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Old 09-24-2014, 06:28 PM   #26
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Very well written...up there with the best IMO. Keep up the awesome work

Cheers

Holo
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Old 09-30-2014, 02:23 AM   #27
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Congratulations on finishing your first story here!
It's always good to see a tale completed - abandoning stories is a big issue in this library, or ones that take way to long to be completed (highly guilty of this myself ).

Your story has a very authentic feel to it with a lot of local colour. I also like the minimalistic, detached style of your writing.

That said - the end felt really a bit rushed imo, especially since it didn't fit all that well to the above named.

Nevertheless, a really good new addition!
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Old 12-30-2015, 05:43 AM   #28
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Default Chapter Eight

I've been thinking about this little story of mine for the past year or so, and decided that Agouderia was right; I think Niamh and Bear deserve a better ending. So I've redone things a little bit; here's a new Chapter Eight for you (to replace the one I have deleted), and there will be a new epilogue coming shortly.

Thanks for giving me another chance.

Lurky


Chapter Eight

When Bear first told this to Caz--or at least, a variation (he could no longer remember his exact words)--he had been met with high, incredulous laughter, followed by a shudder and a "Shut up!"

She hadn't believed him at first, his insistence that he preferred the fuller figure. It wasn't until she had gained another ten pounds--and could barely get through the door after work before he grabbed a hold of her in the entryway and dragged her, laughing, into the bedroom--that she started to believe him. Never happily, of course. Begrudgingly, mostly, as she refused to take pleasure in her meals, picking at them, finally eating them, but always wistfully. Never fully giving into the pleasure that what she was eating was bound to make her fat. Never willingly gaining weight, instead insisting, angrily and with every pound gained, that she would go on a diet tomorrow.

Niamh was different. He'd always known she was different to Caz, and hoped, someday despite all odds and the fact the she was married to his best friend, that if she were with him, she would be different to Caz.

Now they were here, at this precipice, this turning point. Niamh did not meet Bear's admission--his "There's no such thing as too much"--with laughter. Not wide eyes, either, nor an expression fraught with conflict or disbelief.

Instead (Bear swallowed, nervous), she got up, pulled the waistband of her leggings back over the pooch of her belly, and walked to the door. Hauled with some difficulty his father's armchair against the doorknob. Turned back toward him, her face pink.

"Do you mean it?" she asked. "Do you mean what you said?"

"Niamh," he said. He felt uncomfortable without her leaning against him, and inexplicably cold. "I would love you if you were seven stone or twenty."

"Twenty stone," she said, her voice even rather than incredulous, not one hint of judgement tingeing the words. "Do you want me to be twenty stone?"

"I didn't say that," he replied, just as even, wondering if this conversation was about to go somewhere wonderful or steeply downhill.

Then Niamh's expression changed, her eyes wide as she realised what he had said, and Bear stiffened, too, realising his words…or, rather, word.

Love.

She didn't move, her arms still hanging loosely at her sides, forearms resting gently on the swell of her hips, framing the bulge of her belly.

The crackle of the fire was the only thing that filled the silence.

Finally, tightly, Niamh said, "Ger loved you."

"I know," Bear replied, because he did. "I loved him too. He was my best friend."

"I liked him when he was with you," she continued. "I liked what you brought out in him. It was like you made him more like himself. He laughed more. He acted younger. He acted like an idiot, like you were at uni together again." Her smile was as quick as a flicker of firelight. "I loved it when you two were together."

Bear had no idea where this was going. He didn't move from his position leaning against the sofa, afraid that one movement would send this conversation spiralling.

"I miss him," Niamh said. "Sometimes I forget. I forget to miss him, or I plainly forget him."

"You're here," Bear said, and added point-blank, refusing to let his voice crack, "He's not."

He looked at his hands.

"Do you mean it?" she whispered. "What you said?"

He didn't know what she was referring to: his liking her larger, or his insistence that he would love her no matter what.

"Because it doesn't matter," she rushed on before he could continue. "I loved Ger, and Ger loved me, more than anything, and he wanted me to be happy. And in this world, there's no one that makes me happier than you."

Bear finally looked up at her then, unable to find words, finding himself incapable of forcing them past the lump in his throat.

She smoothed a hand over the bulge of her stomach, settled them on her hips. Bear realised with a start that for the first time in ages, since he had last allowed himself to look, that she was no longer wearing her wedding ring.

"I mean it," he finally said. His voice was so deep it rumbled in his chest. "Every word."

Niamh smiled and broke out in a laugh-sob, and Bear wiped at the side of his face with his hand.

"I only--" Bear rushed to explain himself further, feeling she still wasn't quite understanding. "I don't want you to feel like you have to gain weight to please me, I only--"

Then he stopped, because he finally understood why she had moved the chair in front of the sitting room door, and felt foolish at ever thinking this conversation was going to go the wrong way.

