The Journal pt 6

The Journal 6

Jerry was spending his summer working at a small software company near the college. His boss, Tom, had convinced Jerry and Mike, a husky co-worker, to pull an all-nighter to make progress on a large project for an important client. Tom walked in to see Jerry rubbing his screen-strained eyes.

“Jerry, Mike, for working this late, I’ll take you out to dinner,” said Tom, “My treat.”

“That’s great, Tom,” said Mike grumpily, “but where are we going to go? There’s nothing open this late.”

“There’s a truck stop over bythe interstate.” said Tom. “They’re open 24 hours. C’mon, you guys need a break anyway.”

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were seated in a nearly-empty truck stop restaurant. As they looked at the menu, they tried to talk about stuff other than work. They’d just started talking about people’s strange habits when...

“So, Jerry, why do you always carry around that notebook?”asked Mike. “I mean, you even take it onto the can!”

“Well, uh...” stammered Jerry.

“Yeah, Jerry, I’m curious too - what’s up with that?”asked Tom.

“It’s magic,” blurted Jerry, who had never gotten the knack of lying.

Tom and Mike looked at each other and laughed. “OK, OK,” said Tom, “It’s none of our business anyway.”

Just then, their waitress appeared. At Tom’s recommendation, everyone ordered the Chicken-fried steak, a truck stop staple.

As their waitress left, Mike picked up with:“So how’s it magic then?Can you pull a rabbit out of it or make stuff disappear or seomthing?”

“Anything I write in it becomes true,” said Jerry.

“Um, sure,” said Mike, “sound like you’ve been reading too many stories on the net. There was hot one about this guy who had a Madagascar charm, and...”

“Yeah, but this is real,” Jerry interrupted.

“Let’s see you prove it,” said Mike. He looked around the dining area for inspiration. “See that big guy over there?”He pointed towards a 5’8”, 300 pound man wearing black jeans, suspenders framing his large round gut, and a Harley tee-shirt. The man was paying for his meal. “What could you do to him?”

“Anything, I guess,” said Jerry.

Tom leaned in, getting interested in where this was heading.

“Make him come over here and shove his gut in Tom’s face.” said Mike with an cocky grin.

Tom turned beet red, but Jerry was already writing. A second later, the trucker turned and headed straight for the table where the three guys were sitting. “Hey, bud,” he said to Tom, Tom, whose face was level with the swell of the fat guys’ gut. The trucker grabbed Tom’s head and vigorously pressed it into the round ball, rubbing it around for good measure. As he pushed Tom back into his chair, he added with a growl, “There’s plenty more where that came from, cutie - Red Kenworth, third row back, marked ‘Road Rebel’.” The trucker nodded at Mike and Jerry, said “G’day, fellas,”, then turned and left the restaurant.

Tom was still dazed when Mike whistled softly and said, “Holy Fuck.”Jerry just grinned.

Tom slumped forward onto the table, shaking his head to clear it. “I can’t fucking believe that just happened.”he said. Mike chuckled, and the chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh. Jerry joined in, followed by Tom a few seconds later.

“OK, OK, I believe you,” said Mike as Tom composed himself. “So,” said Tom, “after that, I deserve something nice.”

“Fair enough,” said Jerry, thinking it would’ve been nice to have a trucker gut pressed up against his face. “What do you want?”

“Let me think for a sec...” said Tom. “Why don’t you just give me a wish to use however I want?”

Jerry started to reply, but Mike butted in. “Hey, if he’s getting a wish, I should get one too! It was my idea, anyway...”

Jerry looked back and forth at the two men. “You BOTH want wishes? Why don’t I give everyone in the truck stop a wish while we’re at it?”

Just then, their waitress returned with their orders, amazingly fast service for a truck stop. As Mike and Tom tried to avoid getting hit by the crassly-served plates and drinks, Jerry wrote quickly in his notebook. A few minutes later, they were all eating the high-fat fare presented. Tom joked about it being too much for even his metabolism, while Mike just patted his own stomach and chuckled.

-----

“Whadaya mean there’s nothing going out this late? You promised me I wouldn’t be stuck here all weekend - that’s the only reason I took this frickin’ load!”

