Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, ~BBW, ~~WG. Changing for your woman is harder than it looks.
Someone, somewhere, must have told Sharon that repetition was an effective persuasive technique, because during the three years we were together, not a week went by that she didnt bring up my (increasing) weight.
Id been of average build when we began dating, but Id been only a year out of college and still playing ball with my buddies, still golfing, still playing tennis back when we were all footloose and family-free.
Now, though, I was twenty-five and three of my best pals had tied the knot in the last three years. Two of them had moved away, and the one still in the neighborhood was the new father of twins. Its a little hard to shoot hoops by yourself, and golf was damned boring in a solo setting. And since an unfortunate lunge for a crosscourt forehand had earned me a torn ligament, I had hung up my tennis racquet for the time being.
A co-worker had gotten me interested in an online computer game that now took up much of my free time, and Sharon was increasingly interested in the yoga classes that she seemed to be at four or five evenings a week. So while she tucked her feet behind her ears and looked awfully attractive in her skimpy outfits, I was, admittedly, getting pudgy.
Yet Sharon continued to act as though I was oblivious to the pinch of my jeans, the shortage of holes in my belt, the strain of the shirt fabric across my steadily thickening waistline.
I think your bellys getting bigger, she would say thoughtfully in the bathroom as we prepared for bed.
Wow, really? No kidding.
I work very hard staying in shape for you cant you do the same for me? That was another one of her favorites.
I dont want you to die before youre thirty.
Um, thanks.
The only way to turn off her nagging, I eventually concluded, was to give in. I bought an elliptical machine and set it up in my basement workshop. Quit visiting the vending machines. Cut out soft drinks. Began parking at the far end of the lot at the company where I worked as a computer service technician (phone calls from people who think they need to step on the mouse like a cars accelerator).
I had, admittedly, packed on a good forty pounds or so, and it took a good six months to see a result. But when the scale finally started sharing good news, I made a point of lingering in the bathroom one evening as Sharon went through her bedtime routine.
Sure enough, she looked me up and down carefully, her eyebrows lifted. She sighed deeply. I had lost thirty pounds, and my waist was, well, almost flat.
Jim?
Mmm, I said absently, trying to pretend I always had a reason to shave right before bed.
I have some news for you.
Oh boy. Up until the sex had dried up to nothing, that had invariably been followed by, I need some loving real bad. That was our shtick.
Yeah babe?
Im leaving you.
I cursed and instinctively put a hand to my face to stop the blood.
Ill spare you the scene that followed, in which Sharon announced that not only was she leaving me she was leaving me for a woman. It wasnt pretty.
All of which is why, a week later, I barely noticed when I reached for the milk jug at the coffee shop and found someone else grabbing it at the same time.
Excuse me, we both said at once. Instinctively, I looked. A young woman, a blushing young woman, an attractive blushing young woman, was drawing her hand back.
Jinx, I said to break the tension. Now I owe you lunch.
She smiled, but demurred. Oh, no. No. She was backing up. Then she actually looked at me.
Sorry have we met? she asked.
Um, oh, I dont know. Brilliant!
You dont by any chance work in the Wright Building do you?
Actually, yeah.
At the computer call center? she persisted. Blushing again, she explained. Im April. I work for the employment agency on the same floor. I really think Ive seen you but you look, wow, really different.
The light bulb went off.
Hey, youre right. I mean, Ive seen you before, too. Ive, um, lost some weight.
Why? she asked.
Why? Um, why not? Doesnt everybody? I stammered.
By now the blush was gone and she was enjoying herself.
Clearly, I dont, she said, striking a pose.
I think you look beautiful, I said. I did, too. And I really think I owe you lunch.
By the time we got off the elevator and headed in opposite directions, I had persuaded her to meet me at the restaurant on the ground floor.
My ex-girlfriend was always after me to lose weight, I explained. I confessed that Sharons nagging had gotten to me.
She kept making faces whenever she saw me undressed. Said I was fat. And, I kind of was, I said. That earned me a skeptical look. Still, April kept quiet while I poured out my sorry tale. At length, she cocked her head to the side and gave me a searching look.
