Nowhere to Go But Up, Part 3

After my first night with Frank, which we both enjoyed (a lot!), we talked about ground rules if we were to enter a relationship.  It was very different for me to discuss everything in advance, but also refreshing to not have to always be guessing about what the other person wanted.  Frank was pretty uncomplicated, however – he desired companionship and sex…with me…and to be asleep each night by 9:00pm. I was extremely happy with that arrangement, so we decided to get together on Tuesday, Thursdays, and Sundays, since I was off those nights from work.

As you may have guessed, Frank’s life was very regimented.  He would get up each day at 4:30am and hit the gym for a workout.  After showering and shaving in the locker room, he was off to work for when the markets opened, and he would stay until they closed in the mid-afternoon.  Then he’d go to the Carlisle to network with the other brokers and traders, enjoy an early dinner, and be back in bed by the aforementioned 9:00pm. Frank very much valued orderliness and structure in his personal life to balance the chaos of his work as a stockbroker.

Because of Frank’s routine, I would sleep over at his place on the nights we were together – I can sleep anywhere, and to be honest, his bed was about 10 times more comfortable than mine. That first day getting up at 4:30 was more than I could handle, so Frank let me go back to bed and sleep a few hours more. But after that, he suggested I come to the gym with him. “Getting stronger will help your body take on the weight you’re going to add,” he said. “It’ll be a lot easier to carry around.”

And you know what? Frank was right. Working out with the weights did help improve my overall strength, stamina, and flexibility, most of which had greatly diminished since my gymnastics days. Certainly I noticed it became much easier to stand all day during my shifts at the Carlisle, and my back and feet would hurt a lot less by the end of the day. 

Getting into my gym clothes also allowed Frank to tell me how good my thighs looked every time I'd do squats in spandex shorts. "Fuck," he would whisper as I pumped the bar up and down. "I cannot wait to get between those monsters again."

As a bonus, the workouts stimulated my appetite so that I wanted to eat a much heartier breakfast than I had been previously. Instead of just a blueberry yogurt, I would devour multiple breakfast burritos, a bowl of oatmeal, and several slices of peanut butter toast.

As the weeks with Frank turned into months, it’s not a surprise that I began to gain a substantial amount of weight. The big breakfasts, the extravagant dinners, and all the food that he stuffed me with in the bedroom made everything grow bigger than I could have possibly imagined, and I hit 275 pounds six months after we got together. My waist grew from 36 to 42 inches, and my gut bulged up to 54 inches when completely full – pretty good for someone who was only 5’6” tall! I was now wearing XXL shirts, and I often chose light colored polos because they showed off every ounce of flab on my tits and tummy.

But of all my body parts, it was my ass that really exploded in size. If I thought it was big before, I was sadly mistaken. “It’s like the Mount Everest of behinds,” Frank told me one time as I was laying naked in his bed. “It’s so amazingly huge that I want to be touching it all the time.” And touch it he did – with his hands, with his face, and of course with his cock. Almost any time we were together in bed some part of him was touching my butt. Frank even confided that on the nights when he was alone, all he had to do was think about my giant caboose and he would be hard within seconds.

My lover was not the only one who enjoyed what he saw. When walking to work in the mornings, I could sense a lot of eyeballs on me from passersby. I’m sure many of them were disgusted seeing a squatty wall of flab maneuvering down the sidewalk, but I got winks and smiles from plenty of men and women who stared a bit longer than they should. I got a few phone numbers, too.

At the club, shockingly, my level of tips skyrocketed after I gained weight. I’m not sure if it was pity, or lust, or that I was easy to distinguish from the other workers (“send 100 bucks to the guy with the dump truck ass”), but by the time I hit 275, I was earning more each week in gratuities than I made from my regular wages. Frank helped me to strategically invest what I was earning, where previously I was just depositing everything into my checking account, so my stock portfolio ended up growing as fast as the numbers on the scale.

