– June –

The heatwave never broke–it only intensified as summer settled over the house in a miasma. It was too hot to do much of anything, it was too hot to think, it was too hot to worry about these sorts of things. Carl stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, looking intently at his face, looking at the sweat bead on it and run down, but mostly he was looking at two things. First, he was looking at his hairline, and second, he was looking at a single white hair which had appeared overnight next to his left ear.

He was looking at his hairline, because he had noticed, over the last two weeks, since Bud had finally finished painting the outside of the house and had moved onto the rooms inside, that his hairline had begun receding. Each day, he would wake up, and scattered on his pillows in bed, or more likely, on the cushions of the couch where he was sleeping more and more often, would be a smattering of hairs, and he would look at himself in the mirror, and from day to day he could almost watch it retreat up his head, thinning out as he did. Already, the two divots on either side of his head had connected, leaving him with a thinning tuft in the center of his forehead, and with his hand, he reached back and felt the small patch of bare skin where his whirl had been days before.

Was it the heat? Was it the stress? Was it the sex? He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it. His father still had a full head of hair. His grandfathers all had had full heads of hair when they died. And here he was, twenty-nine and losing everything all at once, and now grey hair even, on top of that. Right there, staring him right in the face. He grabbed at it with his fingers and tried to pull it out, but it was too slick with sweat for him to get a grip on it, and he sighed, turned around and stared for a few minutes at the ruins of his shower behind him.

The past month, Bud’s work had been slipping steadily. Ever since that night when Carl had blown him for the first time, the contractor had seemed more interest in having sex, drinking beer, and smoking cigars than getting any work done. Still, every time Carl tried to have a conversation with him about, he would either be busy and attest that Carl was just imagining things, or he would be relaxing, and simply tell Carl that it was too hot to work, and–

“Why don’t ya get those sweet lips of yours over here and suck me dry, man?”

Carl spun around, and found Bud behind him, naked in the doorway, one hand stroking his cock, and a beer in the other, leering.

Carl ignored him. “How much longer are you going to be working on the shower, Bud?” he asked, “It’s been three days, and I want to cool off–not to mention the fact that I reek.”

“I like the way you reek though,” Bud said, coming close, pulling Carl close to him and licking the sweat up from the side of Carl’s neck.

“Bud, come on, not right now, I’m too damn hot.”

“I’m hot too, but not in the way you’re thinking. Come on man, quit being such a buzzkill. You know what we need to do? We need to get you good and drunk–I bet you’d be such a good lay if you were fucking smashed.”

Carl managed to push him away and slip past him to the door, “Why don’t you fix the shower Bud, and then we fuck? How about getting some goddamn work done for a change?” He walked off down the hallway and to his office, Bud chuckling behind him and heading downstairs to get his tools, Carl hoped.

In his office, he shut the door behind him, sat down at his computer and tried to immerse himself in the websites he needed to design for his clients, but it was so hot, and his focus kept slipping, because that short stint with Bud had him hard and nothing was helping calm him down. He bit his lip, and then slid open a drawer and pulled out a cigar, lighter and ashtray and lit up, taking a long inhale of smoke before exhaling a plume towards the window and sighed.

He couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to pick up this disgusting habit. He’d promised himself that it would only be an occasional thing. Something he’d do around Bud, they’d smoke a cigar or two, and fuck–it did make their fucks amazing–but lately it seemed like he needed to smoke to do much of anything. With the smoke easing his nerves a bit, he managed to get some work done, but the smoke kept him hard, and he kept leaning back in his chair, massaging his cock in his damp khakis and boxers.