I know Ive put on some weight in the last few years, myself, but you know what? Life is short, she finally said. She shrugged. I like food, I exercise, and frankly its nice not to have to feel guilty about every bite.
She stood up and began rooting in her purse.
Uh-uh, I scolded. Lunch is on me. I said it rather absently, because in truth I was focused entirely on her figure. It wasnt Sharons slender cleanly muscled look, which I had always liked I guess Id liked it but it was stirring a serious reaction. April appeared to have soft shoulders and plump arms below her twin set, and her skirt hugged the va-va-voom curve of hips that Betty Grable and the like had once made famous.
Suddenly there was a kiss on my cheek.
Thank you very much, April said, and tucked a business card into my frozen hand. I stood there for another long several seconds, enjoying the rear view womanly hips swaying, delicious tush snug under the skirt, beautifully curved legs.
I made it through the rest of the day on autopilot. Stopped at the supermarket deli for a Caesar salad. Went home. Ate the salad. Stared at the television. Went to bed. Drifted finally into a fitful sleep full of dreams in which April stood up from behind her desk and took off her shirt, again and again.
I suppose Id been accustomed to Sharons determinedly slender figure without giving it much thought, but Aprils delectable curves intrigued me and, frankly, aroused me. And that wasnt all. The conversation, such as we had, had been comfortable, offering a level of ease and acceptance Id never reached with Sharon. I wanted to spend time with her again. And again. And again.
By the time I figured out that we were dating, I was determined not to let the first crack into the relationship as I apparently had with Sharon. If getting out of shape had cost me her interest and affection, then by God I would stay in shape. I wanted Aprils interest and affection, wanted it very much.
Every glimpse Id stolen of her figure (all beneath her clothes, unfortunately) had fueled my desire. Every hint of the soft full upper arms, the deliciously tuned machinations of her broad hips when she walked, the unmistakable chock of love handles if she turned, the sheer generosity that her body itself displayed was uniquely tempting as well as indicative of herself spontaneous, instinctively compassionate, and generous.
I chugged away on the elliptical, ate my veggies, stayed away from snacks and caloric coffee drinks, shunned the Red Bull and Monster my colleagues lived on.
And it worked, my belly stayed flat and so did our relationship. Oh, we enjoyed each others company, we made each other laugh, we could talk for hours or spend a whole day together saying not much at all. But it was entirely G-rated. I was starting to feel like I was back in high school and ready to explode with desire.
Fall slid by and Thanksgiving cropped up. We parted ways for the weekend, April to Augustana and me to Springfield, where my widowed mother, my aunt, and my sister spent three days urging me, my uncle, and my brother-in-law, respectively, to try a fudge bar, to have a few oatmeal-raisin cookies and a cup of cider, to sample the butterscotch blondies, and, on the day itself, to have some more turkey, try a little more corn relish, to take another helping of cheesy mashed potatoes, to have some more green bean casserole, to take another roll theyre small to have another helping of hominy and sausage, to help finish up the wild rice and venison, the Brussels sprouts, the cranberry-orange bread.
Until an hour or so after wed sat down, Uncle Roy, Stan, and I staggered heavily from the table and sank into the welcoming embrace of the sofa, loveseat, and recliner in the den. With a grunt of discomfort, I wrestled my jeans button undone and felt the zipper slide halfway down of its own accord.
Ugh. Leaning back against the ancient and shapeless cushions of the sofa, I rested both hands on my agonizingly distended belly. It had shrunk some since Id lost weight, and I had loaded it to well past capacity. Swollen and achingly tender, my stomach was gurgling and churning mightily, my midsection stretched tight as a drum and straining the thin fabric of my turtleneck.
I belched, grimacing as the eruption tugged at the skin of my gorged and bloated gut, warmly laden with what felt like pounds of Thanksgiving dinner.
Stan, my sister Cathies husband, quirked a grin and raised an eyebrow.
Illurpsecond that, he said, massaging his own bulging belly. He too had undone his trousers, and his stomach looked like mine felt heavy, warm, and ready to sag under its own burden.
