Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, ~Dining - The latest installment in the "Jamie's Tummy" series, following "Jamie's Tummy for Two or More."
Link to the previous story in the Jamie's Tummy Series here
Jamie Foster breathed a sigh of relief as he herded his family out to the car. The big-deal Easter church service was over and, miraculously, his two-year-old twins had stayed (mostly) still and quiet. Anne looked beautiful in a flowing lavender dress, and Jamie was feeling pretty sharp himself in his new suit, even if the fifty-eight-inch waist left no room for error.
Next stop: Easter dinner at Anne’s parents’ house. Jamie’s mother, long divorced, had lately taken up with her widowed neighbor, for which Jamie was thankful on a couple of counts. One, she witheringly disapproved of his size. She’d given up saying anything, but she was a black belt in the scorching-look department. The other, to be fair, was that Jamie was genuinely happy for his mother finding companionship.
Anne’s parents were almost total opposites of Jamie’s mom, both laid-back and nonjudgmental. Her father was a history professor, her mother a retired home economics teacher. Needless to say, their meals were not to be missed.
Anne’s younger sister adored Owen and Mary, and was quick to whisk them off to the bedroom with PB&J sandwiches, goldfish crackers, milk, and promises of an animated movie to occupy their time.
Jamie surveyed the table with anticipation. Much of Anne’s extended family was crowded around it. The table itself was groaning with food, and there was more on the kitchen counter. Dishes were passed, conversation took off, and Jamie was free to enjoy both food and fellowship.
It took a lot more lately for Papa Jamie to feel full than it had when he and Anne were courting. He had gained fifteen pounds by the time he married Anne and another five on their Italian honeymoon. Then Anne had become pregnant and he’d had to promise her that his waistline would always be bigger than hers.
Of course, that pregnancy had turned out twins.
Jamie happily, slowly, emptied two heaping plates full of ham, green bean casserole, deviled eggs slick and cool, asparagus Hollandaise, rolls, honeyed carrots, corn muffins, Jell-O salad, cheese crescents, pickle relish, stuffed olives, and two tall glasses of iced tea.
He paused while Anne and her mother cleared off the emptied dishes and brought out the second string from the kitchen. Ohboy. He was beginning to feel almost full. His new belt was pinching just a hair. But here was hot chicken salad with Chinese noodles. Here were deviled eggs topped with bacon and green onions. Here was broccoli au gratin and more of that asparagus. Here was homemade chow chow, scalloped potatoes, potato salad (three kinds!), macaroni salad, candied yams, and another platter of ham, this one with pineapple rings.
Jamie leisurely savored every delicious bite. Each tasty mouthful called for another and another and another. He was definitely beginning to get full. And two more glasses of iced tea were history. A quart of tea and three heaping plates of dinner. His belly began to ache just a little, the sides stretching, his midsection heavy and warm. He was decidedly stuffed. He let his belt out a notch. Ah, better. He shifted a little in his seat and gave his swelling belly a gentle rub. Mmm. Ahhh. He coaxed up, and stifled, a smallish belch.
He piled his plate again. How had he missed that second Jell-O salad? Someone ought to finish off the deviled eggs. And the hot chicken salad. Mrs. Moody’s chow chow was too good for words. What was this, his fourth helpings? It was hard to keep track.
Jamie’s tummy was becoming achingly taut, seeming to expand with every mouthful. He could hear it beginning to gurgle and groan quietly. His stomach was tightening with visible distention, the trousers of his new suit beginning to creak. Anne had the advantage of him with that flowing dress, but he could tell by her flushed face that she’d been piling away her own feast.
Almost in a daze, he finished off his fourth plateful. Fifth? And how many quarts of iced tea had he made vanish? He was stuffed to bursting. No more, absolutely. He was full to the brim, a little flushed and queasy now. He undid his belt and let it out another two notches. That was it, that was all the belt had to offer, it was now completely undone. He winced at the thought of trying to buckle it across his swollen and aching belly. He was sure that it must be visibly bloated, protruding hugely to contain the enormous meal he’d tucked away. He undid the hook of his trousers. That offered hardly any relief.