He should be the one walking around naked, he thought, not Bud. This was his house after all, but he felt like his clothing was a shield almost, something he could use against Bud to keep him off of him if he didn’t feel like fucking. If he was naked, well, then what would he have? Hell, even being dressed didn’t help all the time–Bud was almost constantly horny, but then again, Carl was horny all the time too. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, he pulled up some porn and started jacking, but as had become usual, he didn’t even pay attention to the video, he was thinking about Bud. Thinking about how hot it was to have his thick cock down his throat, that big ring resting hard down there, thinking about his musk, about how Carl could spend an hour sometimes just smelling Bud’s pits, licking the sweat from them, thinking about his big gut, and how hot it was, feeling it pushing back against his face as he tried to swallow as much of the shaft as he could, wondering what it might feel like to have it up his ass…

He shot his load at that thought, before his mind could wander too far down that path. Carl still hadn’t let Bud fuck him, but he could sense that Bud wanted it. He wanted it too, but the previous times that he’d tried to take something up his ass, it had simply hurt too much to even consider it as a kind of sex for him. And yet, even though Bud’s cock was bigger than any of his previous boyfriends’, even though he was certain it would hurt more than anything he’d ever tried, he still wanted it. Hell, Bud had managed to rid him of his gag reflex in about a week, he was sure Bud could work miracles on his hole as well, and yet something still seemed to hold him back. It felt like…like if things went that far, then what little bit of control Carl still had over this entire situation would vanish, and he’d never be able to reclaim it.

He cleaned himself up, and took a few minutes at the window to finish the cigar, watching the late evening sun advance across the southern sky, baking everything underneath it. What a summer so far. There was a drought, and water shortages, and everyone’s lawns were brown and dying. He snubbed out the cigar and sat back down at the computer, feeling a bit better. He managed to sink into the zone for a little bit, getting more work done than he’d managed over the previous days, and the sun finally sank low enough behind a hill on the horizon, bringing a welcome relief from the heat. It wasn’t too long after that, when there was a knock on the door of his office, he got up and answered, and found Bud fully clothed for a change.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted some pizza? I’m kind of hungry, and this shower is giving me some problems. I was gonna keep working on it tonight, if you don’t mind, after we eat.”

“Oh, uh…sure,” Carl said, “Feel free.”

Carl assumed that that would settle the discussion, but Bud hung around at the door, for a few moments, almost like he was expecting something, and he finally added, “I’m working for you–I’m not buying.”

Carl rolled his eyes, pulled out his wallet and gave Bud a twenty.

“Twenty? Come on, who do you think we’re feeding here? And I wanted to get some beer and cigars too, you know, in case we wanted them for later.”

“How much do you want?”

“Sixty should do it.”

“Sixty?” Carl said, “Seriously?”

Bud just waited for him, saying nothing, and so he pulled out his wallet and gave him two more twenties and left it at that, Bud giving him a grin and a peck on the cheek, before running down to his truck and driving off. Carl took a moment to take a look at the bathroom again, and it looked like the shower was in even worse condition than earlier in the day, and he sighed, and returned to his office. At least he worked at home, where the only other person who had to smell him was Bud, and the contractor seemed to enjoy that a bit more than Carl thought was healthy. He tried to get back into the zone of work, but Bud had successfully shaken him out of it, and he tried to jack off again, but couldn’t quite finish before he heard the front door open and Bud come back in, calling “Dinner!” from down in the living room.

Carl went downstairs, and saw that Bud hadn’t been joking–he must have been hungry. There were five large pizzas stacked up on the coffee table, two twenty four packs of cheap beer, and a pile of cellophane wrapped cigars. “Dang man, are we having a party or something?”

“Nah, I’m just starved!” Carl said, “This heat must be getting to me. Still, we can always eat the leftovers tomorrow, right? Come on, take a seat, take a break! You work too hard.”

“Yeah, and you don’t work hard enough. What’s up with the shower? It’s a disaster in there.”

‘Not sure, I’m still trying to figure it out,” Bud said, popping open a beer, and chugging most of it down, before letting off a loud belch of approval.

Carl walked around to the couch and sat down, opening up the top pizza box and taking a slice, which he started eating. Bud found the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found a wrestling match, and then joined Carl on the couch, naked again, and he started undressing Carl next to him, talking as he did, like usual.

“I don’t understand how you keep wearing this shit everyday–aren’t you hot in all of this stuff?”

