Marshmallow

[Marlow]

~BBW, Stuffing, Romance. A couple spends a pleasant afternoon outdoors.

Note: Thank you all for your feedback and kindness. I hope to continue writing here. Below is a quick idyll I've been playing around with to practice. Just something simple and sweet; a celebration, if nothing else.

Marshmallow
by Marlow​

The marsh basked quietly under the gentle afternoon sun, reeds rustling in the light breeze. Dragonflies flitted about one another over the pools of water and butterflies floated between the cattails; neither were bothered by the two human visitors as they passed.

The buzzing of crickets and grasshoppers filled the air, reflecting the earthy colors of the basin. The reeds had faded to brown as summer neared its close, but they were periodically interspersed with shorter, greener grasses and wildflowers in yellow, white, and purple.

The visitors crossed much of the marsh on an old wooden boardwalk. They trod lightly across the planks out of an instinctive respect for the isolation they had entered, but the sound of their footfalls echoed around the basin. The marsh took no notice, however, and the humans felt less like intruders than they had feared.

Halfway across the marsh they halted and stepped off the boardwalk, the man helping the woman and her backpack down, then tugging at his own overloaded hiker’s pack and leading on down a path through the reeds. It was an overgrown dirt path, often muddy, but just solid enough to guide the pair between pools and streams.

They paused occasionally to look out over the water, when a break in the reeds afforded them a view, and smiled at the sights: an thick float of lily-pads, a flight of emerald dragonflies, a pair of deer, a splashing fish. Birds of all persuasions regarded them pleasantly from the skies or nearby perches. An enormous blue heron nodded cordially at the visitors and resumed its purposeful wading.

The brush grew thicker and the path more overgrown, but the couple continued on, until the reeds and the trail through them abruptly stopped at the edge of a wide, crystal-clear pool. Across the pool, at the very edge of the marsh, burbled a shallow inflow stream. It cut through a small, rocky ravine; above the ravine rose the wooded valley wall that encased the marsh basin, an enveloping palisade of forest.

Bounded by the valley wall on one side and the reeds on the other, the pool, brook, and ravine were isolated entirely. The buzz of the marsh behind had subsided and the only sounds were the running of water and the delighted gasp of one of the visitors.

“Wow,” she sighed at length, wishing she could manage something more eloquent.

“Worth the walk, Brooke?” the young man asked, visibly pleased with himself.

“Worth everything, Cory,” she agreed, nodding vehemently. “Though if I get any more out of shape it’s not a walk I’ll be able to make again.” She punctuated this remark with a nervously conspiratorial smile, scratching at the back of her head.

Cory returned the smile, though tentatively, an expression of mischievous glee mixed with sympathy and a little misplaced guilt. “Then I’ll carry you,” he concluded, “and you can be in or out of any shape you like.”

Her sheepish grin became sly; she picked at the front of his shirt, brushing her lips against his neck, and breathed into his ear, “Good thing you’re so strong. There’s gonna be a lot of me to carry.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her.

“Thank you for being everything you are,” he whispered, holding her, “and everything you’re going to be.”

She kissed him back. “What’s the plan?”

He looked across the pool. “There’s a nice little spot next to the stream where I used to hang out and skip rocks. It’s flat and dry and there’s an opening in the forest that’s great for stargazing. I, uh, hope it suits your camping needs.”

“It looks perfect…our own private paradise, hidden behind a marsh. I love it.”

They carefully skirted the pool—Cory remembered it being fairly deep—and soon climbed out of the reed-filled basin into the coolness of the ravine. The stream was shallow, in comparison, a few inches in most places with a few wading holes further up. Scattered heaps of slippery stones slowed the progress of the water and the stream thus meandered gently through the ravine, falling occasionally over a shelf of slate, leaving a few broad swathes of silt and pebble.

Cory bounded with childlike excitement over to the largest clear area and gratefully sloughed off his heavy pack. It landed with an impressive thud and the clattering of its contents, prompting a giggling rebuke from Brooke.

“Sorry,” he said, duly chastised, “got excited and forgot I had the important stuff. Come on over.”

Brooke made her way across the stream to him, cautiously testing and selecting exposed rocks as footholds. Cory caught her in his arms as she made the final leap to his shore, kissed her on the forehead, and pulled her pack from around her shoulders.

He opened her pack. “Make yourself comfortable, darling, while I make you some comforts.”