“Look,” said Ed’s dispatcher, “I’ve done everything I can - I’m at home, exhausted, and I’m ready to go to bed. Call me on Monday and see if there’s anything in then.”

“Whatever,” said Ed.

“I wish you’d fix this attitude of yours,” said the dispatcher.

“Yeah, and I wish you’d go fuck yourself!” Ed yelled as he slammed down the phone.

Had he held on, he would have heard a gasp as his dispatcher became the first person to ever have four legs. He could have heard the sharp intake of breath as the dispatcher’s second penis eased into position. He might have heard the muffled thumps and groans of pleasure as his dispatcher began to hump himself while jacking off at the same time. Had Ed held on, he would have heard the cries of pleasure as the dispatcher’s second dick grew even bigger, spreading him wide open and penetrating deeply.

But by then, Ed would probably have hung up anyway.

------

Back in the restaurant, Tom said, “Well, guys, it’s been weird, and I have to leave. I’ve gotta take a leak, and then I’m outta here for the night.”

“But, Tom, don’t forget to make your wish,” said Tom, grinning.

“Yeah,” Jerry chimed in, “everyone in the truck stop got one, remember.”

“Get a grip, guys. We had fun, even with a cosmic coincidence,” said Tom as he picked up the check. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

As Tom walked over to the register, Mike leaned over to Jerry. “Do you think he knows we’re gay?”

Jerry said quietly, “Probably, but it wouldn’t matter to him either way. He’s definitely straight, but cool about it.”

“Hmm...I wonder,” said Mike.

“Well, here’s an idea,” said Jerry. “I wish that Tom would wish for one of his gay fantasies to come true. If he’s 100% straight, nothing will happen and I’ll still have my wish.”

Tom had just gotten his change back from the cashier. Halfway out of the restaurant, he turned and surveyed the room - a few truckers ranging from size large to extra-large, the teenage Jerry and the husky Mike sitting in their booth talking. Tom felt dazed for a moment, as though he couldn’t decide what to do. He shook his head to clear it and made his way through the driver’s lounge to the men’s room. There were six urinals in a row, and he grabbed an open one in the middle.

He was just about done draining his bladder when a 6’4” trucker came and stood next to him, unzipping his pants. Tom realized that, with six inches of height advantage, the trucker could easily see Tom’s dick despite the partition. As he finished peeing, he snuck an awkward glance up and to his right to see if the bigger man was looking.

The man’s face was mostly in shadow from his baseball cap. His head cocked slightly to the side, and Tom’s gaze slammed back down floorward. He flushed the toilet quickly, wanting to get away.

The man looked the empty restroom around before saying quietly, “Hey, guys check each other out...doesn’t mean anything but you’re curious about it, you know?”Tom zipped his pants up without saying a word. “You’re not much smaller than me, if that makes you feel better.”

“Sure, whatever.” said Tom, wanting to turn around but not quite able to. He felt awkward and flushed and scared. And...

“Look, bud, what’re you panicking about?I wasn’t checking you out, you weren’t checking me out, what’s the big deal?”

Tom relaxed a bit. “I guess it’s just I’ve never seen a truckers’ dick. I wish we could compare sizes and maybe jack each other off.” Realizing what he’d just said, Tom turned beet red.

------------

Ed stomped into the TV room. His co-driver Dave was sitting in the second row back, 5’8” and nearly 300 pounds, with a bag of food to his left and a sack of pistachios balanced on the swell of his gut. “You’re not gonna fucking believe this,” said Ed, flopping down into the chair next to him.

Dave interrupted his munching just long enough to say “What?”, his gaze never leaving the TV.

“The dispatcher didn’t have another run for us - we’re stuck here all weekend.”Ed reached over and grabbed a few pistchioes from the bag.

Dave rolled his eyes, gave a grunt of disapproval, and focused on the television again. “At least there’s food and TV,” he said.

Ed scowled as he grabbed another handful of nuts. “Yeah, another great weekend - nothing to do but hang out and get fatter.”

Dave looked over at Ed, whose metabolism had absorbed months’ worth of high-fat truckstop food without a hitch. “Yeah, right - I wish you’d get bigger. You don’t gain a pound, no matter what you eat!”