“Fuckin’ white collar types, never could understand you guys. Wouldn’t you rather just let it all hang out?”

“Looks like you’re putting on a paunch man–guess you’d better kiss those abs you had goodbye, eh?”

A bit surprised at the last comment, Carl looked down and noticed he had put on a bit of a belly. When in the world had that happened, and how had he not even noticed? Bud gave in a rub and then a sharp slap, making Carl jump.

“Fuck, I bet you thought you’d be thin all your life eh? Just another gym rat, toned body until you die, guess that’s not gonna happen–you’re just a lazy fuck at heart, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you Bud, I go to the gym,” Carl said, but then he realized, he hadn’t been to the gym lately. In fact, he hadn’t been to the gym in weeks. He’d had a routine, he would get up every morning and do his weights and cardio, and he’d just stopped doing it. All of it. When had he stopped? He thought back, and realized the first day had been in May, when he’d woken up still on the couch, Bud’s boxers draped over his face, and he blushed. He still had those boxers actually, he had them stashed under his mattress. Bud had never asked for them back, either.

“Have another slice,” Bud said, grabbing another piece of pizza, and holding it up to Carl’s mouth.

“I think I’m full actually.”

“Eat it, piggy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I said eat it.”

Carl tried to get up from the couch, but Bud suddenly straddled him, pushing him back into the couch, and Carl realized he didn’t really have a choice in the matter, and that this treatment had him hard all over again, and so he opened his mouth and let Bud feed him the slice of pizza. However, it didn’t stop after one slice, Bud just grabbed a fresh box of pizza and started feeding him the entire pie, stopping on occasion to make him guzzle an entire can of beer, or take a drag off a cigar, the entire time urging him on, and humiliating him for doing what Bud told him.

“You are a pig, aren’t you? You fucking love eating–it’s ok, just give in, just accept it.”

“Have you ever thought about being fat? I bet you have. I bet it scares you, but it makes you hard sometimes too, doesn’t it? Does the thought of weighing 300, 400 pounds scare you? Does that get you hard piggy?”

“Eat it–don’t fucking gag, we dealt with that already, just eat, it’s all your fucking good for.”

Carl finished one pie, and then another one. He wasn’t sure when exactly, but Bud had moved one of Carl’s hands down so that he was stroking his own cock as Bud fed him, and he was hard, but not because of the food, right? He just felt so full, and so drunk, and the entire room was either too dark, or too bright depending on where he was looking.

“Come on pig, come on, shoot that load with this full belly of yours.”

Carl gasped as he came, and it hurt, trying to bend forward as he shot, but his belly, now stretched into a hard gut, refused to yield, and he felt bile well up but he quelled it back somehow. He’d never felt this full in his entire life, and he felt sick, but he also felt good, and horny, and drunk.

He looked up a Bud, but couldn’t quite focus on him somehow, and heard a voice say, “Fuck me.” No, it wasn’t a voice, it was his voice. He’d said that, and he did want it. “Fuck me, Bud. No one’s fucked me before, but fuck me–please. I’m scared, but…but I think…I think I need it. I’m so horny, please…”

“What a fucking slut,” Bud said to Carl, as he ran his hand through the globs of cum on Carl’s belly, “Just a fucking little whore, eh? Never been fucked before? I’ll be the fuckin’ judge of that, that cherry better be tight, boy.” He took his cum wet fingers and slipped them between Carl’s legs, and then between his cheeks. He started probing the hole with his middle finger, and Carl groaned. “I bet you’ve fantasized about this, boy. Having a real man like me fuck you rough–because it’s gonna be rough boy. I’m gonna make you a man tonight–you want that? You want daddy to make you a man?”

Carl nodded as Bud slid his finger into his ass, and he didn’t know whether it was the beer loosening him up, or just how horny he was, but it felt entirely different from the other times he’d ever played with his ass, when it had hurt like a hard knot. Bud’s fingers though, they slipped into him like they belonged there–like the hole had been waiting for him to claim it all this time, and it felt good. It felt good having him in there. It felt right. He did his best to slide down onto his hand, but his heavy gut wouldn’t let him move far, and he gave it a rub. It was so big–it couldn’t be that big could it?

