ultramydanys

This is a friend of mine from my hometown. He got married this year and gained weight. He was very athletic all his life.

1 pic - summer 2022

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We stroll along the shore. The sky turns orange as the sun sets over the ocean. It is so fucking romantic.

Your hand is against my lower back. Just for a second, you slide it down a few inches, into my ill-fitting speedo. You finger casually strokes the coin slot of my crack. Then you pull your hand out as if the contact never happened.

"I love you," you whisper.

"Love you more."

I can't think of a more perfect moment. The sunset. The breeze. The noisy waves. The way the salty air hits my new fattened body.

I don't have a ring yet. But fuck it. I lower myself to the sand, balancing on one knee, and I look up at you. "Kino," I say. "You're the love of my life. Will you...?"

"Stop!" You're crying a little. I can't tell if they're happy tears.

I awkwardly get to my feet. "Kino?"

"I'm not ready," you say as you wipe your eyes. "The answer's gonna be yes, but right now."

They didn't even taste good. That was the ironic part.

The little red berries looked delicious, but when I popped a couple into my mouth, they didn't have much of a taste at all. Sort of like storebought blueberries that had been frozen for too long.

Disappointing.

I leaned back on the park bench, waiting for you to come back. Camping was your thing, not mine. I'd much rather be snuggled up on the couch, watching Netflix or something. But you seemed really insistent about this trip. And after last weekend (when you suffered through my Bikram yoga class without complaint), how could I say no?

As I waited, alone and annoyed, I pulled off my sweat-soaked shirt. For some reason, I was getting really hot. The cool breeze felt nice against my muscular body.

I felt at peace. I also felt... full. It was a strange feeling that gradually got more intense. I felt like I'd just finished a full meal. Then a Thanksgiving dinner. Then an entire buffet.

I was bloated and sluggish, a weird mixture of satisfaction and pain.

Curious, I brought my hands to my flat stomach, but it wasn't flat anymore. I felt a plush layer of fat where my abs should've been. Worse, I felt the fat get thicker and softer under my hands.

I looked down at myself.

What the hell?

I had a loose, flabby belly! I watched in horror as thin bulges of fat grew between my fingers. My hands weren't moving, but my belly was expanding underneath them.

In a panic, I tried to stand.

Woah. I had a whole new center of gravity now. My belly and love handles pulled me down like weights strapped against me. I flopped back onto the bench.

I kept growing.

I felt new creases form across my flab. I felt rolls press against rolls. I felt my pants strain against my thighs. My button popped off, thudding against the underside of my overhang like a BB gun pellet.

I was shocked and horrified, but I knew exactly what had happened. I'd eaten the fat-berries. You warned me about them, but I thought you were exaggerating. I didn't realize...

I let out a reflexive burp, and the changes stopped. I was done growing.

Oh God.

My body was enormous. Just four berries (maybe five), and I was, what? 200 pounds fatter? I was so glad I couldn't see myself.

But you would. You'd be back soon. You'd take one look at me and know that I ate the one thing you warned me against.

What were you gonna say? How would you react? Could you even look at me anymore?

My heart pounded when I saw you walk out of the bushes.

I'm half-Greek (on my mom's side). As a kid, I spent every summer in Zante, a small island surrounded by the sparkling Ionian Sea. It was there that I had my first crush, on a beautiful local named Yiorgos. We grew up together, and it was because of him that I learned I was gay.

We struggled to communicate in words, but the passion we felt for each other said everything. Whenever we could, Yiorgos and I snuck away from my parents and his big-bellied father and... explored.

He was my first, and I was pretty sure I was his. Every year, he'd wait for me on the dock, the water reflecting off his tan, shirtless body. On the ferry ride to Zante, I was always brimming with excitement. I couldn't wait to see him.

And each summer, he got a little older. A little hairier. A little more muscled. The last time I saw him, we were both 19. I was pudgy and average, but Yiorgos had seriously bulked up. He looked nothing like his fat brothers and massive father. He was perfect.

Too perfect, actually. Just seeing him on that dock filled me with self-doubt.

But when we greeted each other with hugs and cheek-kisses, all my doubts went away. He was still interested.

That night, he took me into a secluded section of beach and showed me how interested he was. Multiple times. My pudgy belly wasn't a dealbreaker. In fact, he kept touching it. Squeezing it. Playing with my rolls.

In his broken English, he called me a "big man." If I didn't know better, I'd say he was jealous of my chub.

That summer sped by in a flurry of food, sex, and strolls on the beach. We declared our love (he went first), and when it was finally time for me to return to America, he couldn't hold back his tears. He was going to miss his "big man," and I was definitely going to miss my beautiful beach boy.

