Mr. Cook 1

It was the last day before winter break and everyone in class was anxious. It amazed me how my twelfth grade peers still acted when it came close to break. But I never could relate to people my own age. The reason I was anxious was because this was history class, with Mr. Cook. To say I have a thing for Mr. Cook would be an understatement. He is, quite frankly, the hottest man in this whole town.

He’s tall, six foot one, maybe. His hair is dark and his skin is pale. He always has a bit of five o’clock shadow and, as of late, a burgeoning paunch. It’s so cute really, his belly that is. It just puffs out above his waistline. It goes out a couple inches and then quickly tapers back to his flat chest. Mr. Cook is young, in his twenties, and this belly of his is surely a new asset. I let my mind run wild with stories of how he was fit in college and has now become sedentary. The girls used to fawn over him, but lately he’s been packing on the pounds, his pants growing tighter. And what’s even better, is that he seems kind of gay. Not flamboyant or anything, he’s very quiet, but sometimes he dresses so in only the way a gay man would. Sometimes he’ll wear lime green button ups with rolled up cuffs that are bright pink underneath, and the rest of the time he’ll wear black or grey generic articles.

But the sexiest thing he wears is a skin tight under armor shirt. That shirt has provided the best bits of masturbation fodder in my life. The following story I’ve imprinted in my memory:

It was the first Friday of September, meaning the teachers could dress casually. Mr. Cook decided to wear his under armor shirt, with nothing over it. In class that day we were taking notes. Mr. Cook would write them on the board and we’d copy them down.  Every time he had to reach to write something the shirt would ride up just a little. I stared and stared praying for it rise up just a little bit more. Finally, the heavens intervened.

A poster from above the white board came unpinned and fell to the ground. Mr. Cook finished the notes and then proceeded to post it back up. He stood on a chair and reached as high as he could to pin the poster down. When he did so, the shirt rose to just above his belly button. The whole class could see his burgeoning little belly. The dark hair of his happy trail stood out against his light skin. I could see small hairs covering the rest of his belly. When he bent over to step down another fat roll formed and his belly button became wider than it was tall. His belly jiggled a little bit as his foot hit the ground. After noticing his exposed gut, Mr. Cook stretched the shirt back down over it. My dick was hard as a rock and pulsing against my thigh.

That was two months ago and Mr. Cook had to have put on fifteen pounds since then. It was hard to tell now that he was buried under layers of winter clothing. When the bell rang he began to pass out our papers. When he handed me mine it was all I could do not to rip his clothes off. When he turned around I discovered he had an amazing ass. How had I not noticed this before? It was plump and round, the cotton of his slacks were pulled taught. You could see the lines of his boxer briefs through them. I tried not to leer in case any class mate saw me, but it was difficult. From across the room I could see how the V of his back pointed to distinguished, fleshy butt cheeks. When he put his weight onto one leg, his fat ass cheek rounded into a perfect sphere. You wouldn’t believe how much I wanted to squeeze those bare cheeks in the palm of my hand.

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Next week our narrator begins experimenting with his own weight gain and then has a run in with an ample belly.