Carl’s worry was interrupted by Bud bending down and grabbing both of his ankles in his hand, and throwing his legs up in the air, lifting him up high enough that he could rub his hard, leaking cock against his hole. “No…not here,” Carl said, his words slurring themselves, “The bedroom.”

“I’m gonna fuck you wherever I want, and whenever I want, boy,” Bud said, and to punctuate his point, he drove the head into Carl’s hole, watching him gasp. The contractor’s thick cock was a different matter than his fingers, but Bud wasn’t going to take no for an answer. This was his hole now, and Carl was more than happy to give it to him, and so he nodded, and focused on taking Bud’s cock, trying not to let out how painful it was, while still trying to do what Bud told him to do.

“Raise up. I said raise up! Fuck, you’re fuckin’ hopeless. Get me that fuckin’ pillow, since you’re such a lazy fuck.”

“Push down. Push down like you’re shitting, and you’ll open up…That’s it…that’s it boy, daddy’s home, better let him all the way in.”

“Feel that? Feel that? I’m all the way in boy, you took me to the hilt you fucking slut. Feels good doesn’t it? You’re gonna be fuckin’ insatiable, you’re gonna want me in ya day ‘n night.”

Bud didn’t last too long, once he had his cock all the way in. Carl had barely adjusted to the size of his cock by the time he let out a strange cry, pumping cum into his ass, and then he collapsed down, right onto Carl’s massive gut, making Carl lurch, and then he pulled out and rolled off onto the couch next to him, and Carl could feel the cum leaking out of his hole and onto the cushion beneath him, but all he could do was massage his sore gut, and when Bud handed him a lit cigar he happily smoked it down. The rest of the evening, Bud told Carl how proud of him he was for all of that, pulling him close so Carl’s face ended up in the crook of his armpit, and Carl would always end up licking and nibbling at the musk there. He was already drunk, but Bud didn’t stop with his feeding, plying him with more beer, and they both finished the last pizza together, or at least they must have, because when Carl woke up the next morning, on his couch, the sun already high and blazing, all of the boxes were empty, and he was starving and hungover, his ass hurt and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, so he grabbed a warm beer and chugged it down, letting off a belch, and then lit himself a cigar, and laid back on the couch, nursing his swollen gut.

His gut.

“What the fuck…” Carl said, looking down at the swollen mound that had erupted from his belly overnight. It was even bigger than he could remember from the night before. He got up off the couch and nearly lost his balance. It was much heavier than he was expecting, and he walked over to where a mirror hung by the front door and got a better look at himself, and realized there was no other way to look at it. He was fat–not even overweight. He’d gone from slightly out of shape to obese in a single night. He grabbed his love handles and gave the gut a jiggle, and it felt surprisingly hot, his cock rising to half-mast from the sensation of fat rubbing against it, but that was so wrong. He had moobs too, actual flab where his pecs had been, and he groped them a few times, the first couple experimentally, and the next few because it felt so sensual he didn’t really want to stop, but then he noticed his hair.

His hairline had receded at least an inch from where he’d inspected it the day before, and the single white hair he’d found had multiplied into two large patches covering his temples. He couldn’t take this, he couldn’t fucking handle this right now. He took a deep drag off his cigar, pulling as much smoke into his lungs as he could, and then did the only thing he could think of. He plopped back down on the couch and had another beer, and when that one didn’t make him feel better, he had another, and another. He’d drank five down by the time he heard a grunt and a yawn from the stairs behind him, and he saw Bud yawning as he came down naked, looking like he’d just woken up.

Carl stood up from the couch, swaying a bit as he did. How much had he just drank? It didn’t matter, none of this mattered beyond getting some fucking answers. “What the fuck Bud, what the fuck happened to me? I’m fucking fat.”