Her pack had contained their tent (a light, simple, warm-weather affair), bedding, and other portable amenities. It was a greater load than she would have preferred to bear, but it was mercifully light compared with the treasure Cory had carried.

They spent awhile assembling their temporary home, Cory constructing the tent while Brooke had a look around, gathering sticks and branches. The local birds looked on at first, listening in to the couple’s curious and ceaseless conversation, but eventually chose to leave the visitors to their privacy and respectfully departed the ravine.

“How about ‘pudding’? Or ‘pudding-pie’, if we’re looking more elaborate…” Cory asked, skipping a rock across the pool. He looked back at the now-completed tent for a response. “It wouldn’t seem too weird, since it’s already a familiar one, you know?”

“I dunno,” Brooke called from within the tent, shuffling about. “I kind of want something original, though. And relevant to what we’re doing.”

“But I thought you didn’t—”

“Yeah, I didn’t want anything negative. I know. Nothing porcine or demeaning. But I want it to be something that refers to us, and our times together, and no one else’s.” She unzipped the tent-flap and emerged, standing and blinking in the late afternoon sun. “Sorry. I’m making it hard.”

“Yep,” he replied quickly, gaping shamelessly at her.

She had changed from her hiking attire into a snug violet sundress, two shoulder straps betraying the two-piece bathing suit hidden beneath. Her exposed skin was radiant and smooth and she had let her brunette curls tumble down.

Suddenly catching his wryly muttered reply, she blushed. “Not much hard about me, though,” she admitted, poking at her midsection, “I’ve gotten pretty soft.”

“And even prettier,” he murmured, continuing to gaze.

Hugged tightly by the sundress, wrapped around her abdomen was a spare tire of softness. Love handles spread delicately from her sides and a prominent belly had begun to protrude forth between them, creating in the center of the dress a wobbling, rounded triangle. Above it, in a spirit of apple-shaped sympathy, her chest had expanded accordingly. Brooke’s new overall top-heaviness, tucked unconvincingly into a slenderer woman’s attire, evidenced her recent experimentations with indulgence.

She remained unaccustomed to the evidence, however, and though she had delighted in the experiments she was wary of the results. Now so exposed, she shrank visibly and scratched at the back of her head.

“You okay?” Cory asked, stepping up from the bank.

Yeah…yeah. It’s just…kinda freaky. This is big and there isn’t really any turning back…you know?”

He took her hand. “We don’t have to do it. We can just do the romantic camping thing and be normal lovers.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, I definitely want to. I’ve always wanted to. But now that I have it here before me, it’s scary to, uh, take the plunge.”

“You’re sure you want to?”

“Yes, silly.” She tousled his hair. “Without question. You know that. It’s something we both were interested in, obsessed with, even before we met. We’ve talked about this for weeks. It’s happening. I just have the, uh, jitters of anticipation. This is all very new to me.”

He nodded, smiling with unabashed relief, and kissed her.

She pressed close, her stomach squeezing against him. “So what’s in that mysterious pack of yours? It’d better be worth me lugging the whole campsite out here myself.”

He bent his head down, nuzzling the top of her head. “Treasure.”

“When do I get it?” she purred.

He released her and backed over to the untouched pack. It was unusually large and clearly contained a great deal, for it had weighed down even his athletic frame. Brooke tittered with impatience while he unfastened it, as slowly as his own impatience allowed.

At last he pulled forth a picnic cooler, its lid tied shut with rope as though it would burst forth any moment. A pair of plastic bags followed and from the pack’s side pockets he produced two bottles of wine, plateware, and cutlery.

All but shoving him aside, Brooke yanked the knot apart and opened the cooler. It was filled to the lid with food, packed by the world’s most intense game of Tetris.

“Oh…my goodness,” she managed, fumbling at the top layer, laughing. Suddenly she froze, turned, and asked, with horror in her eyes, “But what will you eat?”

They broke into laughter. He kissed her, stood, and dragged the cooler over to a mass of boulders at the base of the valley wall. He found a low rock that seemed suitable, extended a hand, and said, “May I offer you a seat, madame?”

Before she could answer, he had a new thought, gestured for her to wait, and dashed into the tent. He emerged with their bedrolls and laid them carefully across the rock and a fallen tree trunk behind it, creating a throne that almost, in a certain light, appeared comfortable.

