Gorilon

Oh yeah I'm 500 pounds

2026

I took a date out to dinner. I could barely get out of the car, and struggled to waddle 100 m to the restaurant. My belly sticks out a *long* way in front of me now, and my thighs and back ache from heaving it along.

The restaurant tried to change us to bar seating, so I made something of a scene in which I asked them if they “*really* wanted me to actually try to sit” on the bar stool.

We ended up moved to a booth, and we pushed the table against the opposite seat, and we sat next to each other, my belly touching the table.

I had every appetiser on the menu, three main courses, and two desserts, followed by a mess of pussy.

Photos taken after dinner follow.

Happy and satisfied with my 160 kg of wobbly pork 🐷🐷🐷

I don’t want to get a little softer. I want to get massively fat.

I want every trace of definition drowned beneath layer after layer of heavy, wobbling fat. I want my belly spilling over my lap, my chest hanging soft and full, my thighs spreading wider every time I sit down. I want to outgrow clothes so fast they barely have time to become mine… buttons straining, waistbands disappearing under rolls, shirts riding up over a gut that refuses to stay contained.

I want other gainers to look at me and see that I’ve gone far beyond “thick.” I want them to see someone completely devoted to growing: greedier, softer, heavier, and more excessive every month. I want every old photo to look like a different man… smaller, harder, almost unrecognizable beneath everything I’ve added.

I want grease on my lips, slick fingers resting on a belly already stuffed tight, and another plate waiting because being full isn’t the end… it’s the moment I decide I still want more.

Praise every pound. Worship every new roll. Tell me I’m getting enormous, then tell me I’m nowhere near big enough.

I don’t want to stop when my clothes surrender.

I want to keep going until my entire body is buried in fat and then get fatter still.