Lunch Rush

Every day I see him sitting at the same table, eating the same thing every day; six French toast slices, three eggs, four sausage links as thick as my thumb, hash browns, two bacon strips, and two pancakes smothered in maple syrup. Every now and then he'll order just a little bit more, an extra sausage, an extra egg, an extra strip of bacon, or an extra pancake. And every week his belly sticks out just a little big more.
Working in this diner was a complete downer on my mental health. But seeing this man always brightened my day and help me keep going. His slim form, his handsome chiseled features, his nearly white beard, his black dress shoes, his black slacks, leather belt, white dress shirt, red tie, and black dress coat. He was a gorgeous business man, someone who I often dreamt bringing home to my warm bed, to keep me company all night long. Though, he was much skinnier than the guys I usually brought home or flirted a bit with during my shift. But that had been changing dramatically over the last 6 months. If you should picture Pierce Brosnan with a bask gut, you'd have a winner.
His beard has become more white over time. His face rounder, his beard hid his neck well but I knew that it too was growing into a double chin. He was still slim figured, but his arms and legs and even his ass had thickened up a little bit, now filling out his slacks and dress coat more. But what my eyes rolled over the most was the expanding roundness of his belly. Every day his dress shirts hugged his gut more and more, every time I bring him his order I can't help but let my eyes linger a tad bit too long on his shirts smooth fabric stretched tight over his expanding middle, what I wouldn't give to run my hand along is surface, sometimes my staring gets so bad that he has to clear his throat to snap me out of my day dream. His gut had been expanding more and more lately, rolling into his lap more and more, reaching further and further toward his knees. His gut was getting so large that it was starting to look disproportionate to the rest of big body, now sticking out far enough to look as though he swallowed an over-inflated basketball. I've even managed to catch a glimpse of his buttons straining, with oval shaped gaps revealing his hairy belly underneath, and his navel which only seems to get deeper with every pound he adds.
He was a dream daddy waiting for attention. I've been catching him rubbing big gut more too, don't my best to look away before he notices, but I fear he may have caught me once or twice, but he's said nothing about it. He also must not care what others think of him, because he keeps coming back for more. And more. And more.
Damn I wish I could rub my hands across his gut, feel its warm hairy surface, bury my face into it, tongue his deep belly button. I want to feel his gut against me as he kisses me with his bearded face. Feel his gut against me as I enter his hole with my cock, or feel his gut on me back or bulging between my legs as his cock enters me. I wonder if he'd let me feed him and grow his belly even bigger and more disproportionate from his body.
When I eventually cleared his table, an hour and a half after he had arrived, I notice the check he had signed with a small note.
"I've seen the way you stare at these other guys, made me kind of jealous. Now I see the way you stare at me and my gut, and I want more. Call me. - Papa Joe."
I didn't hesitate to put his ten digit number into my phone, and I couldn't wait for my shift to end.