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Old 04-29-2009, 06:21 AM   #1
Big Beautiful Dreamer
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Default Pig Pickin' - by Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BHM (Multiple), ~Gay, Eating)

~BHM (Multiple), ~Gay, Eating - With a goal of stuffing BBQ, two friends discover more than just good food


Pig Pickin’

by Big Beautiful Dreamer

[Author's Note: I posted this a year or two ago, but I was unhappy with a fundamental section of it. The moderator was kind enough to move it out of public view until I could revise it, which I finally have. -- BBD]



“I don’t know about this,” Porter grumbled as he buckled his seat belt.

Calvin whacked him on the back of the head with the well-thumbed guidebook. “Are you cracked? Six weeks to hit up every barbecue joint in the state? Best road trip ever. Loosen up!”

He gunned the motor and roared away from the curb.

Porter smiled to himself. He’d always been more laid back than his longtime friend, but he had to admit it was a potentially awesome outing. Moving from east to west, and thus from “Eastern-style” to “Lexington-style,” they would eat their way through countless pounds of pulled pork, some seasoned only with vinegar and hot-pepper pods and some with the addition of brick-red, tangy sauce sworn by every proprietor to be a family secret. Not to mention piles of hush puppies – balls of cornmeal deep-fried, sometimes with onion mixed in and sometimes with sugar (never both!) – and fries and red-cabbage slaw and gallons of iced tea so sweet it made your teeth hurt.

“ ’cue, here we come!” Calvin sang.

Porter made oinking noises and they laughed as they headed down the first of many two-lane, crumbling highways. The standing joke was that if ever a motorist found a stretch of highway not under repair, he or she could call a toll-free number and the state would send a crew right out to block a lane with orange barrels and ensure that no work ever got done.

Two hours later, they were seated in a booth, on cracked vinyl seats, in a cinderblock joint whose air was heavy with grease and smoke from the cooking going on out back. The high-school waitress didn’t bother with a menu. “Plate, tray or sandwich?”

“Tray,” they said in unison, and Calvin added, “And tea.” They were both hungry and eager for their adventure to begin. They hoped to visit every single restaurant listed in the “Barbecue State” guidebook.

A scant half hour later, plates were empty and stomachs were full. Porter was smaller and much more slightly built than Calvin, whose size was mostly muscle, at least it had been in their teens. Both were now in their late 20s and had begun to add a layer around the belt line.

Porter had also emptied his plastic cup more times than Calvin. He’d drunk more than a quart of cold sweet tea, as well as demolishing a heap of barbecue, a haystack of crispy fries, half a dozen large hush puppies, a scoop of slaw, and a large bowl of banana pudding.

He’d eaten a little too fast and was just now realizing how incredibly stuffed he was. His normally flaccid stomach was distended and sore, straining the seams of his T shirt. It sagged heavily and gurgled and churned with effort, making audible digestive noises and making it hard to draw breath. He found it easier to just breathe through his mouth.

Slowly, Porter slid his way out of the booth and stood. He paused to lean on the table, getting his balance, before following Calvin, who was rubbing his belly in satisfaction.

“Your turn to drive,” Calvin said airily, tossing Porter the keys. Instinctively Porter caught them, but leaned against the car instead of getting in.

Reluctantly, he admitted, “Ate too much…. Need a nap.”

“Amateur,” Calvin scoffed. He slapped his belly, producing a hollow thump, and a belch, but he took the keys back.

Despite his maiden effort, Porter continued to overeat. At first it was because the food was all so good. After only a few days, however, he realized what he felt when he ate too much. As his belly tightened and he became stuffed, he also became seriously aroused.

At first he attributed the sensation to the way his pants pinched and his full stomach pressed, but it was unmistakable. The more achingly full his belly, the more aroused he was. The discomfort, even pain, of a gut stuffed beyond bursting created a pleasure he had never encountered before.

It was at the end of the first week when it happened. The day had begun with a long and large breakfast – pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, ham, hash browns, toast, grits, coffee, and orange juice – that started at 9:00 and didn’t end until 10:30.

The clock dictated that they stop at the day’s first barbecue place no later than 12:30, and the ’cue was so insanely good – a restaurant called Wilber’s – that they both had two orders of “trays,” barbecue accompanied both times by fries, hush puppies, red slaw, and of course iced tea. By then even Calvin was admitting to being stuffed, though in a macho kind of way.