His sides were tugging, the skin of his tummy stretched tightly across his hugely gorged gut. He could feel the bottom buttons of his shirt straining. He was approaching satiation. He devoutly wished he could unzip his trousers, but he knew that if he did, his shirt would not cover the spreading acreage of his ballooning tummy. The bottom buttons of the shirt were already at Def-Con 1. Too deep a breath and they would ping off, never to be seen again.
Jamie slowly drained the last of his iced tea. How many quarts of tea had he swallowed? He felt dopily satiated, logy and warm. His belly was hugely swollen, heavy and firm with plenitude. His sides strained against the overworked waistband of his trousers. All he wanted to do was to recline, in replete stupefaction, and savor the pleasure of being so hugely full.
Activity around the table brought him back to full consciousness.
Mrs. Moody and Anne’s sister had cleared away the dishes and were laying out … dessert. No, desserts, plural. Chocolate cream pie with whipped topping and an elaborate lattice of chocolate syrup; chocolate chip cheesecake on an Oreo crust; caramel-topped brownies; white-chocolate-chunk brownies; and three kinds of pie: apple, sweet potato, and coconut cream.
Mrs. Moody smiled at Jamie as she laid a plate in front of him. Crowded onto the plate were a big slice of chocolate cream pie and an equally huge slice of the cheesecake.
“I know you like chocolate,” she said, with her trademark wink. “Dig in!”
Discreetly as he could, Jamie gently massaged his achingly taut belly, finally coaxing up a good belch. Amid the conversation, no one heard it. Anne across the table saw it and winked at him. She herself held a large forkful of cheesecake. Her face was gently flushed and her dress seemed to be pulling a little across her chest. Jamie didn’t want to insult Mrs. Moody by turning down dessert. In a daze, he forked down bite after bite. He could almost feel the surface tension of his distended gut tighten with each mouthful. As if from a distance, he saw, muzzily, Mrs. Moody lay a huge slice of coconut cream pie in front of him. That was light as air. A doddle to get down. Sweet potato pie was denser. But he wanted to try everything.
Of its own volition, his bottom shirt button snicked off and fell to the carpet. Where had the sweet potato pie gone? Utterly vanished. A slice of apple pie, hot and with ice cream melting, took its place. Denser still, but how his mouth yearned for that taste. His belly was testing the seams of his trousers. The zipper was in danger. Jamie could almost feel it creaking. He was stupefyingly full, dizzyingly sated, swooning with repletion. His stomach felt heavy and weightless all at once, pinning him down and yet detaching itself. In a dream he saw his hand pick up the brownie, in a dream he devoured it in two bites, followed by the blondie.
With an audible grunt he slowly hauled himself upright. He was so achingly stuffed that even the thought of straightening up made him wince. He thudded down the hall to the guest bedroom. Mary and Owen, thank goodness, were sound asleep, side by side in the Pack’n’Go playpen. Jamie struggled the zipper of his trousers down, doubting that he would ever get it zipped back up. He tugged open the remaining shirt buttons shoved his pants ankle-ward and slowly, carefully, lowered himself into the chair by the foot of the bed. His belly, now bare, was rock-hard and hugely protruding. He shivered a little as the cool air reached his taut skin.
He was half asleep when Anne came in. She tugged the dress off and tugged her pantyhose down, then sank down on the bed, kicking off her high heels.
“Ohhhh-hic!” She lay back with a groan. Slowly, she wriggled her stockings off, then sat up to undo her bra. Once she was free of everything, she sank down again, legs splayed, and massaged her tummy. Rosily distended, it was taut and firm, almost gravid.
“I think … I ate … more … than you,” she managed, her breathing shallow.
“Impossible. Urrrp.” Jamie patted his gorged and bloated belly, enormously rounded and tight. With effort, Anne propped herself up on her elbows and surveyed Jamie’s work.
“Impressive. Hic!” she admitted. Then she let a smile play across her lips.
“Maybe you can have the next round of twins,” she joked, amused at the alarm that flitted across Jamie’s face.
“No, no,” she puffed. She patted her swollen waist. “This is just-hic!-a food baby.”
Jamie hiccupped, then belched. “So I do … urrp … have twins,” he said solemnly. He tapped his drumlike abdomen. “Easter twins. Hic.”
