Dinner for Two - by Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BHM, Eating, Romance, ~SWG )

[Big Beautiful Dreamer]

~BHM, Eating, Romance, ~SWG - Saving a damsel in a unique form of distress leads to a lifetime together

Dinner for Two*
by Big Beautiful Dreamer

*with acknowledgement to Andrew Greeley for the derivation of the nickname​

Jake Nicholas had just about decided that there really was no point to life. He tended to leave work, go to the gym, and then go home and watch television. Work was dull, TV was dull, exercise produced only mild satisfaction.

One evening he was feeling less gray than usual after his workout. Impulsively, he strolled into a restaurant down the block from the gym. At the desk, a maitre d’ was being snooty to a young woman. “We simply do not take reservations for parties of one,” he said coldly.

From the look on the woman’s face, she’d tried asserting her rights as a solo diner and was losing.

Suddenly Jake strode up, faking confidence.

“There you are,” he said warmly from behind, putting his hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Sorry I’m late.”

As she turned, he flickered her the ghost of a wink.

The maitre d’ thawed noticeably and seemed to forget about reservations. “This way please,” he said silkily, and settled them at a good table near the windows. He took their drink orders before oozing off.

The coast was clear. Jake cleared his throat. “Um, I’m Jake Nicholas,” he stammered. “I think I’m pleased to meet you.”

The awkwardness of his introduction carried its own dorky charm, and the woman’s face lit up. She had a heart-shaped face framed by short dark feathery hair and a sweet, friendly smile.

“I’m Shovie Ryan,” she returned, extending her hand. “Thank you for rescuing me. I know I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Uh, Shovie?”

“A nickname. My name is S-i-o-b-h-a-n, an Irish name, pronounced “Shawvahn.”

“Shovie,” Jake repeated slowly. “I like that.”

Over their impromptu dinner date, Jake felt alive in a way he hadn’t in the longest time. Good company and a change in routine were a bracing tonic. Shovie was a witty companion and the evening passed too quickly.

On the sidewalk, Jake felt awkward again. What was he supposed to do now? Finally, vestigial manners took over. “May I phone you?”

“Please,” Shovie said kindly. She gave him her card – not a business card but a social one, what they used to call a calling card. Jake found the notion charming.

The next day, and the next, he couldn’t keep his mind of the girl of the chance meeting. He telephoned, and was about to put the phone down when he heard a click and a breathless, “Hello?”

“Hi, Shovie,” he said, feeling a surge of warmth at just saying her name. “Jake Nicholas here…”

“My savior,” she interrupted with a giggle.

“Um … I was wondering if maybe you might be interested in spending some time together.”

They agreed on a picnic. Jake admitted to being a hopeless cook, but Shovie said she would be happy to bring the food. He picked her up on Saturday morning, his eyebrows shooting up at the size of the picnic basket. She blushed.

“I like to cook,” she murmured.

The conversation flowed as though they’d known each other for years, without any of the timidity and play-acting that often accompanies new relationships.

Shovie leading the way, they hiked up a slope, enough of a hill to make you feel that you’d accomplished something, and Shovie laid out the blanket and began to set out an astonishing picnic. Huge sandwiches, cheese and crackers, a big bowl of sliced strawberries, frozen grapes, chilled strips of roast chicken and damp leaves of romaine lettuce with a tangy herbal dip, raspberry lemonade, brownies, even a Thermos of coffee.

Jake ate and talked and talked and ate. The sun rose and the cool day warmed and Jake, stuffed and sun-lazed, felt his eyelids grow heavy.

“Take a nap,” Shovie urged. She lay down beside him as he stretched out, hands behind his head. Gently she rubbed his full stomach and loosened his belt. The faint hum of insects faded out.

Blinking, Jake awoke.

“Time’s it?” he mumbled.

A gentle hand smoothed his hair. “One o’clock.”

“Mmm.”

“Would you like a piece of pie?” Shovie asked.

“Mm. No. Thanks. Ate too much,” Jake admitted.

Hand in hand they strolled back to the car, stashed the picnic things, and ambled along, window shopping. They poked in a bookstore, a pottery shop, a knitting store, a cell-phone store. The afternoon passed idly and companiably.