Then came supper. At 5:00 they pulled into a small joint with a sand-and-gravel parking lot. The barbecue was moist, tangy, with a bite that made their foreheads bead with sweat. The hush puppies were not too dry and were ridiculously flavorful. The fries were so crispy and good they had to be homemade (impossible!), the slaw was just the right mix of sweet and sharp, the tea worth moving in for, and the banana pudding fit for angels. They had not seconds but thirds of everything but dessert. They lingered over coffee as long as they could before staggering heavily to the car, listing to port under the weight of what now felt like the whole pig.

Porter sank into the driver’s seat. “(Urp) How … far?” he panted.

“Two … urp … miles,” Calvin puffed. “Turn … (urp) turn right.”

Porter drove very slowly and carefully and made the turn as gently as possible, and pulled into the parking lot of the motel. Calvin checked them in, and sank carefully onto the near bed. With effort, Porter peeled off his clothes and showered, then came back into the room wearing only underwear. Released, his belly swelled tautly, gleaming and distended under fluorescent light. His bloated waistline pushed the elastic of his boxers down. His hair was damp and tousled. Rather than make the effort to sit, he leaned against the wall. Possibly he was so full he would sleep standing up.

Suddenly Calvin was up close to him and was kissing him. Porter jerked back instinctively … but something in his already aroused self began to stir. When Calvin started another kiss, Porter let him. The third time, he took part. They were in bed before either paused. Both were still stuffed to bursting and Porter, at least, was feeling his stomach slosh and groan.

“What (hic!) … the heck … are we … doing (hic!)?” Calvin panted.

“Don’t … care … (hic!)” Porter grunted.

The foreplay was long and sensuous. Each explored the other with wonderment, discovering a foreign land. Their arousal heightened by the overwhelming discomfort of their heavily laden bellies, they traced, poked, kissed, explored, and finally and intimately coupled with each other. The room whirled and a roaring filled Porter’s ears and then they were kissing again and Calvin was laying a hand on Porter’s bloated gut.

The room was silent.

“What just happened?”

Calvin sighed. “Not sure.”

More silence. Then …

“Don’t.” Calvin put a hand over Porter’s mouth. “Don’t talk about it. Just let it be.”

Sated, lulled, they slept, both shoveled into one bed.

The next morning the silence between them was heavy and awkward. Both men averted their gazes as they shaved and dressed and Calvin showered. Finally, with a massive breakfast on the restaurant table, they looked at each other.

“How did…”

“What was…”

Both trailed off. After a pause, Calvin started again. “I should apologize.”

“Don’t,” Porter blurted unthinkingly.

“I was going to say,” Calvin murmured, “that I’m not sorry.”

“Oh.” Porter’s face flamed. “But I’m not gay,” he continued. “That is…”

“I woke up before you this morning,” Calvin said. “Took an obscenely long shower and did a lot of thinking. I don’t think we need to be too quick to categorize what went on last night. All we need to do for now … All I need to do … is to thank you for something beautiful that you gave me.”

Porter cleared his throat. “And thank you back. For the same reason.” He met Calvin’s gaze again. “Um, could we have another kiss?”

“Soon as we’re not in public,” Calvin promised.

At least for the time being, they now had a topic of real conversation. They talked and analyzed their own sexuality, the possibility of couplehood, what being gay really meant, what their families might say, and finally, while they were on the subject of arousal, Porter mentioned the pleasure he’d been getting from being overfull.

“Oh, me too,” Calvin said immediately. He rubbed his stomach, but added, “Remember how I wrecked both my knees in high school? My doctor’s already on my case to lose ten pounds. And he says I really can’t afford to gain anything.”

Porter made a face. “Well, that’s unfair.”

“No … it’s really not. I just have to make indulgences like this trip a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, and maybe find real low-calorie ways to get full, like diet soft drinks, huge salads, stuff …” he trailed off, then brightened. “But I’ve never seen you hotter, and I’ve known you forever.”

Porter stared. “I’m gettin’ a pot,” he said ruefully.

Calvin shrugged. “What can I say? It turns me on.”

“My life is getting weirder by the minute,” Porter mumbled. Silently, Calvin lifted Porter’s hand off his lap and took it. That was all, and that was enough.

By now, they were a third of the way into their quest, and the book was getting more battered by the day. Calvin, conscious of his weight, or trying to be, ate heartily but tried not to gorge at every stop. Porter had no such restrictions and a new and delightful lover urging him on. Several times Calvin persuaded him to eat as much as he could stand. Most barbecue joints aren’t all-you-can-eat, but they do exist, and when they found one, Calvin would let out a loud cheer.

At one such place, as the blinding late-afternoon sun stopped gleaming off the chrome of the cars and trucks in the parking lot and slid slowly below the horizon, they were in a back booth and kept their voices low. Calvin acted the cheerleader.