More or less involuntarily, we both glanced at Uncle Roy, who was already asleep: head tipped back, hand thrust down the front of his Dacron trousers, belt flapped open and hook unfastened.
Ummm, Cathie groaned, making us both jump. She slowly made her way over to the loveseat and sank into it next to Stan. She hiccupped.
I am so hic! full, she gasped, cradling her visibly rounded tummy. Owww. She leaned her head on Stans shoulder.
Stan belched. Cathie halfheartedly smacked his chest.
Time you oohhh found a girlfriend. Hic! Cathie.
Not if I keep eating like this, I grunted.
But youve losthicso much weight. Cathie again.
Not anymore. I half-stifled the next belch, making a face.
We slowly recovered, struggled back to the surface, found enough room for fat slices of pumpkin pie.
The following Tuesday, over dinner, April and I reconvened.
Too much Thanksgiving, I admitted, poking at my steak. Unconsciously I found myself holding my breath.
Mmm. She shrugged and tipped her head to the side. Cant hurt.
I snorted. Well, yeah I could get fat.
By now she was giggling. Like I said cant hurt.
That was too cryptic to me, so I dropped the subject.
April appeared to have enjoyed her Thanksgiving tremendously. I thought I saw a new flop of muffin top below her blouse, or was I seeing things? I pushed the thought away. Apparently I was destined never to see beneath her garments.
Thanksgiving led inevitably into December, which meant lots of homemade treats in the break room, a rash of holiday parties, and Christmas with Mom and company, a festive (and feastive) rerun of Thanksgiving. By the time I picked April up for a New Years Eve party, I was in a foul mood, the result of my having tried on and discarded four pairs of trousers. I finally picked a pair back up, squeezed my holiday flab into the waistband, and threw on a sweater that might conceal the belly that swelled over the snug waistband and would force me to keep tugging my trousers up all night.
I felt the once-familiar heaviness around my gut, the softening of my pecs. My weight was back up, and I resented and feared it. I was certain it had cost me my relationship with Sharon, and I ignored how unsatisfying that relationship had become and how ugly its ending.
I pasted a smile on my face when April answered the door.
MMMmmm! She was embracing me, then she stood back and gave me a once-over. Wow, you look good!
Liar, I said kindly. I pressed a hand to my front porch. Christmas tummy.
She shrugged and giggled. I told you you look good.
It was the kind of party where for a (high) price you get the dance, the hotel room, and a breakfast buffet the next day.
The implications didnt dawn on me until we were, happily tipsy, wrestling with the key card. Hotel room. Singular.
And sure enough, within five minutes, April was unhooking her brassiere and I was trying really hard not to stare. Five foot six inches of gorgeous woman: generously rounded breasts below shoulders as creamily ripe as in my imagination. A soft tummy that looked incredibly inviting, a cushion just waiting to be rested upon. Those hips hello real womans hips, hips that flared out and led to plumply rounded thighs and beautifully curved legs, every inch a serious woman.
Youre allowed to breathe, April giggled. And dont you want to take something off?
Still in shock, I numbly stripped off my clothes without thinking, until I straightened up and saw April giving me the same look I had given her. Bright-eyed and slack-jawed.
Oh, I mumbled. Like I said. Put on a few pounds.
You are so hot, April mumbled. At least I think thats what she said. Her face was buried in my embarrassingly soft pecs and her hands were excuse me? Her hands were fondling my newly re-acquired love handles, making pancakes on my belly, burrowing into my navel, which was a tuck at the bottom of a ravine of cookies, turkey, gravy, brownies, sausage and rice, bars, and eggnog.
Did you say I was hot? This question came later, when we were sweat-soaked and panting and tangled in the sheets. Her head was resting on my chest and my hand curved protectively around one fabulously soft and pliant alabaster shoulder.
Hot. Mm. Yep, she murmured.
Um, you seem not to have noticed, I said slowly. Im fat here.
I felt the snort of derision on my chest.
Number one, you are not fat, she said firmly.
And number two, I think your body is the sexiest I have ever seen, and number three by now she had sat up, brushed her hair out of her face, and was patting and grabbing parts of my belly again Number three, I think the bigger you get the handsomer you get.