As evening approached, Shovie squeezed Jake’s hand.

“What would you say…”

“Mmm?”

“If I offered to cook supper for you?”

“Tonight?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Ah. Why not?” Jake echoed.

So they went to her loft apartment. She put some Bonnie Raitt on the CD and started banging around in the kitchen.

“What can I do?” Jake offered.

“Pour me a glass of wine.”

Jake found a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge and poked around until he found the wineglasses. He leaned against the counter and they talked as she mixed a salad and put it in the fridge and started garlic bread and lasagna.

They drank more wine as they ate. It was all delicious and Jake forgot about the huge picnic lunch and gladly accepted several large helpings of everything.

After a while, Jake registered absently, the way you do, that he was getting full. No, beyond full. He let out his belt a notch, slowly rubbing his gorged belly in satisfaction. Shovie laid another helping in front of him.

“Ah, no,” Jake said regretfully. He patted his bulging midriff for emphasis. “Stuffed.”

“Come on,” Shovie urged. “Big handsome guy like you.” She blushed at her forwardness. Stuffed as he was, Jake was getting aroused. He wanted to do whatever she wanted him to do. He took the plate. The last of the salad, the last of the bread, a big crusty slab of lasagna, his wineglass refilled.

Jake ate slowly, a little cautiously. The waistband of his jeans was pinching relentlessly and his gut was heavily laden, sagging with the weight of all that food, his abdomen taut under his shirt. He cleaned his plate, dimly reveling in the sated feeling he normally associated with Thanksgiving. He rose heavily, staggering a little. His belly, tautly protruding, sloshed and churned, throwing him off balance.

Out of habit, he made as if to clear his dishes, but a gentle hand on his wrist arrested his movement.

“Go on through to the sofa,” Shovie urged. “I’ll clear.”

Jake needed little encouragement. He tottered over to the soft leather sofa and sank onto it. Leaning back, he stretched his legs out and found the button of his jeans, now pulled tight. He fumbled it undone and rested a hand on his bloated midriff. Distended and sore, it was hard and achingly stretched. He was stuffed beyond capacity, on the verge of feeling sick.

He must have closed his eyes without realizing it. He became aware that Shovie was sitting next to him, firmly and steadily massaging his engorged belly. Unthinkingly he let out a groan of contentment.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing. “Mmm. Ate too much.” He stifled a belch.

“Nonsense,” Shovie retorted. “Big handsome guy.”

“No, really,” started to say, then shut his trap. He had eaten too much and he knew it, but for some reason this seemed to have pleased Shovie.
She continued to massage his protruding stomach until he began to feel better. As the immediacy of his gorge receded, Jake became aware of his arousal. Somehow, his overstuffed belly was enhancing his arousal, not diminishing it.

With a grunt of effort, Jake shifted and began to gently explore Shovie’s shoulders, full breasts, firm, slightly rounded belly, soft skin, and suddenly they were kissing, a kiss that went on for weeks, leaving them gasping.

“I shouldn’t,” Jake managed, “second date…”

“Yes,” Shovie gasped. “Yes … you should …”

Somehow they levitated into the bedroom, somehow they shed their clothes. They entwined themselves with each other.

Jake’s stomach still hurt, and he assumed that would be an obstacle, but once they entered into intimacy, his full belly enhanced the experience, and he enjoyed the sensation of his bloated and aching stomach sloshing and his distended gut moving with their moves, the pressure of Shovie on his full abdomen, the gurgling and even the occasional belch, which made her giggle.

Afterward, sated, drowsy, they talked.

“Truth is,” Shovie confessed, “I think a man is much more handsome if he’s got a little to him. I’m not fond of skeletons myself.”

Jake slapped his belly, still heavily rounded from the large meal. “Define ‘little.’”

Shovie propped up on her elbows. “I mean it. I think you’d be even more adorable if you were a little bigger. Don’t stop going to the gym,” she added hastily. “I love that definition. But I like teddy bears too.” She buried her head in his chest.

“Teddy bears, huh?”

“Mmf-hmmf.” She raised her head to look at him.

“Well. We’ll see.”