Porter, for his part, reveled in the mixture of pleasure and discomfort he was beginning to get used to. The first heaping plateful went down in an instant, and he steadily ate his way through seconds, accompanied by plenty of iced tea.

“More hush puppies this time?” he suggested as Calvin went back to the buffet, and when Calvin returned, Porter had to laugh. Calvin had heaped a pyramid of them onto a separate plate.

Porter took a deep swig of tea and took stock. His growing belly was now pleasantly full, verging on stuffed. His shirt had snugged and his pants were beginning to pinch around his softening waistline and bind up around his privates. He stood to stretch and not incidentally to rearrange his package, then sat to tackle his third helping.

Slowly, he ate, savoring each swallow, making two-bite work of the hush puppies, washing each down with tea. His gut bulged with each bite; each swallow of icy sweet liquid surged into his full tummy and churned and sloshed; he was severely aroused. His midsection was growing taut and he wondered abstractly how much more he could hold, but the surge of arousal that accompanied the haze of fullness felt so good he didn’t want it to end ever again.

Somehow he cleared his plate and demolished the mountain of hush puppies. Dang, that was a lot of food. Finally it dawned on him to unbutton his pants. That took some effort, and it provided little relief, but at least he was able to draw breath.

Calvin had come back with what looked to Porter like a serving bowl of banana pudding. Porter closed his eyes.

“Come on,” Calvin murmured. “The real dessert is back at the motel.”

Spurred on, Porter plunged into the creamy sweet pudding. Wow, was he full. His belly ached from his throat down to his privates, tautly swollen and making his shirt slide up. His overloaded gut bulged outward between his shirt and too-snug pants, and he was light-headed with how stuffed he was. His breathing came in short, shallow puffs and despite his arousal he was starting to feel a little sick. Calvin reminded him to drink some more tea, which helped, and said, “Rub your tummy.”

Porter obediently paused and massaged his bloated belly, coaxing up a series of healthy belches. Ahh, that felt better. Much better. He dabbed his forehead with a flimsy paper napkin and gulped some more tea. His engorged belly still hurt, but there was a little new space in there, and he finished off the pudding.

Calvin didn’t make a scene in the restaurant, but he helped Porter to the car and was solicitous as he drove back to the motel and got him undressed and into bed. They spooned, and Calvin massaged Porter’s poor swollen belly until the discomfort eased and Porter could enjoy himself more.

“Model for me,” Calvin said suddenly.

Feeling playful, Porter heaved himself out of bed and strutted up and down the space at the foot of the bed, thrusting his gut forward and displaying it from many angles as though his burgeoning belly were the new fashion being shown off. It was impressive. Laden with close to half a gallon of tea and pounds of food, it sloshed and rearranged itself visibly as Porter moved.

In the motel’s crappy lighting, shadows and illumination dappled the distended dome of his bloated belly, hugely swollen and hard. Porter cradled it, thrust it forward, caressed it lovingly until finally Calvin couldn’t stand it any more and met him on the “runway” with a knee-melting kiss. They made love languidly, twice, with much foreplay and cuddling and teasing and afterward, into the blackness, Calvin said, “You know what?”

“Mmmm?”

“I don’t care what our families say.”

“Mmm … I guess I don’t either.” After a pause, Porter snorted with laughter. “Mama will say, ‘It’s just as well your father is dead; this would kill him,’ and then she’ll be brave about it.”

Calvin shut him up with a kiss redolent with the lingering tang of barbecue.

Last edited by Risible; 05-05-2009 at 03:14 PM.
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Old 04-29-2009, 12:08 PM   #2
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Whoa, that was a change up from you! Given most of your other stories, that caught me totally by surprise--nicely done!

And a nice story, too
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Old 04-29-2009, 02:03 PM   #3
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It's finally back! THANKYOU.
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Old 05-01-2009, 03:20 AM   #4
fatgirl33
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I really enjoyed this one, very nice work!

Brenda
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Old 03-27-2010, 11:24 PM   #5
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Great story! I am glad that such a tale returned to the site, even though I didn't know
it had once disappeared. And now I have a new word (redolent) to add to my vocabulary.
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Old 04-06-2010, 01:15 PM   #6
Big Beautiful Dreamer
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Redolent: a great, great word, especially when applied to the air in Louisiana. We're talking about a place where the relative humidity can dictate what you make for dessert. Any place the air tends to hang heavy is a good place to have the word in your vocabulary.
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Old 04-13-2010, 03:22 PM   #7
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That is quite true! Especially during the summer (and at night) -- although I admit that I wish the air carried more wonderful smells of food rather than a general stickiness associated with the heat.
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