Link to the next story in the Jamie's Tummy Series here
Link to the previous story in the Jamie's Tummy Series here
Jamie's Tummy at Easter
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Jamie Foster breathed a sigh of relief as he herded his family out to the car. The big-deal Easter church service was over and, miraculously, his two-year-old twins had stayed (mostly) still and quiet. Anne looked beautiful in a flowing lavender dress, and Jamie was feeling pretty sharp himself in his new suit, even if the fifty-eight-inch waist left no room for error.
Next stop: Easter dinner at Anne’s parents’ house. Jamie’s mother, long divorced, had lately taken up with her widowed neighbor, for which Jamie was thankful on a couple of counts. One, she witheringly disapproved of his size. She’d given up saying anything, but she was a black belt in the scorching-look department. The other, to be fair, was that Jamie was genuinely happy for his mother finding companionship.
Anne’s parents were almost total opposites of Jamie’s mom, both laid-back and nonjudgmental. Her father was a history professor, her mother a retired home economics teacher. Needless to say, their meals were not to be missed.
Anne’s younger sister adored Owen and Mary, and was quick to whisk them off to the bedroom with PB&J sandwiches, goldfish crackers, milk, and promises of an animated movie to occupy their time.
Jamie surveyed the table with anticipation. Much of Anne’s extended family was crowded around it. The table itself was groaning with food, and there was more on the kitchen counter. Dishes were passed, conversation took off, and Jamie was free to enjoy both food and fellowship.
It took a lot more lately for Papa Jamie to feel full than it had when he and Anne were courting. He had gained fifteen pounds by the time he married Anne and another five on their Italian honeymoon. Then Anne had become pregnant and he’d had to promise her that his waistline would always be bigger than hers.
Of course, that pregnancy had turned out twins.
Jamie happily, slowly, emptied two heaping plates full of ham, green bean casserole, deviled eggs slick and cool, asparagus Hollandaise, rolls, honeyed carrots, corn muffins, Jell-O salad, cheese crescents, pickle relish, stuffed olives, and two tall glasses of iced tea.
He paused while Anne and her mother cleared off the emptied dishes and brought out the second string from the kitchen. Ohboy. He was beginning to feel almost full. His new belt was pinching just a hair. But here was hot chicken salad with Chinese noodles. Here were deviled eggs topped with bacon and green onions. Here was broccoli au gratin and more of that asparagus. Here was homemade chow chow, scalloped potatoes, potato salad (three kinds!), macaroni salad, candied yams, and another platter of ham, this one with pineapple rings.
Jamie leisurely savored every delicious bite. Each tasty mouthful called for another and another and another. He was definitely beginning to get full. And two more glasses of iced tea were history. A quart of tea and three heaping plates of dinner. His belly began to ache just a little, the sides stretching, his midsection heavy and warm. He was decidedly stuffed. He let his belt out a notch. Ah, better. He shifted a little in his seat and gave his swelling belly a gentle rub. Mmm. Ahhh. He coaxed up, and stifled, a smallish belch.
He piled his plate again. How had he missed that second Jell-O salad? Someone ought to finish off the deviled eggs. And the hot chicken salad. Mrs. Moody’s chow chow was too good for words. What was this, his fourth helpings? It was hard to keep track.
Jamie’s tummy was becoming achingly taut, seeming to expand with every mouthful. He could hear it beginning to gurgle and groan quietly. His stomach was tightening with visible distention, the trousers of his new suit beginning to creak. Anne had the advantage of him with that flowing dress, but he could tell by her flushed face that she’d been piling away her own feast.
Almost in a daze, he finished off his fourth plateful. Fifth? And how many quarts of iced tea had he made vanish? He was stuffed to bursting. No more, absolutely. He was full to the brim, a little flushed and queasy now. He undid his belt and let it out another two notches. That was it, that was all the belt had to offer, it was now completely undone. He winced at the thought of trying to buckle it across his swollen and aching belly. He was sure that it must be visibly bloated, protruding hugely to contain the enormous meal he’d tucked away. He undid the hook of his trousers. That offered hardly any relief.