He was aroused again, and turned to her as a plant turns toward the sun. Slowly they embraced and languidly, dreamily, made love, their movements as if underwater, so united that Jake couldn’t tell if the breathing he was feeling was hers or his. Afterward they curled into each other and fell asleep. Jake dreamed about twenty-foot teddy bears lumbering benignly through the city, smiling as charmed residents fed them doughnuts.

The next morning, over coffee, Jake brought the subject up again. “You’re saying you want me to gain weight?”

“Mm-hmm.” Shovie swallowed. I love a well-defined man with a round soft tummy.”

Jake gave her a skeptical look. She gave him a melting look in response.

What could he say? “Ah, oh, well, I guess.”

Shovie leaped up and planted a big kiss on his cheek. “There! You darling.”

Jeez, Jake thought. He saw Shovie, elbows planted on the table, chin in hands, gazing at him. “What?”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“Well I don’t know. If you keep feeding me like that, not long, I guess.”

Oops, famous last words. Shovie hopped up and immediately began preparing a huge breakfast. When the dust settled, Jake was looking at three eggs, a slice of ham, three slices of bacon, four – four! – of those iced cinnamon rolls from a tube, and two thick slices of toast and jam.

“Holy cow, Shovie,” Jake mumbled.

“Come on,” she urged. “You’re my guy.”

Things were all happening awfully fast for Jake. At the same time, he’d fallen hard for Shovie, no question.

He picked up his fork.

Half an hour later, the plate was empty, and a dazed Jake was wiping icing from his mouth. His stomach was unaccustomed to a food dump first thing in the morning and was grumbling audibly in complaint. He’d filled it to capacity and then some, and he had to admit it was aching, stretched to hold all that food. His boxer shorts had slid south in self-defense and the waistband was folded over beneath his now-bulging gut.

He stood reluctantly and massaged his protruding midsection, coaxing up a belch, and eyed the sofa. Shovie nodded and he stretched out on it. Ah, that was better. Gently massaging his bloated belly, he reclined as he and Shovie together worked their way through the crossword.

“Eight-letter word for ‘near neighbor.’”

Jake pondered. “Adjacent,” he mumbled through a huge yawn. “Shovie…”

“Mmm?”

“I do have a job and stuff, y’know. I really can’t eat like this every day.”

“Oh, I know. That’s what weekends are for!”

They agreed to communicate mostly by phone and e-mail during the week and spend weekends together. Jake soon came to live for those weekends. They strolled, went to movies, went bike riding, did crosswords, visited craft fairs, and always and throughout, ate. Or Jake did. Shovie enjoyed her food, but she kept an eye on her intake.

Jake, of course, felt the effects of his greatly increased intake right away. It didn’t take long for others to notice, too, a month or so at most.
He was eyeing skeptically the doughnuts in the breakroom when Hugh Morrison strolled in and unhurriedly helped himself to one.

“Morning, Jake.”

“Hey, Hugh.”

Hugh nodded in the direction of Jake’s visibly thickening waistline. “Put on a few.”

Jake supposed that social custom obligated him to appear rueful, so he did. Shaking his head, he patted his gut in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled.

“Old age creeping up on ya,” Hugh advised. “Once you get near 30, you gotta watch it.”

Hugh was a little soggy in the midsection himself, a fact that Jake tactfully did not bring up.

Later in the day, passing the reception desk, he said, “Hey, Heidi.”

“Good morning, sir,” she responded. “May I – oh. Jake! I didn’t recognize you.”
She put her head on the side and studied him. “Did you … get a haircut?” she guessed.

“Nope.”

Her gaze traveled down toward his shoes and back up to his face. “Well, something looks different,” she pronounced.

Back at his desk, a new e-mail announced itself. It was from Shovie.

“Good morning, Teddy Bear,” she wrote. “I can’t believe my good fortune in meeting such a sweet, funny, nice guy! The last few weeks have been heavenly! I can’t wait to see you again. Hearts, S.”

Smiling to himself, Jake closed the message. He couldn’t wait either.

The week crawled by, and Friday eventually arrived. Jake presented himself at Shovie’s apartment with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of tulips, both of which she exclaimed over before giving him an enthusiastic embrace.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she promised. “Open the wine?”

