George Knopf
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Gordito: Chapter 6
🕑 Added 2025-08-17 15:00:02 +0000 UTCLee woke to the low hum of the motel’s air conditioner and the lingering scent of carne asada and sweat on the sheets. The cheap room was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light, casting everything in a soft amber glow. Beside him, Juan Pablo snored gently, one thick arm draped over Lee’s midsection. Lee lay still, sinking into the mattress and not ready to move. His body felt heavy, drowsy with sleep, with food, with the aching satisfaction of being used and fed and touched for days on end. He was drowning in Juan Pablo’s pheromones, swept into a haze of love, sex, and gluttony.
Eventually, he sat up. The sheet slipped down to his waist, catching slightly on the soft swell of his stomach. His belly looked fuller than ever in the low light. It was round and plush, the skin warm and taut from a night full of unbridled hedonism. He reached down instinctively and ran his fingers along the curve of it, somewhat entranced by the girth of his own physique. That’s when he noticed them. Thin, silvery streaks traced across near his navel, faint but unmistakable. Stretch marks.
Lee exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the little signs of change. Proof of his body expanding, of being pushed and softened and fed until his skin couldn’t keep up. He touched one of the marks with a kind of reverence, heart pounding. He could hardly believe what was happening to him. Here he was, fatter than he’d ever imagined, on a work trip with his boss who was twice his age and fucking him silly.
Juan Pablo stirred behind him, his voice still thick with sleep. “You admiring yourself again?”
Lee smiled. “Maybe.”
Juan Pablo reached up and trailed a hand across Lee’s belly, thumb brushing one of the marks. He hummed low in his throat. “You’re growing so good for me, gordito. Beautiful.”
Lee flushed hot, not just from the compliment, but from the way he said it like he meant it. Like this slow softening was a gift.
“You’re gonna make it hard to go back to real life,” Lee murmured.
Juan Pablo’s hand stayed splayed across his stomach, fingers firm. “Maybe this is real life. The rest?” He shrugged. “Just noise.”
That struck something deep in Lee. He turned and kissed Juan Pablo slowly, letting himself melt into the weight of the man beneath him. They didn’t leave until checkout, dragging their feet, stopping for one last greasy meal on the drive home.
By midweek, Lee was back on the job, back in the sun, his body dragging more than usual. The weekend at the motel had been indulgent in every sense. Too much food, too much beer, too much time in bed. Lee had loved it every moment of it, but nonetheless he was feeling the repercussions.
He panted harder than he used to, even on simple tasks. A month ago, he could still fake his old stamina. Now, not so much. The worst part of all: Marco noticed.
The young stud didn’t say anything at first. He simply observed. He watched the way Juan Pablo lingered when giving Lee directions, how Juan Pablo always brought Lee extra food, how his gaze would drift when Lee bent over to pick something up. Then there was the way Lee had started groaning after climbing stairs, rubbing absentmindedly at his lower back or stretching the waist of his jeans like they were pinching. Each of these exaggerated gestures were noticed by Juan Pablo, and Marco could see through the whole thing.
“You alright, man?” Marco asked one afternoon, after Lee dropped onto a stump near the work truck, wiping sweat from his eyes.
“Yeah,” Lee puffed. “Just hot.”
Marco looked him over, then cracked a water bottle. “That’s what happens when you put on weight.”
Lee hesitated. “I suppose.”
Marco passed him the water but didn’t let it go right away. “Look, I don’t care what’s going on with you and Juan Pablo. But maybe be careful, yeah?”
Lee’s throat went dry. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, people talk. And not everyone’s cool with... certain things.” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it was edged. “He’s your boss. This kind of thing could blow back on both of you.”
Lee stared at him, heart thudding.
Marco released the bottle and walked off, casual, like he hadn’t just yanked the rug out from under Lee. Lee tried to let Marco’s warning roll off his back, but it lingered in the way Marco looked at him the next morning. The silence felt loaded. The glances lingered a little too long. Lee tried to chalk it up to jealousy. Marco was young, fit, still trying to prove himself. The final blow came that afternoon, when Lee ducked behind the truck to get a cooler and heard Marco’s voice, low and sharp on the phone.
“Yeah, I’m telling you—he’s fattening up that kid like a Thanksgiving turkey. You don’t do that for just any worker. Shit’s weird.”
Lee froze. The cooler slipped from his hand with a dull thunk.
That night, after the trucks were parked and the tools stowed, Lee told Juan Pablo everything. They stood in the quiet of the garage, the air heavy with motor oil and anxiety. Juan Pablo’s face grew cold.
“If people start talking,” he said tightly, “I could lose everything.”
“So? Let them talk.”
Juan Pablo turned away. “You don’t get it. This is my livelihood. I spent twenty years building this business. You think the clients in this town want a boss who’s... gay? Even worse, fattening up one of his twink workers?”
Lee flinched at the word. “Is that what I am to you?”
Juan Pablo didn’t answer.
By Friday, the heat between them had cooled. No packed lunches. No playful nudges. No extra sodas passed hand-to-hand. Just work orders barked out and silence in between. Lee tried to laugh it off with the crew, but even they seemed to notice. Marco especially. On Tuesday, Juan Pablo and Lee did a delivery run with just the two of them. The silence was brutal. Lee couldn’t take it.
“How can you act like this after the weekend we just had?” he said, voice low, eyes forward.
Juan Pablo gripped the wheel tighter. “You don’t understand. This world, it’s not kind to men like me. I’ve built something. I can’t have people thinking I’m weak.”
“Is that what this is to you? Weakness?”
A long beat. Juan Pablo’s jaw clenched, but no words came.
Lee didn’t push. He just stared out the window. When they got back to the yard, Lee didn’t say goodbye.
That night, he drove home alone, stomach aching not from hunger, but from the weight of everything left unsaid. Nevertheless, he stopped at a fast food joint and dropped a pretty penny on a mountain of comfort food. When he got home he threw the food on the table and undressed. He scarfed the calorie-laden junk food down in a frenzy, his cock stiff and his brow sweating. When he finally finished the food and faced himself in the mirror, he didn’t recognize the man staring back.
The stretch marks had grown red in recent days. The fat atop his muscles had begun to succumb to gravity. The overbulked Lee from earlier this summer was transforming into a fat guy. He was doughier than ever. Even the angles of his face had softened. Was this who he was becoming? And was he doing it for himself or Juan Pablo?
Comments
Poppa Jim
Vulnerability and anxiety for both of them. The tension is building 👷♂️. I hope things progress well. For both of them.