Ed chuckled and pulled a box of cookies out of the bag. “Yeah, well, I’m four inches taller than you. What’s on?”

“Dirty Harry.”

“Which one?”

“The one where he shoots the guy.”

Both men relaxed and dozed, grabbing occasional snacks while watching the flickering screen.

------------

Mike and Jerry decided to go up to the counter and grab some dessert. It was pretty busy, so they ended up sitting on opposite sides of a chunky driver wearing a flannel shirt. While they waited for the waitress, Mike and Jerry kept sneaking glances left and right at the beefy truckers around them. A minute later, they both ordered some pie.

The man was eating a hamburger and fries, in the typical generous portions truck stops are known for. “Just eating pie? You guys must really be in a hurry.” he drawled. It seemed that everyone in the truck stop had some variation of a southern accent.

“Nah,” said Mike. “We had dinner already, we’re just kicking back for dessert.”

The man leaned back and stretched, giving both Mike and Jerry a great view of his gut filling out the flannel shirt. “Man, I never have time for dessert,” the man said. “I have to be on the road again in half an hour.”

“Ouch,” said Jerry, trying to commiserate and drool at the guy at the same time.

“It’s cause we can’t eat fast enough, I’m always hungry,” the man continued. “I wish I could eat a thanksgiving feast in the time I get, but it just doesn’t happen.”

“I hear ya,” said the man to Mike’s left, in jeans and a slightly faded tee shirt. “My spare tire would be twice as big if I had time to eat when I needed to.”

The man to Jerry’s right chuckled. “Yeah, but then we’d all be too fat to drive!”The brought a laugh from everyone within earshot.

The waitress set a slice of cherry pie in front of Mike and Jerry, and a whole pumpkin pie in front of the man between them.

“I didn’t order any pie,” the man said.

“Hon, that’s what’s on the ticket.”

“But I didn’t order it.”

The waitress picked the pie up with an air of offense and stormed back into the kitchen. A minute later, she returned with two trays loaded with food.

She started setting the full dishes down in front the man in flannel. Mashed potatoes, gravy, carrots, yams, a condiment tray with pickles and olives, threee kinds of pie, dinner rolls, and more were jammed onto the counter in front of him, taking up most of Mike and Jerry’s counter space as well. Before the man could protest, she vanished back into the kitchen and came out with a thirty-pound turkey on a platter that she somehow squeezed in between the other items in front of the guy.

“What the fuck is this?”the man yelled, while other drivers looked over is frank curiosity.

“Hon, I don’t know what’s going on. The kitchen made it for you, and the manager says not to waste it, so it’s yours. No charge.”

She slammed down a water pitcher and stomped away. The drivers to the side started laughing and talking to each other.

The man looked kind of lost. “What the hell am I supposed to do with all this?”he asked.

“Eat it, I guess,” said Jerry. He checked his watch. “You’ve still got twenty-eight minutes.”

------------

Back in the TV room, Ed shifted in his seat. The third movie in the Dirty Harry marathon was great, like he thought all the Dirty Harry movies were. He laughed every time the cops bungled something in their stupidity. But his pants were getting tight - he popped open the button to relieve the pressure, and reached over the bulky Dave to grab a bag of chips.

-------------

The driver started on the turkey. His fork flew back and forth as he stuffed his face like a man posessed. Bits of food got stuck in his moustache as the he all but inhaled the meal before him, his stubbled jaw working frantically up and down.

Conversation at the counter became more sporadic as the minutes ticked on and the eating continued unabated. The man reddened, his breath coming in gasps between bites. After five minutes, the turkey was halfway gone. The man sat back, groaned and unbuttoned his belt to let his gut bulge forward. Without saying a word, he bent forward again, his gut bulging almost to the counter as he continued to eat.

The man to Mike’s left said, “I hope he’s not gonna hurt himself, eating like that.”

“Nah,” said Mike, “I’ll bet he can handle it.” Flannel man’s pants button popped open somewhere under his roll. His shirt was straining in front, being forced slowly open by the pressure behind. “That’s damn impressive, though!”