Bud just stared at him, looking a bit confused. “Of course you’re fat, bro. Are you drunk already? Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?”

“I’m fucking fat, Bud. I must have gained, I don’t know, a hundred pounds last night, what the fuck did you do to me? And did you sleep here last night? What the fucking hell! This is my goddamn house Bud, and you’re just my fucking contractor–you don’t get to sleep in my bed.”

“Well the couch was taken, and it was late. I didn’t think you’d throw a tantrum. Besides, I guess I kind of assumed that, well, after last night…I guess I just…”

“What, you thought I wanted to date you?” Carl asked, “Bud, what the hell is going on here, there’s…I mean…I just feel so…fucked up all of a sudden.”

Carl felt himself start crying suddenly, and he was too drunk now to try and hold it back, and when Bud came over and pulled him into a hug, he let him. He felt so safe in Bud’s arms, smelling him. It was so familiar now–and he had the sudden realization that if Bud left, if he kicked Bud out–he’d never get to smell him again. He’d never smell this, for feel his arms, or his rough hands, or any of it, and he’d miss it. He’d miss it so much.

“Look,” Bud said, “It’s all alright, eh? It was just a rough night, everything’s ok bro, I promise. Here, how about I make us some breakfast, will that make you feel better. I bet you just have low blood sugar or somethin’.”

Carl nodded, and he kept smoking cigars and drinking beers all through breakfast, and by the end of the meal, he was laughing and joking along with Bud, although all of Bud’s jokes seemed to end up with Carl being the butt of them.

“Dang bro, how in the hell did you manage to lose all of your hair already? You’re gonna look like a damn geezer. Might as well just admit defeat and shave it all off.”

“Do you have to eat like such a pig? Close your mouth for Christ’s sake, and it’s not gonna run away, maybe take your time? Though I’m happy you like my cookin’.”

“Save some beer for the rest of us, fuck. It’s not even noon yet man. Oh wait, is it? Ha! It’s two in the afternoon, and we’re eating breakfast, fuck–what a night.”

They never managed to clean up after breakfast, because before long Bud had moved over to Carl’s side of the table and started feeding his gut, Carl moaning through eggs, pancakes and beer, his cock hard again, and then right there on the kitchen floor, he got down on his hands and knees begging Bud to fuck him again, and the contactor was more than happy to do so. When they finished, they went back to the living room and watched TV, and the only moment of worry Carl had was while Bud was taking his time in the bathroom, and he got up to look himself in the mirror again, but now the gut didn’t seem strange at all. In fact, he kind of liked it, and it was suddenly hard to imagine himself without it, but just a month earlier he’d had a full head of hair, and muscles and all of it. Almost trying to prove it to himself, he found the khakis he’d stripped out of the night before, but he couldn’t even fit one of his legs into them. The same with the shirts–there was no hope for them to even button over his new belly.

“What the fuck are you trying to wear that shit for?” Bud said behind him.

“I just…these fit yesterday, I swear they did. I just…I can’t shake the feeling that something weird is happening.”

“You don’t really want to wear that stuff do you? It’s too hot for shit like that.”

“I guess, but–”

“Here, you know what? Just wear some of my stuff,” Bud said, picking up a wifebeater and pair of boxers off the floor and handing them to Carl. He hesitated for a moment, but tried them on anyway, and they were rank with sweat, but they smelled like Bud, and he started getting hard almost immediately, but the clothes did fit.

“Thanks…hey, I gotta go piss,” Carl said, and pushed past Bud and into the downstairs bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and quickly rubbed one off, fondling his fat and smelling Bud’s dirty clothes he was now wearing, imagining the sweat wearing off onto him, imagining that if he kept wearing them, he might even start smelling like Bud. He finally came when he reached between his legs and fingered his loose hole for a moment, letting out a soft moan. Outside the door, Bud stroked his own cock, listening, and then chuckled and sat back down on the couch, waiting for his pig to join him for another cigar, another beer, another meal, and another fuck.