His sides were tugging, the skin of his tummy stretched tightly across his hugely gorged gut. He could feel the bottom buttons of his shirt straining. He was approaching satiation. He devoutly wished he could unzip his trousers, but he knew that if he did, his shirt would not cover the spreading acreage of his ballooning tummy. The bottom buttons of the shirt were already at Def-Con 1. Too deep a breath and they would ping off, never to be seen again.
Jamie slowly drained the last of his iced tea. How many quarts of tea had he swallowed? He felt dopily satiated, logy and warm. His belly was hugely swollen, heavy and firm with plenitude. His sides strained against the overworked waistband of his trousers. All he wanted to do was to recline, in replete stupefaction, and savor the pleasure of being so hugely full.
Activity around the table brought him back to full consciousness.
Mrs. Moody and Anne’s sister had cleared away the dishes and were laying out … dessert. No, desserts, plural. Chocolate cream pie with whipped topping and an elaborate lattice of chocolate syrup; chocolate chip cheesecake on an Oreo crust; caramel-topped brownies; white-chocolate-chunk brownies; and three kinds of pie: apple, sweet potato, and coconut cream.
Mrs. Moody smiled at Jamie as she laid a plate in front of him. Crowded onto the plate were a big slice of chocolate cream pie and an equally huge slice of the cheesecake.
“I know you like chocolate,” she said, with her trademark wink. “Dig in!”
Discreetly as he could, Jamie gently massaged his achingly taut belly, finally coaxing up a good belch. Amid the conversation, no one heard it. Anne across the table saw it and winked at him. She herself held a large forkful of cheesecake. Her face was gently flushed and her dress seemed to be pulling a little across her chest. Jamie didn’t want to insult Mrs. Moody by turning down dessert. In a daze, he forked down bite after bite. He could almost feel the surface tension of his distended gut tighten with each mouthful. As if from a distance, he saw, muzzily, Mrs. Moody lay a huge slice of coconut cream pie in front of him. That was light as air. A doddle to get down. Sweet potato pie was denser. But he wanted to try everything.
Of its own volition, his bottom shirt button snicked off and fell to the carpet. Where had the sweet potato pie gone? Utterly vanished. A slice of apple pie, hot and with ice cream melting, took its place. Denser still, but how his mouth yearned for that taste. His belly was testing the seams of his trousers. The zipper was in danger. Jamie could almost feel it creaking. He was stupefyingly full, dizzyingly sated, swooning with repletion. His stomach felt heavy and weightless all at once, pinning him down and yet detaching itself. In a dream he saw his hand pick up the brownie, in a dream he devoured it in two bites, followed by the blondie.
With an audible grunt he slowly hauled himself upright. He was so achingly stuffed that even the thought of straightening up made him wince. He thudded down the hall to the guest bedroom. Mary and Owen, thank goodness, were sound asleep, side by side in the Pack’n’Go playpen. Jamie struggled the zipper of his trousers down, doubting that he would ever get it zipped back up. He tugged open the remaining shirt buttons shoved his pants ankle-ward and slowly, carefully, lowered himself into the chair by the foot of the bed. His belly, now bare, was rock-hard and hugely protruding. He shivered a little as the cool air reached his taut skin.
He was half asleep when Anne came in. She tugged the dress off and tugged her pantyhose down, then sank down on the bed, kicking off her high heels.
“Ohhhh-hic!” She lay back with a groan. Slowly, she wriggled her stockings off, then sat up to undo her bra. Once she was free of everything, she sank down again, legs splayed, and massaged her tummy. Rosily distended, it was taut and firm, almost gravid.
“I think … I ate … more … than you,” she managed, her breathing shallow.
“Impossible. Urrrp.” Jamie patted his gorged and bloated belly, enormously rounded and tight. With effort, Anne propped herself up on her elbows and surveyed Jamie’s work.
“Impressive. Hic!” she admitted. Then she let a smile play across her lips.
“Maybe you can have the next round of twins,” she joked, amused at the alarm that flitted across Jamie’s face.
“No, no,” she puffed. She patted her swollen waist. “This is just-hic!-a food baby.”
Jamie hiccupped, then belched. “So I do … urrp … have twins,” he said solemnly. He tapped his drumlike abdomen. “Easter twins. Hic.”
Link to the next story in the Jamie's Tummy Series here