Wow. Subtle much?
I sat up. Come again?
Whoops, really bad choice of words.
I said, April replied through her giggles, I think your tummy is handsome and your chest is handsome and your cheeks and mouth and chin look better with a leetle bit of fullness to them, like now, and I do remember seeing you in the elevator from work and you were a lot hotter when you were a big handsome guy and whoever told you to get skinny oh, thats right, that chick who left you for a girl.
I flopped back down. Youre not making this up.
Nope.
You really think this I slid my hand up and down my midsection, feeling the flab sliding beneath my hand this is a plus, something that makes me more attractive to you, and not a character flaw.
Mmyep. She tripped her fingers down my belly and kept going. And I like this when its bigger, too.
Suddenly I had something else to do.
In the cold light of the new year, though, I was one confused puppy. I had gotten fat. Sharon had nagged. I had gotten thin. Sharon had left me after I had given her what she had said she wanted. I had met someone else, while still thin, and she was uninterested in hopping into the sack, in fact uninterested in my body at all until I packed on the pounds over the holidays, at which point she was all over me. That was too complex and confusing for me.
I invited April out for coffee and told her as gently as I could that I needed some space. She said she understood.
Life with no April in it was, I discovered, hollow. Instinctively I worked on filling it. I flirted with girls in bars and drank beer and ate wings and thought about April. I went to ball games and let my eyes rove the seats and drank beer and ate hot dogs and thought about April. I went out to lunch with groups from work and mildly flirted with the couple of female co-workers at the table and drank Coke and ate club sandwiches and fries, or chicken parm and fries, or burgers and chips, and thought about April.
And at night I would watch movies on Netflix and munch on microwave popcorn or chips or pretzels and think about April.
I couldnt stand it any more. Three months had passed. It was April 1. I phoned her office and asked for a date.
This is not, positively not, an April Fools, I told her.
Ive missed you, was all she said. Well, almost all.
At the restaurant where we met, she flew into my arms, then stood back, surveying, as a grin spread across her face.
Well, now, she murmured.
I took a deep breath and didnt look away. Ive put on some weight.
Mm-hmm, April murmured.
Over dinner, during which her hand kept turning up on my thigh and her foot kept getting intertwined with mine, I filled her in on how empty my life had been those several months and how I kept filling it with food.
You probably dont find me attractive, I concluded, reaching for a forkful of garlic mashed potatoes.
Jim. James. I find you incredibly attractive. Listen. I am not Sharon, I am not anybody else, I am April, and I love big guys, and I love you, I loved you when you were thin, and now that youre bigger, I still love you, I love you even more.
Over dessert April explained. Her heart and mind loved the person I was, no matter what the package was like. At the same time, her body responded fervently and helplessly to the package, and shed always been a fan of the big package.
And hurry up with that dessert, she said, waving her fork. Cause I want to unwrap this gorgeous package.
So I did.
A year later, as it happened, on April Fools Day again, we ran into Sharon. Blushes bloomed, and introductions were made.
I see youve gone back to your old habits, Sharon said.
Old habits, and some new ones, I said, deliberately resting a hand on my impressively rounded belly. I carried about 320 as of that morning, up nearly sixty pounds in the last year. Sharon, may I introduce my wife, April.
Congratulations, Sharon murmured, looking April over. And when are you due, dear?
April shrugged and giggled.
Oh, Im not pregnant, she said happily. Im just fat.
Two hundred and nineteen gloriously rippling, rosy pounds as of that morning, to be precise.
The woman on Sharons arm snorted and elbowed Sharon in her visible ribs.
Hi, the woman said, holding out a decidedly meaty arm. Im Deborah.
Deborah was Sharons height, around five five, but solid, broad shoulders, impressive chest, broad belly, sturdy hips. She was dressed in a well-tailored pinstripe suit and carried an attaché case.
Well see you, Sharon, I said. Nice meeting you, Deborah.
Over my shoulder. We have dinner reservations. We wouldnt want to be late.
Hand in hand we strolled down the sidewalk. I could hear Sharon spluttering as we left.