“You said it,” said the driver to the right. “I wish I could stuff my face like that.”

“Yeah, me too!”said Mike, laughing.

They stopped laughing when two waitresses appeared and dropped two more meals in front of them, complete with turkeys.

Jerry looked over, stunned, as the two men tried to catch up with Flannel Man, who looked ready to burst as he finished the turkey. He sucked in his gut, which still bulged above and below the counter, to unbutton his shirt. He sighed, looked at the food in front of him, and muttered, “...with all the trimmings.”The he dove back in, pouring the gravy over the stuffing and scooping it into his mouth with a spoon.

Exactly eighteen minutes later, the three men were bulging obscenely - guts on the counter, jeans spread open and still tight around buns that were bulging on the sides of the stools. Mike’s dress shirt looked ready to explode off his chest, and had ridden up over his much expanded midsection. The driver to his left was bulging completely out of a much too small tee-shirt, his hairy gut covering half the counter in front of him. The picked up the last pies and shoved them into their mouths in synchrony, scrambling to beat the ticking clock. Everyone at the counter joined in the countdown as the last few crumbs were sucked off the plates...”three...two....one...ZERO!”

There was applause at the counter as the three men fell back, exhausted, surveying guts bulging over a foot further ahead than normal. Flannel man moved first, groaning, “I’ve got to get on the road...got to deliver...” he muttered as he pushed himself against the counter to haul himself to his feet. He groaned again as his weight shifted, and shuffled towards the door, too swollen to walk normally.

“Holy fuck,” the driver to Mike’s left muttered.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed. The two had gained so much that they were bulging up against each other.

“Tell ya what,” said the driver, “I need to go pass out for about a day in my T-600. What say you join me?”

“Sure thing,” said Mike. “See you Monday, Jerry,”he groaned.

The two strained to free themselves from the prison of counter and swivel chairs, and, leaning on each other for support, staggered out the door.

-----

Jerry decided to kill some time by playing pinball. It was a great way to pass the time while looking at all the hot truckers. Truck stops, it seemed, were one of the best places to see macho, overweight, hairy guys who didn’t have a problem with their size. The arcade was pretty busy, including a few really hot guys that Jerry discretely leered at on his way to an open pinball machine. After a few games, he decided to circle the room and see if any new burly guys had come in. A few had, and he regretted not brining a camera with him as he returned to ‘his’ pinball machine.

The man next to him seemed to have noticed. “So you’re a truckhawk too, huh?”he said quietly.

Jerry put a few quarters in his machine. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, low enough that it wouldn’t be overheard.

The man, in between balls on his game, grinned. “It’s totally hot, all these big hairy guys lumbering around...it’s too bad so many think they’re straight.”

Jerry laughed.“You got that right.”He put his first ball into play.

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud “Holy shit!”from the TV room. A 6’2” man wearing a tight tee-shirt came out, followed by a 5’8” beefy guy. The taller man was looking at his waist incredulously, where a small gut pushed out his shirt. “I’m telling you, Ed, it’s just life on the road,” said the shorter guy as they walked past.

“What the fuck was that about?”said the man to Jerry’s right. “Name’s Ted, by the way.”

“Jerry,” Jerry shook his hand.

“We’re not the only truckhawks here tonight,” the man continued. “I saw this one guy getting jacked off in the restroom - in the open. The guy getting stroked was big enough that nobody’s mess with them.”

A thought popped into Jerry’s head. “Um...what’d he look like?”

“The guy doing the stroking? I dunno...about 6’, maybe a little taller, thin guy, blonde...”

“Moustache? Beard?”

“Nah...clean-shaven. Why? Do you know him?”

“It’s hard to tell,” said Jerry, while he thought it sounded a lot like Tom. But it was hard to tell from that description, there were at least four other guys who’d match it here.

A short guy, about 5’6”, built like a fireplug and wearing a blue striped mechanic’s uniform - shirt, tee-shirt underneath and slacks - stepped up to the machine to the Ted’s left. He had a thick goatee, his beefy arms and hands were covered with thick dark hair, and chest hair poked up from the collar of his shirt. His biceps strained his sleeves as he dropped two quarters into the machine and started the game.

