Beefy Bear

Gotta make em grow somehow 😈

Bro keeps stuffing that belly UP

Competing for food at the truck stop is one way to end up in the belly of a trucker 😈

Daddy's had so much food today, needs so many rubs!

He just keeps growing and growing 😈

What was in that shake, dude? I keep inflating 🥵

Eating on the job 😈

He's so stuffed but you just keep on feeding him 🥵😈

You see him in the side mirror first — uniform shirt riding up, hooked over the top of a belly that looks *painfully* full. There's a dusting of powdered sugar on the curve of it. A few stray crumbs clinging to the hem of his undershirt. He's not even trying to hide it.

He saunters up to your window, one hand resting on top of his gut like he's holding it steady, the other thumbing through his ticket book. His belt is doing heroic work. The button above it? Long gone. Surrendered somewhere between the third and fourth donut.

"License and registration."

You hand them over, eyes flicking — you can't help it — down to the bloated, crumb-covered swell pressed inches from your window. He notices. Of course he notices.

"Something distracting you?"

"Admit it…" he leans in, voice low, that knowing grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You like how fat I've gotten."

The shirt is doing its best. Honestly, it's been doing its best for weeks now — every morning a little more strain across the chest, a little more gap between the buttons, a little more of him spilling into the world. He knows. He picked this shirt on purpose.

He shifts forward, and his belly presses against the fabric like it's been waiting for an excuse —

*pop.*

The button over his navel gives up first, skittering somewhere across the floor. He doesn't even flinch. Just glances down, then back up at the camera, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

Brad got soooo stuffed at the buffet... Though he still looks hungry 😈

Brad got soooo stuffed at the buffet... Though he still looks hungry 😈

**Beau — Month Three**

"Still a work in progress… but I'm getting there."

He says it with that little half-smile, the one that's been showing up more often lately. The jeans he's wearing used to be loose. Now they sit snug under the soft curve that's started to settle around his middle. He pats it once, almost shy, almost proud.

Three months ago he wouldn't have said it out loud. Three months ago he wouldn't have filmed it either. But something's changed — in the way he carries himself, the way he lingers a little longer at the table, the way he's stopped apologizing for taking up more space.

Getting there. One slow, soft inch at a time.