April Fool
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Someone, somewhere, must have told Sharon that repetition was an effective persuasive technique, because during the three years we were together, not a week went by that she didnt bring up my (increasing) weight.
Id been of average build when we began dating, but Id been only a year out of college and still playing ball with my buddies, still golfing, still playing tennis back when we were all footloose and family-free.
Now, though, I was twenty-five and three of my best pals had tied the knot in the last three years. Two of them had moved away, and the one still in the neighborhood was the new father of twins. Its a little hard to shoot hoops by yourself, and golf was damned boring in a solo setting. And since an unfortunate lunge for a crosscourt forehand had earned me a torn ligament, I had hung up my tennis racquet for the time being.
A co-worker had gotten me interested in an online computer game that now took up much of my free time, and Sharon was increasingly interested in the yoga classes that she seemed to be at four or five evenings a week. So while she tucked her feet behind her ears and looked awfully attractive in her skimpy outfits, I was, admittedly, getting pudgy.
Yet Sharon continued to act as though I was oblivious to the pinch of my jeans, the shortage of holes in my belt, the strain of the shirt fabric across my steadily thickening waistline.
I think your bellys getting bigger, she would say thoughtfully in the bathroom as we prepared for bed.
Wow, really? No kidding.
I work very hard staying in shape for you cant you do the same for me? That was another one of her favorites.
I dont want you to die before youre thirty.
Um, thanks.
The only way to turn off her nagging, I eventually concluded, was to give in. I bought an elliptical machine and set it up in my basement workshop. Quit visiting the vending machines. Cut out soft drinks. Began parking at the far end of the lot at the company where I worked as a computer service technician (phone calls from people who think they need to step on the mouse like a cars accelerator).
I had, admittedly, packed on a good forty pounds or so, and it took a good six months to see a result. But when the scale finally started sharing good news, I made a point of lingering in the bathroom one evening as Sharon went through her bedtime routine.
Sure enough, she looked me up and down carefully, her eyebrows lifted. She sighed deeply. I had lost thirty pounds, and my waist was, well, almost flat.
Jim?
Mmm, I said absently, trying to pretend I always had a reason to shave right before bed.
I have some news for you.
Oh boy. Up until the sex had dried up to nothing, that had invariably been followed by, I need some loving real bad. That was our shtick.
Yeah babe?
Im leaving you.
I cursed and instinctively put a hand to my face to stop the blood.
Ill spare you the scene that followed, in which Sharon announced that not only was she leaving me she was leaving me for a woman. It wasnt pretty.
All of which is why, a week later, I barely noticed when I reached for the milk jug at the coffee shop and found someone else grabbing it at the same time.
Excuse me, we both said at once. Instinctively, I looked. A young woman, a blushing young woman, an attractive blushing young woman, was drawing her hand back.
Jinx, I said to break the tension. Now I owe you lunch.
She smiled, but demurred. Oh, no. No. She was backing up. Then she actually looked at me.
Sorry have we met? she asked.
Um, oh, I dont know. Brilliant!
You dont by any chance work in the Wright Building do you?
Actually, yeah.
At the computer call center? she persisted. Blushing again, she explained. Im April. I work for the employment agency on the same floor. I really think Ive seen you but you look, wow, really different.
The light bulb went off.
Hey, youre right. I mean, Ive seen you before, too. Ive, um, lost some weight.
Why? she asked.
Why? Um, why not? Doesnt everybody? I stammered.
By now the blush was gone and she was enjoying herself.
Clearly, I dont, she said, striking a pose.
I think you look beautiful, I said. I did, too. And I really think I owe you lunch.
By the time we got off the elevator and headed in opposite directions, I had persuaded her to meet me at the restaurant on the ground floor.
My ex-girlfriend was always after me to lose weight, I explained. I confessed that Sharons nagging had gotten to me.
She kept making faces whenever she saw me undressed. Said I was fat. And, I kind of was, I said. That earned me a skeptical look. Still, April kept quiet while I poured out my sorry tale. At length, she cocked her head to the side and gave me a searching look.