Ted started sneaking glances at the newcomer while he played his game, so Jerry decided to back off and get a better view from a different angle. As he walked around a machine in the center of the room, he saw another big guy in a Harley-Davisdon tee shirt, suspenders curving around his round gut to hold up size 52 pants. The guy looked a fair amount like the other man at the pinball machine - burly, dark-haired, hairy - but with a beard. Jerry stepped behind the stool the guy was sitting on to watch him play - it was as solitaire machine, the type that has twenty different games on it designed to kill time.

The man was playing a face-matching game. There were a row of different-colored faces on the bottom of the screen, and an arrow swung back and forth across them. The goal was to create a stack of faces of particular colors. Every level, the arrow swung faster and faster. The man was doing pretty well, he was already on level three.

In a break between levels, he noticed Jerry standing behind him. “You want to play next?”he demanded.

“Nah...just watching,” said Jerry. “If it’s not throwing you off your game...”

“Hell, it doesn’t bother me. It’s not like you can fucking get anything anyway. I’m great at these, I just wish you’d actually win something instead of just getting a score.”

“Yeah, that’d be great - I think your game is going...”

The arrow was already swinging across the screen, and the man had lost precious time. “Shit,” he muttered, and frantically started picking the faces when the arrow swung past. He was ten seconds short of finishing the level, however, and the game ended. He looked back at Jerry and said, “On level four, they don’t give you any extra time.” He turned back to the screen and said, “Well, at least I got on the high score table - number 25.”He entered his initials and turned to Jerry. “Sure you don’t want to play?”

“I guess I might, but there’s an open machine over...what’s that?”

Seeing Jerry’s gaze, the man turned back to the screen. It said, in bright red letters, “You’ve WON!”An arrow was flipping rapidly between the images of three christmas-wrapped boxes. “I’ve never seen THIS before,” said the man, pressing the button.

The arrow stopped, and the screen flashed, “You’ve won ten pounds!” and returned to it’s normal starting routine designed to attract new players.

Slightly but perceptibly, the man swelled. He turned back to Jerry, his pants a little fuller than before. “What the hell was that?”he said.

“I guess you won something,” said Jerry.

The man looked at his slightly-enlarged paunch. “Not much of a prize - hell, I can gain ten pounds with a weekend of pizza and beer.”

“Maybe if you do better, you get a better prize,” Jerry offered.

“Guess it can’t hurt to try,” said the man, and he turned back to his game.

Jerry’s attention was taken by a loud curse from over by the pinball machines. As he walked over, he could see the short fireplug guy glaring at Ted.

“That was my last ball!”the fireplug guy growled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I slipped, that’s all,” said Ted defensively. “I’m sorry about the game. Look, here,”he stammered as he reached into his pocket “I’ll give you some quarters. Start a new game.”

The man looked at the proffered quarters, muttered under his breath, and stormed out.

“What happened?” said Jerry as he walked over to Ted.

“He wasn’t noticing me, so I bumped him a little. I guess I did it at the wrong time.”

“Well, be careful, you don’t want to get beat up,” said Jerry as he started another pinball game. “Why don’t you try one of the solitaire games, maybe you’ll have better luck with those.”

-----

The man in the Harley shirt looked over as his buddy Al stormed past. He saw Al’s blue striped uniform disappear out the doorway when his attention was drawn back to the game. He was up to level seven when Jerry stepped behind him again to watch the bank of three machines. Ted was on the far right, the harley shirt man on the left, and another trucker in the middle who didn’t seem to be doing very well.

The trucker had been playing some sort of bouncing-ball game. He entered his name in the last space on the high score table. He looked puzzled when the packages came up on-screen, but hit the button. Jerry couldn’t read what the screen said, but hair seemed to flow out of the man’s face into a thick goatee. His hand flew to his chin and felt the new growth. In response to his panicked gaze, Jerry just shrugged and said, “It’s you.”The man darted out towards the men’s room to see if what he felt was real. Moments later, another trucker had taken his place.