She had taken a hold of the hem of her jumper and was pulling it up over her head, her face cocooned in the tight turtleneck, everything from the shoulders down on display and lit gold: the simple black bra she had plainly outgrown some time ago, with soft, perfect breasts bulging over the cups and on each side; black leggings that pinched at the waist, twin rolls lapping a centimetre over the waistband; elasticated fabric that whilst forgiving, had been straining beneath the long, baggy jumper, and was in fact near-transparent as it stretched across wide, rounded hips and plump thighs that met almost all the way down to the knee. Did she like this body? Bear hoped she did. She would have to be mad not to.

The jumper landed on his father's armchair, and Niamh took a hold of the waistband of her leggings with two thumbs and pulled them with some effort down her hips, struggled them over her thighs. Let out a long sigh of relief as she kicked them off into a ball by the fireplace.

When she once more stood upright, her face with pink with either embarrassment or exertion, and she said, her voice so quiet Bear could hardly hear her, "Your turn."

He rushed to pull off his own jumper, and unbuttoned his shirt. He had half a mind to feel self-conscious about his own body--he had gained a few over Christmas, and was no longer in his preferred fighting-shape--but he knew they were both past that point of caring. Maybe she liked it, even. It was her mark on him; her cooking, her weight.

He stood, biting back a curse as he stepped on a board game piece that the cat had chased beneath the sofa, and unbuttoned his jeans. But before he could unzip, he looked back up at her, gauging her reaction, wondering if this was truly, truly what she wanted.

Yes, he thought immediately, turning his own shade of pink, as the zip slid home and his jeans fell to the floor. She wants this.

She reached back and undid her ill-fitting bra, releasing breasts that bounced down to rest, ever-so-slightly, on her round belly. She ran a hesitant hand across her stomach, pausing at the navel, subconsciously dipping her thumb into the widening stretch of it, her little finger resting on a stretch mark that lightning-bolted from behind the waistband of her pants.

And then Bear pushed down his boxers and they stood there feet apart, naked but for Niam's knickers. He looked at her, thought of her, thought of nothing but her. Her swelling body so different from the one she had before. Not better (objectively speaking), not worse, just…different.

Bear liked different.

They stepped into each other and his arms went around her, their lips found each other, around each other, made trails down skin until Bear was on his knees in front of her, his forehead pressed against the softest swell of her belly, almost unable to believe this was really, actually happening.

"You really like this," Niamh said wonderingly as he pried down the straining waistband of her knickers, pressed a hot kiss to the sensitive place beneath her belly, a place that made her gasp.

"You don't believe me?" he said. He took a hold of her knickers and pulled them down to her knees. "Here," he said. "Let me show you."
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Old 12-30-2015, 06:14 AM   #29
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Oh dear - now I feel guilty!

I definitely didn't want to intrude on your plans for your characters.

Nevertheless, I always appreciate it when good stories get the chance to live up to their full potential.

To make a possible re-cap easier reading for everybody, I went ahead and at least formatted the story according to the usual pattern.

Waiting for more now...
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Old 12-30-2015, 06:17 AM   #30
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Quote:
Originally Posted by agouderia View Post
Oh dear - now I feel guilty!

I definitely didn't want to intrude on your plans for your characters.

Nevertheless, I always appreciate it when good stories get the chance to live up to their full potential.

To make a possible re-cap easier reading for everybody, I went ahead and at least formatted the story according to the usual pattern.

Waiting for more now...
Plans are meant to be broken .

Thanks for your kind comments and formatting help!
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Old 12-30-2015, 07:14 AM   #31
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Default Epilogue

Epilogue

2015 would forever be the year of mint jelly. Lamb, duck, beef and pork. Niamh called it quits when she made the mistake of spearmint tilapia and declared it the worst thing she had ever eaten, and Bear told her, rather politely, that he was sure he had cooked her things much less palatable in his earliest attempts to woo her.

There came a point in July when it looked like they had finally beaten it--that they had finally harassed Niamh's mint plant to death--but, of course, come September, it was once more choking the lavender and threatening to overrun into the neighbour's perfectly landscaped garden.

"It just keeps growing," Niamh said, despondent, as she stood in the drive one morning, seemingly every part of her wanting to escape: her plump, growing belly from the belt of her dressing gown, her round breasts from the collar, her black curls from the elastic band.

"Just like my love for you," Bear said, and Niamh groaned.

"And my stomach." She tugged at her belt whilst Bear stared at her hands, distracted. "Honestly," she continued, "maybe it's time to move."

"Place of our own?" Bear said.

"Yours and mine," she agreed, face still flush with annoyance. "No mint. And preferably before the neighbours start putting death threats through the door."

In October they found it: a cottage by the sea with a huge kitchen, the large down payment funded by the settlement and the insurance money that finally (Niamh could have sworn she could hear her mother doing a jig though the phone) came through.

It surprised Niamh how few things she had that were truly hers, outside of her mixers and icers and ice cream maker. Ger's exercise equipment still took up a large portion of the cupboard space. She had never bolstered enough courage to give away his excessive wardrobe, even after Bear all but moved in.

"I don't know what to do with this," Niamh said as they stood up, stretched, examined the stacks of their work that stood in towers of cardboard boxes that filled her sitting room.

