The neighbour's quarantine

Chapter 1

I hadn't seen my neighbour all winter. We didn't actually know each other, but I'd noticed him. If there's a thing like a gay-dar for fat tummies, I have it. He's fat. Not obese exactly, but nice and plump and juicy. Round tummy rising below a hint of fatty man-breasts. He'd clearly been extremely good-looking in his (thinner) past. I still find him hot as hell, but then, I'm a pervert. And fashionable. Skinny jeans, and close cut shirts, finishing just below the waist. In his case that means that his presumably fairly recently acquired tummy hangs over the belt. Shirt just barely long enough to cover it, but making it obvious how much fat rolls over the belt. Sometimes when he moves, his shirt rides up. And I can sneak a peak at the sliver of soft skin on his sizeable overhang.

I love watching him. Inconspiciously of course. Watching him heave giant bags of groceries home. Watching him squeeze into his car, seeing his gut push out behind the wheel. He has one of the sexiest bellies I'd seen on a man, jutting out almost horizontally from his chest, but a massive barrel of fat, rather than a swollen ballbelly on an otherwise slim frame. Fat meaty lovehandles. Tight shirt flattening over his deep bellybutton.

I didn't see him out much in the winter. I watched his window, higher up than mine, willing him to step closer, so I could eye his lovely round tummy, see if it's growing. But mostly, I got a view of his thick neck as he sat watching TV or playing games. Which he did most nights. He got a loooot of take-out. Late-night delivery. I imagined him getting the munchies, stuffing that fat fat tummy to the brim, till he'd lie groaning on the couch, too glutted to move.

Today I caught him leaving the apartment. No jacket on one of the first warm days of spring. My heart almost stopped. I swear, he's doubled in size. His gut has doubled in size. A massive f-ing tub of lard. His juicy overhang on full display under his too-tight shirt, unable to cover it past the bellybutton. At least two handbreadths his fattened belly juts out over his belt. His chubby cheeks, double chin and thick neck are covered in a soft beard. Much bigger moobs, and still his belly rising under them like he's swallowed a baby elephant. A fat juicy orb of flesh.

He was a sight.

He walks slowly, waddles almost, pushing that bloated keg with an arched back. Feeling it's weight. I get a right good eyeful. I feel myself flushing, and yet I stare and stare, till he and his pot are out of sight.

G-d, to touch that fat gut, get him drunk and then stuff it to bursting. Hear him moan and gasp for breath, completely sated. Straddle him, make him beg for more, push him past his limits. Feed him till his engorged gut is packed tight as a drum, swollen and distended. Oh to feel that massive gut pushing against mine, crushed by it's weight.

I'd never dare. And honestly, what are the chances? So I'll keep staring and dreaming my perverted little fantasies, watching from a distance as he feeds himself ever fatter.