Jerry walked over to where Ted was playing. Ted was playing Mahjongg, and was doing very well at it. With fifteen seconds to spare, he cleared the board. As he entered his high score, he said, “Hey, check it out! I got second!” He entered his initials and the prize screen came up. He hit the button and the screen flashed, “You’ve won...Big Al!”

A moment later, a heavy had slammed onto his shoulder. He was turned to face eye-to-eye with the fireplug guy whose pinball game he’d shortened. “Come with me,” the man growled, “I’m gonna teach you to mess up my pinball game. Outside.”

Ted started to protest, but the grip on his shoulder tightened painfully. “Now,” the man said. Ted looked up slightly into the man’s face and saw no dissension was permitted. He allowed himself to be propelled past Jerry and out the door.

Jerry turned to follow them when the man in the Harley shirt grabbed his arm. “Let them go, son.” he said. “I know Al. He may scare him, but he ain’t gonna hurt the guy.”

Jerry acquiesced uneasily as the man returned to his game.

-----

Ted was feeling more than a little nervous as he was marched across the parking lot. He kept expecting to stop at the man’s rig, but they marched past row after row of parked trucks. Something else was happening too, although he couldn’t be sure what; Al kept shifting his grip on Tom’s shoulder.

As they walked between the last row of trucks, he felt the grip on his shoulder slip off, and the trailers canted outward suddenly with a squeal of metal. There was a loud ‘oof’ behind him.

He looked back to see a work boot half as tall as he was.

As his gaze panned up, he saw why the grip on his shoulder had been changing - he was now looking at a fifteen-foot-tall fireplug of a bear. Al had turned sideways to squeeze between the rigs, and his stocky build had gotten stuck at the front of the trailers.

“Damn, boy,” rumbled the huge trucker. “I figured ‘big enough’ would be like six-six or so.”He pushed backwards and forwards to free himself from the trailers. They tilted and shifted with his exertions, but refused to budge.

“Stop!” screamed Ted as the trailers swayed crazily with him still between them. Al froze and looked over, realizing what the problem was. “Sorry, little guy,” he rumbled. Ted looked stunned for a moment, then crawled outunderneath a tilted trailer back in front of the trucks.

Ted momentarily enjoyed the great view of Al’s rounded midsection bulging against the trailer in front of him. Al’s head turned awkwardly, his shoulders trapped at the wrong angle to look to his left. “Dude, I’m stuck.”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it?”said Ted.

“Yeah,” said Al, “They need wider fucking spaces here.”He struggled against the trailers again, to no avail.

A thought hit Ted, metaphorically. “The problem is, you’re 15 feet tall, but you’re still not big enough!”

Al rumbled thoughtfully. “How big am I supposed to fucking get?”

“I dunno,”Ted walked up close to the giant trucker, eyeing the burly build the man had acquired. “I like you at fifteen feet tall, but you’ve gotta tip those trailers over. Grow, baby, grow!” He slapped Al’s huge boot for emphasis.

-------------

The man in the Harley shirt was on level ten when the timer ran out. “Hey, I got the high score!” he said, as he entered his initials, “BUB”. “This should be a good one,” he said to Jerry as he hit the button on center package.

“You win...” the screen flashed. “An orgy with the oversized truckers of your choice!”A strobe light on top began flashing and the machine began to blare music, grabbing the attention of everyone in earshot. The man in the Harley shirt shifted awkwardly.

“Hey, man, what’d you win?”said one. He read the screen and announced, “Hey, this guy won an orgy of truckers!”

Everyone laughed. The man in the Harley shirt turned and surveyed the room. There were almost thirty people there, some laughing, some pointing at the screen, some too far away to see what was going on but curious.

The man leaned over to Jerry. “What am I supposed to do?”

Jerry said, “I guess you pick the guys you want.” He shrugged, not as nonchalantly as usual.

The man in the Harley shirt shifted uncomfortably. He pointed at some people randomly in the crowd. “You, you, and you.”

There were gasps of astonishment as the three guys swelled up, all over six feet tall and well over three hundred pounds. Hard-ons tented their jeans, ready for action. They pressed forward through the crowd to get to the man at the machine.

They reached the front of the crowd, and the winner’s jaw dropped. All three glared intently at him, with exactly one thing in mind. “C’mon, man,” said one, “Let’s get started already. My prick’s ready to explode just looking at you.” Indeed, it twitched in his pants as he said it.