"What about Ger's parents?"

"They don't want it," Niamh said.

Bear scratched behind his ear, Niamh's favourite bicep bulging.

"We can keep it if you want," he said. "There should be room in the garage. I don't have very much stuff."

Suddenly, Niamh's arms were around his waist, squeezing hard. She'd regained some of the strength she had lost in the aftermath of Ger's death, taking regular walks to the seaside with Bear, hoeing the blazes out of the front garden, but the fact was that she had to reach a little bit further to hug him every month. She said she didn't know how much she weighed, but Bear reckoned she did and just refused to tell him--perhaps in the superstition that once she started approaching twenty stone (still quite a ways off, Bear guessed, though growing closer every day), that he would start to panic and love her a little bit less. A silly thought, and one he would have to remedy in future.

"I don't want to keep it," Niamh said, her voice muffled by his chest as she leaned into him, her belly pressing into his hard stomach, around him. "I want to give it all to the bloody charity shop."

"Okay," Bear agreed. "I can do that for you."

They moved in November, and the photograph of Slim Niamh and Ger at the Brecon Beacons watched them from the mantle whilst they walked about their new lives, and received the most longed-for news. Ger smiled at them as they threw their arms around each other in the sitting room, Niamh too shocked to cry, Bear doing his best to not take it at all like a man.

In December they took their last thirty jars of mint jelly to Falmouth with them. Bear's parents greeted them with kisses at the door, protests that it had been too long, and strange-sounding exclamations to Niamh of, "You look well!"

"I look fat," Niamh said, kissing them both and blushing, "but I am well, thank you."

"Never mind that," Bear's mother said, taking the bags from Niamh's hands and keenly peeking inside. Her face fell. "More mint jelly."

"I know," Niamh said, "Sorry. Give it to your friends." Her hands ran the curve of her bulging middle, absent-mindedly lifted it where it hung over the waistband of her tightening jeans. "I don't even care any more."

On Christmas Eve, after everyone had gone to sleep, Bear found Niamh in the kitchen with a jar of mint jelly and a spoon, her plump backside overflowing the rickety kitchen stool, her wool socks slipping down the legs of her slick, straining leggings.

"I take it back," she said, scraping the bottom of the jar with her spoon. "Where did your mam put them? Can you sneak them back into the boot of the car? I think I want mint on everything for the rest of my life."

Bear smirked. "What's in it for me?"

"An even fatter girlfriend who promises she'll stop before gestational diabetes." She licked the spoon and looked at him levelly. "I'll wear Nancy's old bikini on New Year's. Or at least try."

Bear's mouth went dry.

"You're serious?"

"Do I joke about mint jelly?"

Bear kissed her soft cheek and did as she bid.

Bear's sister, brother-in-law, and nephews came for lunch the following day, and Nancy winked at Bear across the table as Niamh reached for third helpings of turkey. Any other day he would have frowned at her, but he was jittery, sweating, ready to reach for his champagne glass for the toast and to announce the news--

Only to be interrupted by his wet brother-in-law, who was clinking his own glass with the tines of his fork.

"We have something to announce," he said, and looked pointedly at his wife.

Nancy turned pink, playing the innocent, then broke into a smile.

"We're pregnant!" she announced, and like it was the very first time, everyone at the table erupted into a chorus of praise--except for little Jack, who stared glumly into his gravy, and the baby, who chucked a potato at the centrepiece.

Niamh met Bear's eyes.

"Tomorrow," she mouthed, and they both nodded. Bear's hand found hers beneath the table and she pressed it to the bulge of her belly, opened his fingers there, and held them against her with a warmth that made them both want to happy-cry.

"We're so pleased for you, Nancy," Niamh said once the congratulations had quieted. She gestured across the table with her butter knife. "I don't suppose you would mind passing the mint jelly, please?"

Nancy absently obeyed, and Bear's father cut in, "About your turn, isn't it, Barry?"

"Dad!" Nancy protested, but Bear only shook his head.

"When it's time, Dad," Bear told his father with a smile only Niamh could see. His hand fastened tight around hers.

"Yes," Niamh agreed, and spooned half the jar on her plate. "When it's time."
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Old 12-30-2015, 10:36 PM   #32
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A very sweet story, beautifully written. I really like stories of accidental gain rather than intentional. Thank you for posting.
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Old 12-31-2015, 01:31 AM   #33
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Originally Posted by billedmeup View Post
A very sweet story, beautifully written. I really like stories of accidental gain rather than intentional. Thank you for posting.
They're my favourite, too, especially when they're "love pounds." Thank you for your kind words!
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Old 12-31-2015, 01:32 AM   #34
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Hi Mods, would it be possible to have the thread title changed to match the title of Post 1? Just so I can add the tags (I know people have been looking for more BBW stories lately).

Thank you!
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Old 12-31-2015, 05:23 AM   #35
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Last action 2015 - thread title edited! :-)
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Old 01-01-2016, 01:01 AM   #36
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What a lovely tale, so glad you took the time to revisit it.
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