The weight gain, and subsequent uniform exchanges, didn’t bother Ron the tailor at all. He gladly would take back my too-small shirts, vests, and pants and provide me with larger sizes as I got beefier and beefier, and he even did some side work for me to create custom personal clothes for me when my old ones no longer fit. Thanks to his help, and all that triple-stitching in the seams, I was able to look my best no matter the occasion.

My friend Phil, the one who had told me about the job at the Carlisle, was surprised to see me the first time after I ballooned up. But after spending a day together – one in which I did not sit in my food-covered sweatpants playing videogames and smoking dope, but instead one in which we worked out together, rode bikes in the park, and enjoyed a meal at the fanciest restaurant in the city at my expense – he was convinced that everything was going well for me. It also didn’t hurt that I had a smile on my face the entire day and told him about all the other good things happening in my life.

Eventually, the day arrived when Frank got his wish – a chance to work as a stockbroker in New York City. He got a job with JP Morgan and along with it, a huge salary and the opportunities for giant bonuses. We celebrated that night with a marathon sex and feeding session which kept us up until 11:00pm, and we slept in until 7:00am the next morning.  Such debauchery!

Frank worked the final two weeks of his current job, and during that time I helped him pack up his personal belongings and get ready for the move. The only item he didn’t take with him was the bed, which he had delivered to my apartment because he knew I loved it so much. He even paid extra for the frame to be reinforced so that my growing body wouldn’t damage it in case I had too much fun with future paramours.

I wasn’t sad when things ended with Frank because I had gotten so much from the relationship – I was stronger, better, and more confident than ever. I also knew Frank and I would continue to be friends, which was very different than all my previous partners (including Lucas, who had stopped returning my texts shortly after he moved away). I even asked if it would be OK if I visited him when he was settled, and Frank pulled out a round-trip first-class ticket from his kitchen drawer. “Definitely, my big blond butterball.” he said, while taking one more grasp of my gigantic ass. “Come whenever you want.”

After Frank left, I kept up the daily routine he had shared with me: early to bed, early to rise, and early in the gym. I continued making really good money at the club, and I made plans to meet up with Phil more often. We’d both been so busy the past few months that we had been neglecting our friendship, and we felt we owed it to another to make a stronger effort to get together.

Finally, I also decided that after two casual relationships, I wanted the next one to be long-term. Like really long-term.  As Frank had taught me, I was going to be honest and let my suitors know what I wanted rather than stumbling through the relationship and ending up disappointed.

I met some new men at the club, of course, and I met even more at the gym. Unlike the stories where the frat bros would ridicule the fatty whose gut was bobbing up and down while he walked ever-so-slowly on the treadmill, the muscleheads I met were more than happy give fitness advice when asked, show me exercises that worked for them, and, when really interested, buy me protein shakes at the juice bar. I wasn’t always as disciplined as I had hoped, as I ended up hooking up with some of these guys in the gym shower, but for the most part I stuck to my quest for a long-term partner.

Over the few months, I went out with Barry, and Hank, and Quinton. There was also Stan, Yves, and Alejandro. Plus Marco, Marcus, and Mark. And a host of others. They were all handsome and nice, but none of them had the same interests as me, so nothing evolved into a grand romance.

The one thing these dates did lead to: a bigger body. The added fat, plus the muscle from my workouts, took me up to 300 pounds – and fuck, I was enormous! I had officially doubled my weight from my time as a gymnast, but I honestly never felt better. And sexier. I stopped buying clothes from retailers and instead paid Ron a generous fee to make all my clothes for me, which he was happy to do. I would stand there is his tailoring office, naked except for my boxers, and checked myself in the very wide mirrors as he measured every flabby fold. I would also jiggle my 58 inch belly and play with my sagging (but very sensitive) pecs, hoping to have a member walk in and catch me in the act.

Even if I hadn’t found Mr. Right at this point in my life, I was still very happy with how things were going. I had a terrific job, I was financially secure, and best of all, I adored my new and improved physique. Plus I had that great bed!

Little did I know that two surprises were coming very soon that would change my life forever.