his sidekick's as he leaned him against the soft naked expanse of blubbery pecs and belly that had burst his bonds.

"C'mon Robin," Batman thought, "I can't be too late!"

Inhale...

By the time Batman was able to get his partner free of the deadly wrapping, Robin's heart was almost still .

Exhale...

Batman trembled nervously, rubbing his partner's chest and ignoring the sting in his eyes. A horrible picture formed in his mind, an image of loss that he had never quite imagined before...

Inhale...

An image of him alone. Fat or thin, hero or Bruce Wayne, he suddenly realized that he could never face a future without this wonderful, caring young man who lay lifeless in his arms...

Exhale...

'Dear Lord, don't let me lose him now. Not after all we've made it through..."

Inhale...

A teardrop fell and splashed onto Robin's motionless face...

Exhale...

"Thump!"

Robin's almost silent heart gave a strong beat.

Inhale...

"THUMP!"

Exhale...

The beat was stronger...

Batman pulled his mouth away.

Robin drew a shuddering breath...

As Batman worked to get Robin's breathing normal, the young man briefly opened his eyes and saw the fleshy masked man looming over him, pressing his lips against his own.

"It has to be a hallucination," Robin thought and slipped out of consciousness again.

Soon the hulking figure of a naked fat man in a cowl and cape silently stepped through the building. Over one thick, meaty shoulder, the inert form of a slim man was slung.

"Why do they always assume, I can never escape and then just leave us alone?" Batman thought thankfully as he moved as quickly as he could to the Batmobile and escape. As he plodded down narrow catwalks and stairs that he once would have run, Batman noted how his bare padded hips were rubbing solidly against the rails and the walls.

Putting Robin in the passenger side, Batman looked at the driver's seat and placed his hand on the large belly that now preceded him.

Even when he had been tightly fastened up in his costume it had been a snug fit behind the wheel...

"GET HIM, MEN! FIND THEM BOTH! NOW!!!" The Riddler's petulant cries rang out.

Defying physical laws of space and motion, Batman somehow managed to fit himself and his fat body into the small seat and behind the fully tilted, but still overwhelmed steering wheel, his hands reaching just so that he could shift his gut and drive...

The Batmobile roared off...

It took a while for Alfred to help pull Batman free of the tight confines of the driver's seat.

Finally, he was holding Robin's limp figure in his arms and moving to the elevator.

"I'll get your room ready, Sir" Alfred said as the car moved upwards to the mansion level..

"My room? Where has Dick been sleeping?"

"His old room -- Master Dick said he couldn't stand facing your empty side of the bed any longer."

"Please," Robin spoke in a hushed whisper.

Batman and Alfred strained to hear Robin's barely audible whisper.

"My -- room."

Silence...

Carefully Bruce pulled off Dick's Robin costume and lay him on the bed. As he pulled up the covers over the young man, Bruce's face was burning with anger.

In all the time Bruce had spent observing (and finally enjoying) that lithe young body, he had never seen the many scars, bruises and wounds that he saw now.

Not even bothering to finally cover himself, Bruce quietly left the room, his temper boiling.

"Alfred! How could you let him!"

The Wayne butler was surprised to be cornered by the hulking, nude figure of his employer.

" Sir?"

"Robin -- Dick, I thought you'd keep an eye on him and here I find him a total wreck! "

"Sir! I have listened to nonsense from you before, but I will not stand for THIS!"

Bruce couldn't believe his ears. In all of Bruce's born days, he never had heard Alfred approach anything close to real anger.

"Alfred!"

"No, I shall NOT stand for this! How DARE you blame me for what happened to Master Dick! How DARE you!" Alfred, permitted his usual reserve to drop a little further and shoved Bruce back onto a sofa, which creaked ominously under the sudden load of the fat man.

"Now you are going to hear a few home truths, Sir!"

Alfred took a deep breath and began.

"You have left Master Dick alone as a boy, as a young man and now as your lover. He has had to help patch you up and bind those injuries that a doctor would usually be called for. 'Experience' you called it! Well sadism is my word for it! You constantly left him in the position of being orphaned over and over again as a youngster and now that you know how much you mean to him, you still go off to leave him wondering when he will have to face life alone!

Did you ever think of that before you ran in front of bullets, cars or simply played the 'Great Hero?'" Alfred raised a hand to silence Bruce's emerging protest, "We all know that there are enough unavoidable risks in fighting those criminals out there, but I mean the little extra bit of danger that always meant a new scar and proof that you were BATMAN without helping worth a ha'penny. Now you suddenly discover yourself to be in the same boat -- Master Robin - Master Dick thought he had lost you and began to act just like you -- all the Dark Knight rot after years of being the careful one and more often than not, pulling that fattened arse of yours out of the firing line --- and you are afraid of the danger. With your secretiveness and lack of openness, you have provided him with more tears and less reason to live and you have the nerve to accuse ME of letting him throw himself away!"