Satisfied, he beckoned her again. She gave him a sarcastic courtesy and sat hesitantly down. It took a minute of writhing and shifting, but she eventually settled into a comfortable position.

During this time Cory had opened a bottle of the wine and now looked frustrated and ashamed. “I forgot the glasses,” he confessed. “I beg your forgiveness, but we’ll have to concede to the barbarian customs on this one.”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess I’ll survive. We are camping, after all.”

He crouched down across from her, opening the cooler and picking an apple out of one of the plastic bags. “Still feel okay with this?” he asked, giving her a skeptical look and handing her the wine, “It’s okay if you’re not okay. It’s…we…” He gave up trying to articulate and instead looked down, fidgeting with the apple.

“It’s okay. No. Yeah.” She took a thoughtful swallow of the wine, then decided, “I mean, yeah, I’m nervous, but it’s like a happy nervous. Change is scary, even change for the better. And this is definitely for the better. I’m excited.” Her eyes flashed, her demeanor suddenly altered. She leaned in and took hold of the apple in his hand. “And to be honest with you, you great, sexy man…I’m just insatiably hungry right now…”

Cory exhaled shakily, his face mixed with relief and thrill. The apple, clutched in both their hands, rose toward Brooke’s lips; she kisses his hand, sucking sensually on his forefinger, then bit into the crisp, wet apple. Her eyes closed as she chewed. She leaned back and plucking the fruit from his hand quickly took another bite. Cheeks already full, she took another before finally swallowing, the apple almost half-eaten.

She opened her eyes and smiled nervously at him, taking a deep breath.

He smiled back, eyes wide with awe.

She put on her best nonchalant face, cocking an eyebrow in feigned, playful confidence and sipped at the wine. Then an impish grin broke through and she admitted, “I think this is gonna be a lot of fun.”

“I think you’re right.”

They laughed together among the rocks, hidden from the world.

Brooke swallowed another large bite of the apple, then leaned across the open cooler to give Cory a sweetly flavored kiss. Lingering over his face, she whispered, “I hope you brought enough food…I need to be absolutely filled” and bit again into the apple.

He peered over what remained of the fruit and into her eyes. “I’ll fill you up, Brooke, believe me. I’ll fill you up and I’ll watch you swell.”

“Mmm,” she moaned, chomping into the apple.

“You’re going to be fuller than you can imagine, Brooke. Starting today I’m making you grow, and the fullness you’re going to feel tonight is just the beginning.”

“Oh, I’m gonna get big.”

“Huge.”

“Enormous.” She drew out the ‘s’ of the word, bending her lips to his ear, and whispered, “Feed me the world. Don’t stop till there’s nothing left.”

Cory shivered, then straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”

She leaned back, tossing the apple core aside and sipping at the wine, leering at him over her plump breasts.

He produced from the cooler a bag of ships and a jar of salsa-cheese dip. “How about you munch a bit on some appetizers, then, while I get the cooking fire going.” His offer greedily accepted, he set about organizing the wood she had gathered.

A depression in the silt provided a serviceable pit and he had already ringed it with some of the available stones. With practiced skill he quickly constructed the starting base for his fire. The kindling was fairly dry and looking upon his arrangement he felt it could almost spring into flame on its own. It did not, however, and he headed over to the tent to find the matches.

An impatient “a-hem” stopped him halfway. Brooke was frowning at him, holding the chip bag aloft, upside-down, empty. She dug a finger into what remained of the dip and sucked it clean.

Cory whistled, eyebrows arched.

She tipped the wine bottle at him with a wink and took a swig.

“There, uh, should be more chips in the cooler.”

Snickering, she dug and found the new bag of chips. He watched her for a minute; she was eating by the handful, it seemed, and he quickly realized he would need to buy more time to start cooking the real food.

“And feel free to grab anything else that catches your eye. There’s more fruit and snacky-things in the plastic bags.” He ducked into the tent, found the matches, and emerged, adding, “just don’t spoil your appetite for the real…uh…food…” He trailed off, intimidated by the admonishing glare she shot him.

“Don’t worry about my appetite,” she said, setting the chips aside and feeling around in one of the plastic bags, “just hurry up and get cooking.”

He bowed and slid back to the fire pit, opening the matchbook.

“I’m hungry, Cory,” she cooed after him, “oh, so hungry.”

 

[Marlow]