The man in the Harley shirt looked at the three awkwardly. Then he grinned. “Well, hell, if it’s an orgy, let’s make it an orgy! Back off a sec, guys,” he said, pushing the three in front of him apart with his arms. They turned to give Jerry the same look they’d given the winner. He blushed, and his dick throbbed.

The winner surveyed the thirty people standing around. “You five in back, go away. The rest of you, let’s party!”

The five in back were literally shoved out of the arcade room by the rapidly-growing bulk of the twenty-five inside. The man in the Harley shirt turned - Jerry was completely blocked off by the three men originally picked. He stepped between them. “Hey, bud,” he said to Jerry.

“Yeah?”

“I’d have stopped playing before if you hadn’t talked to me. I owe you one. You like these three?”

Jerry looked at their burly bodies, their gruff, demanding faces. The solid wall of gut their 350# frames formed in front of him. Jerry nodded weakly. “I guess they could be bigger,” he said, trying to smile. The joke fell flat as a pancake.

“Could be bigger, huh,” said the man in the Harley shirt. He stood up and surveyed the room. Space was getting tight as the truckers just kept growing. He was now the shortest person there, and Jerry was at best shoulder-height for the men squeezing their way around, eyeing each other lustily. “You three, we’re out of room here.” He pulled them closer and whispered something to them. One looked back at Jerry, chuckled, then turned back to the conversation.

Jerry found his arms grabbed roughly. The man in the Harley shirt slapped Jerry’s back affectionately as he was pulled away.

-----

The three men dragged Jerry through the crowd, pushing aside the bulky figures. Hands reached for the four men as they struggled to the door, the windows steaming up. The winner took off his shirt, and everyone followed suit - the orgy had begun.

Jerry couldn’t help being somewhat frightened as he was held between two men, the third leering openly at him as they hustled past the laundry area.

“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

The man wearing a “The Power of Blue” welding shirt looked down at Jerry. The logo was grossly distorted around his swollen potbelly, and the neck was stretched out, exposing several inches of hairy chest. “Shut up, kid. We’d rather be back there with the rest of them, but we’ve got orders.”

Jerry’s feet left the floor as the truckers holding him swelled up. They seemed to expand in every direction as they charged through the truck stop, smaller truckers diving out of the way of Jerry’s ungentle escort.

“What...what’re you going to do?” said Jerry nervously.

The trio turned a corner with Jerry still suspended. “We’re going to get fucking huge...” said the burly guy holding Jerry’s left arm, flexing a 20” bicep for emphasis.

“...and show you how truckers have a good time.” said the bulky stud holding Jerry’s right arm.

Jerry gulped as he was hauled bodily into the showers.

-----

Mike groaned as he woke up the next morning. He couldn’t remember the previous day really clearly, but he knew there had been a lot of food involved. He struggled to sit up, against pressure that was more than sore muscles. His shirt was on the strip of floor next to the bed, and seemed determined not to button. He stood up and noticed there was another man on the bed.

The man looked a little taller than Mike, and a fair amount heavier - probably 6’3” and a beefy 350#. His gut was bulging too, his tee-shirt barely covering half of the round ball jutting from his midsection, his navel peeking out from beneath the tight fabric. The man groaned, and rolled halfway over. As Mike turned to go, the man murmered, “While you’re in there, can you get me some OJ?”

Mike thought for a second, and then said, “Sure.”He tried in vain to button his pants, but it was clear they weren’t going to fall down - had he gained weight? - and he clambered out of the truck.

He tried to remember the previous night as he walked into the restroom and relieved himself. He was on the verge of remembering on the way to his car, when the thought was sidetracked by the trucker’s request. He bought some OJ at an outrageous price from the convenience store and returned to the man’s red Kenworth.

As he climbed in, he realized his host was awake. "Howya doin', bud?" asked Mike.

“I’m just fucking peachy, except I think I gained fifty pounds,” said Roger, grabbing the now much-enlarged gut in front of him.