Dinner turned out to be pot roast, tender and moist, richly smooth mashed potatoes larded with butter and sour cream, cornbread, matchstick carrots and sautéed green beans.

Jake took a deep breath and dived in. Man alive, was it good. “Shovie,” he mumbled, with his mouth a little full, “you sure about this ‘big, round, soft tummy’ thing?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I think it makes you handsomer than you already are – which is pretty handsome! There’s just something about that soft spot that really turns me on.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Are you feeling weird about it?”

That was a good question, actually. Jake pondered.

“You know,” he said, “not really.” He smiled. “Not really at all.”

He emptied his plate and let Shovie fill it again. He was now contentedly full. He could have stopped – a lot of guys would have – but he had come to associate the discomfort of overeating with the pleasure of a special kind of intimacy. He began on seconds after letting his belt out a notch.

He began to slow down without even realizing it. He was getting to be uncomfortably stuffed, his belly pressing on his overworked waistband. He dispatched of a piece of moist, sweet cornbread in two bites, not quite succeeding in stifling a hiccup.

“Slow down,” Shovie counseled, which was good advice. He tempered his pace and cleaned his plate, even making a dent in thirds before finally, reluctantly giving up.

As had become their routine, he then hauled himself to his feet and stumbled to the sofa. Shovie, after clearing the table, would join him. Undoing his pants, she would gently and steadily massage his aching and distended abdomen, easing his discomfort and increasing his arousal. Then, she would feed him dessert, easing each sweet spoonful into his mouth as he groaned in both pleasure and pain.

It didn’t take long for his clothes to tell the tale. An addition of 15 pounds, even on a well-proportioned guy as Jake had been, shows up, and as his trousers became increasingly snug and his shirts began to pull at waist and chest, his transformation became more noticeable.

Hugh, who was lacking in tact, noted, “Packin’ it on there, Jake-o,” nodding at his steadily thickening waistline. Others at work, while more subtle, asked him if he hadn’t perhaps added a few pounds. Heidi, who frequently put home-baked treats on her desk, routinely urged others to help themselves, but she’d stopped mentioning them to Jake as he passed by.

He finally gave in and got some clothes that accommodated his expanding girth. The next day, he was pleased at how magically easy getting dressed was. In addition, he got compliments all day. Several people asked him if he was losing weight. Amazing.

Shovie was pleased with his new outfits too, although they didn’t stay on all that long. Once they were both naked, she cradled and caressed his increasing architecture, fondling, squeezing and massaging his spreading midriff, cuddling his now-sizeable love handles, nuzzling his softening chin and cuddling his softening pecs.

“I love every inch of you,” she mumbled into his snuggly chest.

“Really?”

“Every … lovely … inch,” she murmured, raining kisses onto his vanishing belly button. “Each curve, every rounding, all your cuddliness.”

Later, before showering, Jake examined himself in the mirror. His previously unremarkable profile had altered noticeably. His chest had rounded into – well – breasts, with protruding nipples at that. His ribcage had some extra padding around it and his arms, with well-defined muscles still underneath, were nonetheless becoming doughier.

His chest had begun to demonstrate a downward slope toward a new and reasonably prominent pot belly. His stomach protruded, spreading downward and outward into sizeable love handles and a thickening spare tire. Shovie came in and began massaging his tummy. “Teddy bear,” she pronounced.

“This is teddy bear?” Jake queried.

“Yup. Teddy bear,” Shovie said.
Jake arrested her hand. “This is the look you were going for,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Do I stop?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you want me to maintain this look … or what?”

Shovie thought about it, making hmm noises as she returned to massaging his stomach. The soft flesh undulated as she moved her hand up and down. Finally she tipped her head back, looking him in the eye. “Let’s … just see what happens.”

“See what happens,” Jake repeated.

“Mmm.”

“In that case,” Jake murmured, “I think perhaps we should get married.”

Shovie hugged him tighter. “Teddy bear wants to marry me?”

“Yes I do,” Jake said firmly. Just then, his stomach gurgled.

“If you’re going to be my husband,” Shovie replied, “I think perhaps you should have a little something to eat.”

 

[jjgreen14]

 

[Big Beautiful Dreamer]