Bruce sat frozen, unable to say one thing that could deflect what he knew to be the absolute truth. Finally he spoke...

"Alfred, I've been such a jerk! I don't know what to say..."

Alfred placed a hand gently under Bruce's plump chin, his voice softening.

"Master Bruce, I think for the first time, you truly know how Master Dick has felt all too often. Remember that feeling. Something tells me that it will be a great help to you now."

"What can I do to apologize to you, old friend."

"Let me see you to finally be happy together -- thats all Bruce." Alfred patted Bruce's chunky shoulder. Bruce looked at his butler, startled at hearing the dignified man use his first name so informally. Smiling he lifted himself off of the sofa and clapped a massive arm gently on the other man's back.

"I will do my best Alfred, I can promise you that!"

"Now Master Bruce, can I suggest a warm bathrobe and a spot of breakfast?"

Bruce laughed and slapped a beefy hand on his belly, setting it to jiggle.

"Sure thing!"

After weeks of feverish delirium and unconsciousness, the young man's body and mind had finally taken the upper hand over fatigue, despair and abuse.

He was no longer the limp figure that Bruce and Alfred had to nurse past crisis.

But though he was recovering, something had changed.

Dick started to shut out Bruce. He was polite, but made it clear that any thoughts of closeness or intimacy between the two men were not to be considered. It was as if the past had been removed from his mind and heart.

Any of Bruce's talk of a future together was met by stony silence.

"I've lost him Alfred, haven't I?" Bruce said sadly as he returned from bringing Dick's meal-tray to him. He had hoped that Dick might direct even a little attention to his gut...

But Dick, just ignored the mass of belly-fat he had once so happily cuddled and fed.

"Master Dick, still needs time," Alfred reassured his concerned employer, "I know he does love you, Sir. Be patient. Now sit down to dinner."

Bruce looked at the food in front of him.

"I..I'm not hungry..."

Ignoring the outraged growl of his gut, Bruce waddled away from the dining room, the well stocked table and a stunned Alfred.

In the Batcave, Bruce opened the box of drugs and held up a vial. He stared at it as an idea began to form in his mind...

"Alfred?" Dick looked up from his sickbed.

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"Have you seen the papers?"

"Why Master Dick?"

"Look..."

The Butler looked over the newsprint.

"A WELL ROUNDED RIDDLER "

Below the headline was a photo of the Riddler being led by two police officers. He was far from the snakelike figure that had once bound Robin and Batman in mesh. The pattern of question marks on the tight outfit angled crazily over a bloated body that was ready to burst out and bare more than the huge soft gut that already sagged far over the thighs...

"Like the Joker," Alfred said thoughtfully.

"Has Bruce been going out as Batman recently?"

"Well..."

"Do me a favor Alfred."

"Check out the computer for other overfeeding criminals?"

"Certainly, Master Dick."

The rest of that afternoon, Dick remained in his room, looking over a small pile of news outputs and microfilm prints.

One after the other he saw them...

Two-Face waddling off, his famous two-sided suit shredded along the dividing seam where his increasingly flabby body pushed out.

The Scarecrow, being hauled face first from a vat of chocolate pudding that he had raided a pastry factory for. He was still lanky, but the swelling middle gave promise of a giant gut like the others.

The Penguin, a Top-hatted blob of lard being carted to Arkham Asylum.

All the major criminals that had centered their operations in Gotham City seemed to have begun to eat uncontrollably, focusing on food to the exclusion of crime.

"Well, I know what he's doing with the drugs!" Dick muttered, rubbing his crotch. There was no denying that some of the photos of men, all bloated past the capacity of their tailored suits and tight costumes were a definite turn on.

Dick understood what Batman was doing...

And for the first time in years, Dick felt secure...

He began to hope again and look forward to the future...

As Gotham's crime rate began a steady, long lasting plunge.

At last the drug case was empty.

Batman, was smiling as he drove towards the Batcave and Wayne Manor. He had found a way to neutralize the worst criminal masterminds that had ever plagued Gotham. There might be other madmen and master thieves as time went on, but for now there would be a breathing space for the city.

And in the meantime, other brave heroes could step into the breach.

"And I'll be able to breathe again" He muttered as he pulled at his compressed waist.

It was late when Batman stepped out of the Batmobile, to find Alfred waiting for him. Alfred was smiling as he held a large salver bearing a note with a single word.

"Tonight?"

Batman looked at Alfred who nodded upstairs and winked.

A large figure loomed hopefully over the bed that once been so happily occupied.