I had every intention of seeing him the next year, but I got an internship through my college and couldn't go. I told Yiorgos the bad news via text (his English was getting better), and it took him days to respond.

I'm pretty sure he was mad at me. I kept promising that I'd see him next year. He just had to wait.

Turns out, next year came and went, and we still didn't see each other. And the year after that, same thing. I was busy with school and work, and since I was an adult now, my parents decided that we didn't need family trips anymore.

I had to accept that Yiorgos would forever be a memory. My first love.

Well, I'm 24 now. I got my degree and settled into adult life in Seattle. I finally learned Greek. (I'm not fluent or anything, but I can communicate okay.) And thanks to that skill, I was able to get a job on Zante!

Yiorgos and I kept in touch (mostly in Greek). He still called me his "big man" (megalos antras), and over the phone, we flirted like two men who treasured our time together but knew that we'd never see each other again.

When I told him I was moving to the island, he literally squealed. It was adorable. He couldn't wait to see me.

Of course, I'd changed a lot since I was 19. I lost my baby fat and grew into a lean, hard-muscled guy. Even though I knew he liked my former pudge, I was confident that he'd be happy with my new look. I was finally as hot as him.

Right now, I'm on the ferry to Zante with all my stuff packed into two suitcases. I'm brimming with excitement. I keep picturing my beautiful beach boy waiting for me on the docks.

I wonder if he's changed at all since the last time I saw him...

"You really wanna do this, huh?"

RJ flexed his stick-thin arms. "Fuck yeah, man! I'm gonna get huge!"

"Right," I mumbled.

This whole thing was ridiculous. RJ took me all the way out here because he thought that this specific cove was somehow magical. Bodybuilder Beach, people call it. You supposedly swim around in the waters for a couple minutes, and as soon as you step out, you have the body of your dreams.

Out of all the local legends out there, this was objectively the dumbest. If a beach could truly grow muscles and turn people into bodybuilders, then don't you think that this whole area would be claimed by the government? Don't you think some corporation would start bottling the water and selling it for millions of dollars?

But I loved RJ, and his childlike enthusiasm for this kind of stuff was... Well, I always gave in to his plans.

"Okay," he said. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," I said.

I watched my boyfriend's pale, freckly body ease into the water.

I loved the way he looked. He was so much smaller than me. I could carry him around without much effort. We did a little bit of everything, but in general, I was the dom in our relationship. It was hard to imagine him with bulging muscles.

But whatever. It wasn't going to work anyway. He'd walk out looking exactly the same.

After a few minutes of splashing around like a little kid, RJ disappeared under the water. Ten seconds later, he resurfaced. He had a huge smile on his face (and he kept poking his stomach), but as expected, he was as skinny as ever.

He shouted something at me, but I was too far away to hear it over the crashing waves.

"What?"

"I said, I feel different!"

"Good for you!" I shouted back.

He stepped out of the ocean. Droplets slid down his freckled skin. I already knew what I was going to say:

"It's okay. You're still gorgeous."

Knowing him, I'd have to cheer him up. I'd reassure him that, even though the "magic" water didn't work, he was still perfect.

Except... it was working. With each step out of the water, his body thickened. I watched his arms and chest grow beefy. His torso widened.

What the hell?!

ChatGPT. It gets restrictive sometimes, but I think it gets the job done.

And I'd like to remind everyone that the stories I write are 100% mine. No AI is involved with the prose itself.

Anyway, since you asked, I'll show you my process. Let's say I want to add pictures to a story about a slender gay man who accidentally gets fat because his boyfriend took a cooking class. They both learn to love his growing belly, and the boyfriend starts actively feeding him into morbid obesity. (Tale as old as time, right?)

I'll start by describing the two characters with as much detail as I want and then use the characters for different situations. Pay attention to the adverbs I use, and the different euphemisms. Images get blocked if you describe men active feeding and fattening each other, but if you dance around the issue, you won't have a problem.

I also use "roommates" instead of "boyfriends" and "male models" instead of "hot guys." You'll see...

A handsome, slender male model with shaggy blond hair, tan skin, and pale amber eyes sits comfortably at his kitchen counter while his handsome, burly roommate excitedly serves him a slice of homemade cake. They both wear casual summer clothes.

Before I move on to the next image, I'd adjust this one to remove all the weird bits. For example, there's a slice in his hand but the cake is whole, so I'd fix that. The fork also looks weird, so I'd fix that, too. And ChatGPT tends to repeat the same things (like those necklaces), so I'd deal with that stuff, too. It usually takes multiple adjustments.

But since this is just an example, let's assume I made those changes and move on to the next image:

Same characters watch a movie together on the couch. They're wearing pajamas. They both look comfortable and happy. The blond man ravenously eats potato chips. He's slightly chubbier and more pear-shaped.

Just guys being dudes