I know Ive put on some weight in the last few years, myself, but you know what? Life is short, she finally said. She shrugged. I like food, I exercise, and frankly its nice not to have to feel guilty about every bite.
She stood up and began rooting in her purse.
Uh-uh, I scolded. Lunch is on me. I said it rather absently, because in truth I was focused entirely on her figure. It wasnt Sharons slender cleanly muscled look, which I had always liked I guess Id liked it but it was stirring a serious reaction. April appeared to have soft shoulders and plump arms below her twin set, and her skirt hugged the va-va-voom curve of hips that Betty Grable and the like had once made famous.
Suddenly there was a kiss on my cheek.
Thank you very much, April said, and tucked a business card into my frozen hand. I stood there for another long several seconds, enjoying the rear view womanly hips swaying, delicious tush snug under the skirt, beautifully curved legs.
I made it through the rest of the day on autopilot. Stopped at the supermarket deli for a Caesar salad. Went home. Ate the salad. Stared at the television. Went to bed. Drifted finally into a fitful sleep full of dreams in which April stood up from behind her desk and took off her shirt, again and again.
I suppose Id been accustomed to Sharons determinedly slender figure without giving it much thought, but Aprils delectable curves intrigued me and, frankly, aroused me. And that wasnt all. The conversation, such as we had, had been comfortable, offering a level of ease and acceptance Id never reached with Sharon. I wanted to spend time with her again. And again. And again.
By the time I figured out that we were dating, I was determined not to let the first crack into the relationship as I apparently had with Sharon. If getting out of shape had cost me her interest and affection, then by God I would stay in shape. I wanted Aprils interest and affection, wanted it very much.
Every glimpse Id stolen of her figure (all beneath her clothes, unfortunately) had fueled my desire. Every hint of the soft full upper arms, the deliciously tuned machinations of her broad hips when she walked, the unmistakable chock of love handles if she turned, the sheer generosity that her body itself displayed was uniquely tempting as well as indicative of herself spontaneous, instinctively compassionate, and generous.
I chugged away on the elliptical, ate my veggies, stayed away from snacks and caloric coffee drinks, shunned the Red Bull and Monster my colleagues lived on.
And it worked, my belly stayed flat and so did our relationship. Oh, we enjoyed each others company, we made each other laugh, we could talk for hours or spend a whole day together saying not much at all. But it was entirely G-rated. I was starting to feel like I was back in high school and ready to explode with desire.
Fall slid by and Thanksgiving cropped up. We parted ways for the weekend, April to Augustana and me to Springfield, where my widowed mother, my aunt, and my sister spent three days urging me, my uncle, and my brother-in-law, respectively, to try a fudge bar, to have a few oatmeal-raisin cookies and a cup of cider, to sample the butterscotch blondies, and, on the day itself, to have some more turkey, try a little more corn relish, to take another helping of cheesy mashed potatoes, to have some more green bean casserole, to take another roll theyre small to have another helping of hominy and sausage, to help finish up the wild rice and venison, the Brussels sprouts, the cranberry-orange bread.
Until an hour or so after wed sat down, Uncle Roy, Stan, and I staggered heavily from the table and sank into the welcoming embrace of the sofa, loveseat, and recliner in the den. With a grunt of discomfort, I wrestled my jeans button undone and felt the zipper slide halfway down of its own accord.
Ugh. Leaning back against the ancient and shapeless cushions of the sofa, I rested both hands on my agonizingly distended belly. It had shrunk some since Id lost weight, and I had loaded it to well past capacity. Swollen and achingly tender, my stomach was gurgling and churning mightily, my midsection stretched tight as a drum and straining the thin fabric of my turtleneck.
I belched, grimacing as the eruption tugged at the skin of my gorged and bloated gut, warmly laden with what felt like pounds of Thanksgiving dinner.
Stan, my sister Cathies husband, quirked a grin and raised an eyebrow.
Illurpsecond that, he said, massaging his own bulging belly. He too had undone his trousers, and his stomach looked like mine felt heavy, warm, and ready to sag under its own burden.