“Yeah, I did okay for myself, but you looked ready to explode last night,” said Mike. There was an awkward pause as he handed the orange juice to the trucker. “Thanks for the crash pad, Roger....”

“Anytime. Thanks for the OJ.”

“Sure thing. I guess I’d better head out too.”Mike turned to go.

“Hey, can I get your number? I mean, if I’m ever back this way again I can look you up.”

Mike turned, realization dawning on him. “Umm...sure...you got a pencil and paper?”

Roger stood up, as much as was possible in the condo sleeper. His pants fell to his ankles. “Damn,”he muttered, and stooped down to pick them up. Halfway up, he looked at Mike questioningly.

Mike said, “Hell, mine do it all the time,” and gave his own pants a tug that sent them to the floor.

The two men looked at each other, half-naked. Roger’s dick twitched in his underwear. They shucked their remaining clothing and jumped onto the bed together, hard-ons throbbing.

“Man, I can’t believe how much you ate last night,” husked Mike as he kissed the trucker’s belly.

“Me either,” said the Roger,” I wish I could do it again.”

They both paused for a second, then laughed and continued.

As they groped each other, hairy bodies rubbing in the dim light of the sleeper, Mike groaned, “Man, you’re so big, it drives me nuts! Push your gut out, make it look bigger.”

Roger grinned and did so. Mike’s cock throbbed. “That’s great,” said Mike as he turned Roger over.“There’s lube and condoms over here,” added Roger, handing a tube and package to Mike. “Fuck me, fatboy,” he said, “I need it BAD.”

“Sure thing,” said Mike as he pulled the sheath over his dick.

Mike gently entered into Roger, who gasped with pain and pleasure. With the first few thrusts, Roger grunted. Soon he said, “Hold it...”

Mike stopped. “What?What’s wrong?”

“It’s this gut,” said Mike, “it’s hard to lay on - I can’t breathe!”

“Tell ya what, turn over - carefully.”Roger did so, still impaled on Mike’s tool.

Mike grabbed Roger’s ankles and rested them on Mike’s shoulders, and began thrusting again as he rubbed Roger’s gut. Roger groaned with pleasure, reaching between their bellies to stroke his own dick.

“You know,” said Mike, “that’s totally hot, your gut getting in the way.”

“Yeah,” moaned Roger, bucking against Mike.

“Last night was a great start, but I wish you’d blow up like a fucking balloon,” said Mike. “You’ve got a great bod for it - beefy all over, but mostly gut.”

“Yeah, um...oh, God,” said Roger.

“What?”

“Stop for a sec.”

Mike did.

“OK, it was just my imagination,” said Roger. Mike resumed his thrusting.

“Oh, shit,” said Roger, “it’s happening...keep going, dude!”

With each thrust, Roger got bigger. Mike soon found himself fucking a five hundred pound bear who wouldn’t stop growing. Mike couldn’t even see Roger’s face behind the swell of a gut that bulged two feet up. The legs that Mike was supporting thickened as Roger grew, his whole body swelling to cover more and more of the bed. The ass Mike shoved into kept expanding, already half the width of the mattress.

“Fuck, YEAH,” said Roger, his stubbly round face contorting in ecstasy, “gonna fill the fucking sleeper!”

Roger’s hairy gut never lost its round firmness - it just kept swelling larger. The bed flattened underneath Roger’s bulk as he approached 1000 pounds. Mike was getting close when the gut touched the roof of the sleeper, and Roger had already shot his load twice. But Mike kept thrusting...

-----

Ted grinned in the morning light at the wreckage left behind by his 50-foot tall fireplug in a mechanic’s suit. Al was over a nearby hill, out of sight of the truck stop, but the sound of his snoring drifting just barely to where Ted stood. He hadn’t expected “great big Al” to be anything like building-sized, but he wasn’t complaining. Being picked up by that hand, rubbing that huge cock! His daydream was interrupted by a loud rumbling behind him. He turned to see Al sitting upright, his enormous face looming over the hillside. Al’s gigantic head turned to face Ted.

“There you are!” Great Big Al boomed, grinning. “I’ve got a morning stiffy as big as your whole body! What are you going to do about it?”

Ted smiled broadly as he ran back over the hill.