"Dick"

"Mmmmm?"

"We have to go out tonight."

"Oh Batman, no..."

"It's urgent."

Dick kicked down the blanket and spreading his legs out to show off his massive erection, he uttered the words he had always wanted to say:

"Gotham can wait -- I can't!"

"And you won't!"

Batman pulled Dick up and held him tight in his arms.

"Oh, my wonderful Dick, I have missed being with you like this..."

"I missed you too."

Dick thumped the hard front of Batman's abdomen.

"You're kind of lumpy Batman."

"You know how to fix that!"

Dick reached back and reaching under the costume, pulled the lacing free.

"Unnh!" Batman said in relief as his belly began to fall freely into Dick's waiting hands. He began to massage it, helping it work its way out of the confines of the costume...

"C'mon fatty, I want to see all of you!"

With a happy laugh, Dick pushed Batman fell back onto the bed and began to work on pulling the skin-like shorts.

"That's one" Dick said as he worked the trunks down to Batman's knees.

He approached the mound where Batman's belly and thighs met and pushed out the crotch into an erotic mound.

Batman panted happily as Dick applied his lips to the rod running along the top of the mound in a smooth long curve. Batman could no longer see Dick's head when he worked at that spot, but he knew what was happening on the other side of his full gut, and spread his legs out to make more room for Dick's face as he sucked at the encased cock with his hot mouth.

With a laugh, Batman felt his first surges of come spread a warm patch along the confines of his tights.

The quickly, Dick pilled off the tights and remaining gear, looking proudly at his lovers, massive thighs and full lower body.

"You are fat," Dick said finally climbing over the gut as he approached the masked face towards him and kissed it.

"I'm FATMAN now!" Bruce grinned, showing off the double shin that now sagged out of the cowl.

Dick slid down along the huge chest and began to nibble at a large nipple through the fabric. He pulled at the shirt and felt the warm huge belly that fell free into his arms. Soon Bruce's massive figure was free of all restraints.

"I love your giant belly, Bruce." Dick said as he and Bruce joined hands and shook it so that it rolled back and forth.

"I love how you poke it with your hard dick, Dick."

"Really?"

Suddenly Dick spread his legs and moved his groin over the thick slit of a navel that gaped from the huge mass of fat. Dick place his hard dick into the deep belly-button. His cock head fit in comfortably.

"Fuck my gut Dick!"

Dick gently pressed in, forcing the navel deep and letting the flesh around it surround his shaft.

His pelvis began to side up and down as Bruce pulled him forward and kissed him. Soon Dick shuddered in pleasure as he felt himself tingle and his tip get moist.

Bruce rubbed his meaty thighs together, forcing his own hard on to get even more arouse.

The slit began to dribble cream where Dick's cock was still inserted.

"Yes, d yes" Bruce chanted, "I am sooo fat!"

"Sooo fat!"

"Fatman... Always here to love you... and be fed by you... and get fatter for you..."

"Oh FATMAN! FATMAN!" Dick bounced in and out sending shock waves of motion along Bruce's gut.

"Yes... Fatmannnnnn..."

The men grabbed each other tightly, as they both moaned out and shot their loads of love together.

As usual in the morning, Alfred wheeled a serving cart of food by the bedroom door. As he walked away he could hear the two men cry out in together in orgasmic bliss: "I... LOVE... YOUOOOO!"

Dick had fattened up Bruce far too much to ever fear that his behemoth of a lover would ever easily disappear again. And Bruce was far too happy living the life of "Fatman" under his lover's tender care -- ever eager to add another pound for Dick to adore. He now only saw the future only time to spend in Dick's wonderful arms.

Dick came to the door, a pair of skimpy briefs that barely covered his well worked crotch. The light shined on his body making it glisten slickly with the evidence of heavy activities in the conjugal bed. With all the food around it was natural that Dick would also begin to join Bruce in enjoying the sensuality of the full belly. As a result, Dick now hefted a very plump spare tire around his middle and his powerful pecs were starting to droop forward.

Wheeling the cart in, Dick flashed a well inflated bubble butt that rose far above the waistband of the outgrown briefs.

Clearly Batman's former "Boy Wonder" was becoming Fatman's "Boy Blubber."

"Get that sexy can back in here Dick!"

Through the door, Alfred glanced at the massive form of Bruce sitting on the end of the bed. His gut was hanging solidly between his thick spread out legs, a huge round sack of flab and muscle, that Bruce was enticingly patting with his hand as he smiled at Dick.

Before he closed the door to their room, Dick looked at Alfred and grinned happily.

The butler smiled and began to return to his quarters.

As he walked away, he could hear the laughter and delighted cries of the men begin again...

Story By: Cube