#davecall93

“You seem to be assimilating. Mind if I join you?” Bleecker sat himself next to Sebastian. He grinned at his roommate. “Three boxes, eh?”

“Well, I did not want to be selfish. One container for me, one for you, and one for…” Sebastian trailed off.

He thought of Felix, who he would be grabbing a beer with later that evening. It was not customary in Greece or in America to bring someone cookies. But he thought Felix was someone who would not mind getting cookies on a date, especially if he thought the person feeding them to him was… Sebastian noticed he was getting hard. What had been a funny feeling was turning into more concrete images. He blushed slightly.

“You know what we’re missing, little man,” said Bleecker sitting up. “You gotta have milk. Cold fresh milk.”

“Yes! I have seen this before,” said Sebastian, excitedly. “You dip the cookies in the milk. ‘I made you some milk and cookies.’ This is something your mother serves you, right?”

“This is something Bleecker does right now.”

Bleecker got up and pulled the gallon of whole milk from the fridge. To keep weight up, he always kept milk on hand and tried to drink it as often as possible. While he loved fattening, cheap food, he saw no reason to skimp on something so delectable so he bought the good, local milk. There were even days when he would just polish off the gallon. He found two beer glasses and poured them nearly full. As he was about to put the milk away, he shrugged and opened the gallon again and took a few glugs himself. “Fuck yeah. That’s the stuff,” he thought as he felt it settle in his belly.

He brought in the two glasses and set them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“My first cookie in milk, here goes nothing,” Sebastian grinned.  

Bleecker laughed. Sebastian’s enthusiasm charmed him.

It was the first cookie but certainly not the last. Sebastian dipped and ate cookie after cookie with abandon. Eventually he realized the cold milk was as delicious as the cookies themselves, and he yearned to capture the little crumbs that were now floating in the glass.

“You just drink it like this?” asked Sebastian.

Bleecker laughed: “Yeah, you can drink it.”

Sebastian took a few massive gulps of the thick frothy liquid. He was surprised by how satisfying the milk was and began to understand why Americans made a habit out of keeping milk ice cold and creamy. Satisfied, he put the glass down so as to prevent himself from drinking the whole thing in one sitting.

Bleecker laughed. “You have a milk moustache.”

“A what?”

“Hold on.”

Bleecker grabbed his phone and in the camera app, showed Sebastian the line of white milk over his lip.Although Sebastian had shaved the day before, the stubble betraying his Meditterrean origins dotted the white line.

“Oh! A milk moustache!” he laughed. “I love it.”

“You can lick it off,” replied Bleecker.

“My first milk moustache…” said Sebastian, running his tongue over his upper lip.

“I’ll get us some more,” said Bleecker.

As Bleecker headed to the kitchen, Sebastian noticed that his stomach was completely stuffed once again. It felt tight as a drum and with even the slightest movement he could feel the cookies and milk sloshing around. It was rather uncomfortable and Sebastian wondered if this was how Bleecker felt all the time.

“I’m going to be a fat rugby player and I don’t even play rugby,” he wistfully said to himself while rubbing his firm stomach.

Bleecker emerged with the full gallon of milk and a fresh box of cookies.

“Hey, Sebastian, you wanna have an eating contest? My teammates and I have them from time to time. We should find out if you’re competitive.”

Sebastian imagined a group of men who all looked like Bleecker gorging themselves as fast as they could. In his head he couldn’t help but envisage Felix there, competing alongside Sebastian while also cheering him on. Felix’s pants were tight from gorging, which only amplified his generous bulge. As he continued to stuff himself the pants would burst open at the zipper and Sebastian would get down on his knees and—

“Sebastian?”

Bleecker’s voice snapped Sebastian out of his horny reverie.

“Yes, an eating contest! Let’s do it.”

Bleecker poured the cookies and divided them into two even piles. “Okay, 3...2...1...go!”

The two boys began shoveling cookies into their mouths. Sebastian strained to keep up as best he could, for he was quite stuffed already. Whereas Bleecker had practice and room, and therefore, the clear advantage. Cookie after cookie went into his mouth, washed down by large quantities of milk. After several minutes Sebastian tapped out. This didn’t stop Bleecker, who kept going solely because he still had milk in his glass. Finally, when he’d washed down his final cookie with the last drop of milk from his glass, he declared victory by belching loudly.

“You are a champion,” said Sebastian, who found himself putting out his hand to rub Bleecker’s considerable belly.

At this point, Sebastian was fully hard. Something about the American’s unbridled gluttony was so appealing to him in a carnal and primitive way. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Sebastian had never felt this way before. As he rubbed Bleecker’s bloated belly in circles, Sebastian realized that he had to resist plunging his entire face into Bleecker’s abdomen.

Shockingly, Bleecker grabbed Sebastian’s wrist. Panic struck Sebastian out of fear he had crossed a boundary. But, surprisingly, he was wrong. Bleecker continued moving Sebastian’s hands around in a circle while he let out another belch.

“Welcome to America, Sebastian. This,” he paused and pressed Sebastian’s hand deeper into his belly fat to give it a jiggle, “can all be yours someday.”

Wide eyed and aroused, Sebastian stuck out his own hairy stomach, imagining what it would feel like if it were as big as Bleecker’s.