More or less involuntarily, we both glanced at Uncle Roy, who was already asleep: head tipped back, hand thrust down the front of his Dacron trousers, belt flapped open and hook unfastened.
Ummm, Cathie groaned, making us both jump. She slowly made her way over to the loveseat and sank into it next to Stan. She hiccupped.
I am so hic! full, she gasped, cradling her visibly rounded tummy. Owww. She leaned her head on Stans shoulder.
Stan belched. Cathie halfheartedly smacked his chest.
Time you oohhh found a girlfriend. Hic! Cathie.
Not if I keep eating like this, I grunted.
But youve losthicso much weight. Cathie again.
Not anymore. I half-stifled the next belch, making a face.
We slowly recovered, struggled back to the surface, found enough room for fat slices of pumpkin pie.
The following Tuesday, over dinner, April and I reconvened.
Too much Thanksgiving, I admitted, poking at my steak. Unconsciously I found myself holding my breath.
Mmm. She shrugged and tipped her head to the side. Cant hurt.
I snorted. Well, yeah I could get fat.
By now she was giggling. Like I said cant hurt.
That was too cryptic to me, so I dropped the subject.
April appeared to have enjoyed her Thanksgiving tremendously. I thought I saw a new flop of muffin top below her blouse, or was I seeing things? I pushed the thought away. Apparently I was destined never to see beneath her garments.
Thanksgiving led inevitably into December, which meant lots of homemade treats in the break room, a rash of holiday parties, and Christmas with Mom and company, a festive (and feastive) rerun of Thanksgiving. By the time I picked April up for a New Years Eve party, I was in a foul mood, the result of my having tried on and discarded four pairs of trousers. I finally picked a pair back up, squeezed my holiday flab into the waistband, and threw on a sweater that might conceal the belly that swelled over the snug waistband and would force me to keep tugging my trousers up all night.
I felt the once-familiar heaviness around my gut, the softening of my pecs. My weight was back up, and I resented and feared it. I was certain it had cost me my relationship with Sharon, and I ignored how unsatisfying that relationship had become and how ugly its ending.
I pasted a smile on my face when April answered the door.
MMMmmm! She was embracing me, then she stood back and gave me a once-over. Wow, you look good!
Liar, I said kindly. I pressed a hand to my front porch. Christmas tummy.
She shrugged and giggled. I told you you look good.
It was the kind of party where for a (high) price you get the dance, the hotel room, and a breakfast buffet the next day.
The implications didnt dawn on me until we were, happily tipsy, wrestling with the key card. Hotel room. Singular.
And sure enough, within five minutes, April was unhooking her brassiere and I was trying really hard not to stare. Five foot six inches of gorgeous woman: generously rounded breasts below shoulders as creamily ripe as in my imagination. A soft tummy that looked incredibly inviting, a cushion just waiting to be rested upon. Those hips hello real womans hips, hips that flared out and led to plumply rounded thighs and beautifully curved legs, every inch a serious woman.
Youre allowed to breathe, April giggled. And dont you want to take something off?
Still in shock, I numbly stripped off my clothes without thinking, until I straightened up and saw April giving me the same look I had given her. Bright-eyed and slack-jawed.
Oh, I mumbled. Like I said. Put on a few pounds.
You are so hot, April mumbled. At least I think thats what she said. Her face was buried in my embarrassingly soft pecs and her hands were excuse me? Her hands were fondling my newly re-acquired love handles, making pancakes on my belly, burrowing into my navel, which was a tuck at the bottom of a ravine of cookies, turkey, gravy, brownies, sausage and rice, bars, and eggnog.
Did you say I was hot? This question came later, when we were sweat-soaked and panting and tangled in the sheets. Her head was resting on my chest and my hand curved protectively around one fabulously soft and pliant alabaster shoulder.
Hot. Mm. Yep, she murmured.
Um, you seem not to have noticed, I said slowly. Im fat here.
I felt the snort of derision on my chest.
Number one, you are not fat, she said firmly.
And number two, I think your body is the sexiest I have ever seen, and number three by now she had sat up, brushed her hair out of her face, and was patting and grabbing parts of my belly again Number three, I think the bigger you get the handsomer you get.
Wow. Subtle much?
I sat up. Come again?
Whoops, really bad choice of words.
I said, April replied through her giggles, I think your tummy is handsome and your chest is handsome and your cheeks and mouth and chin look better with a leetle bit of fullness to them, like now, and I do remember seeing you in the elevator from work and you were a lot hotter when you were a big handsome guy and whoever told you to get skinny oh, thats right, that chick who left you for a girl.
I flopped back down. Youre not making this up.
Nope.
You really think this I slid my hand up and down my midsection, feeling the flab sliding beneath my hand this is a plus, something that makes me more attractive to you, and not a character flaw.
Mmyep. She tripped her fingers down my belly and kept going. And I like this when its bigger, too.
Suddenly I had something else to do.
In the cold light of the new year, though, I was one confused puppy. I had gotten fat. Sharon had nagged. I had gotten thin. Sharon had left me after I had given her what she had said she wanted. I had met someone else, while still thin, and she was uninterested in hopping into the sack, in fact uninterested in my body at all until I packed on the pounds over the holidays, at which point she was all over me. That was too complex and confusing for me.
I invited April out for coffee and told her as gently as I could that I needed some space. She said she understood.
Life with no April in it was, I discovered, hollow. Instinctively I worked on filling it. I flirted with girls in bars and drank beer and ate wings and thought about April. I went to ball games and let my eyes rove the seats and drank beer and ate hot dogs and thought about April. I went out to lunch with groups from work and mildly flirted with the couple of female co-workers at the table and drank Coke and ate club sandwiches and fries, or chicken parm and fries, or burgers and chips, and thought about April.
And at night I would watch movies on Netflix and munch on microwave popcorn or chips or pretzels and think about April.
I couldnt stand it any more. Three months had passed. It was April 1. I phoned her office and asked for a date.
This is not, positively not, an April Fools, I told her.
Ive missed you, was all she said. Well, almost all.
At the restaurant where we met, she flew into my arms, then stood back, surveying, as a grin spread across her face.
Well, now, she murmured.
I took a deep breath and didnt look away. Ive put on some weight.
Mm-hmm, April murmured.
Over dinner, during which her hand kept turning up on my thigh and her foot kept getting intertwined with mine, I filled her in on how empty my life had been those several months and how I kept filling it with food.
You probably dont find me attractive, I concluded, reaching for a forkful of garlic mashed potatoes.
Jim. James. I find you incredibly attractive. Listen. I am not Sharon, I am not anybody else, I am April, and I love big guys, and I love you, I loved you when you were thin, and now that youre bigger, I still love you, I love you even more.
Over dessert April explained. Her heart and mind loved the person I was, no matter what the package was like. At the same time, her body responded fervently and helplessly to the package, and shed always been a fan of the big package.
And hurry up with that dessert, she said, waving her fork. Cause I want to unwrap this gorgeous package.
So I did.
A year later, as it happened, on April Fools Day again, we ran into Sharon. Blushes bloomed, and introductions were made.
I see youve gone back to your old habits, Sharon said.
Old habits, and some new ones, I said, deliberately resting a hand on my impressively rounded belly. I carried about 320 as of that morning, up nearly sixty pounds in the last year. Sharon, may I introduce my wife, April.
Congratulations, Sharon murmured, looking April over. And when are you due, dear?
April shrugged and giggled.
Oh, Im not pregnant, she said happily. Im just fat.
Two hundred and nineteen gloriously rippling, rosy pounds as of that morning, to be precise.
The woman on Sharons arm snorted and elbowed Sharon in her visible ribs.
Hi, the woman said, holding out a decidedly meaty arm. Im Deborah.
Deborah was Sharons height, around five five, but solid, broad shoulders, impressive chest, broad belly, sturdy hips. She was dressed in a well-tailored pinstripe suit and carried an attaché case.
Well see you, Sharon, I said. Nice meeting you, Deborah.
Over my shoulder. We have dinner reservations. We wouldnt want to be late.
Hand in hand we strolled down the sidewalk. I could hear Sharon spluttering as we left.
