Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, ~BBW, Romance, ~~WG - A couple fall in love with weight gain a natural part of their courtship.
For as long as he could remember, Patricks familys holidays had been very much alike. Relatives would begin arriving early in the morning, and by noon, his parents spacious house would be filled with forty or so aunts, uncles, and cousins. He was one of six children, his father one of four and his mother one of seven, so he literally had more cousins than he could keep track of.
Food and drink would circulate liberally throughout the day, and no one was ever more than a few inches from a plate or bowl of steadily replenished snacks. The snacks, his mother insisted, were needed because the main meal wasnt served until three in the afternoon.
Despite the plethora of relatives, Patrick knew most of them by name and all of them by sight, which is why he froze in his tracks when he glanced toward the fireplace and saw a face hed never seen before. It belonged to a young woman, perhaps 22 or 23. Patrick guessed her to be five foot four or so, with hair in a glossy chestnut pageboy framing a heart-shaped face. Plump, rosy cheeks, twinkling green eyes, soft shoulders peeking out of an off-the-shoulder burgundy top. She was softly curvaceous, maybe 140 to 150 pounds. Patricks heart skipped a beat, maybe two. She was beautiful, he thought.
Coke in hand, he made his way over to her. Hi, he said, thinking: Oh, stunningly good conversational opener.
She smiled. Hello, she said. Happy Thanksgiving. She held out her hand. My names Lucy Patton. Im your cousin Claires roommate. She was kind enough to invite me over today.
Oh. Well, good, Patrick said, automatically shaking her hand.
His brother Danny, in passing, patted him on the shoulder. Youre Patrick remember?
Patrick blushed. Oh. Right. Patrick. Claires he stopped to think. Claire is, um, my mothers younger sisters middle daughter.
Wow, Im impressed, Lucy said. Ive never seen so many related people in one room.
You should see one of our weddings, Patrick blurted, then could have kicked himself. Clumsy!
But Lucy only smiled. If we hunt, she said, we might find a room with under ten people in it. Then we could um, talk.
Talk. Yes, Patrick agreed. I like to talk. Lucy giggled and took his hand, winding him through the crowd to a bedroom that was currently unoccupied.
And they talked.
Soon enough, though, Lucy admitted that she was thirsty and they rejoined the fray. Patrick dived into the kitchen, emerging unscathed with a Fresca. In the scrum, they ended up by a table holding a bowl of mixed nuts, a bowl of chips, and a plate of cookies. In his nervousness, Patrick ended up eating most of the nuts, although Lucy took her share.
Periodically, she would admit, I really shouldnt. I ought to lose weight.
Patrick shook his head, eyes wide. No. Youre beautiful just the way you are.
Youre sweet, Lucy told him.
They managed to sit next to each other at dinner, ending up at one of the borrowed rectangular folding tables. There was so much food on the table that there was scarcely room for the plates. Everyone dived in, placing empty bowls on the floor to free up space.
Patrick, smitten, ate automatically, but after a while felt his stomach filling up. His waistband was beginning to dig into his midsection and his underwear began to pinch as his belly filled. He probably ought to stop but the food was all so good he kept wanting just a little more.
A little bite couldnt possibly make a difference. Then another. Then another. He passed full, and progressed to being truly stuffed, his breathing shallow, face flushed. His stomach grew taut, skin stretched across his distended belly, shirt snug. He discreetly unsnapped his jeans. Oh, wow, was he full. He couldnt eat another bite. He should stop. Really stop. His gut was swollen and aching, but the food was so good he just had to have a little more. He massaged his bloated midriff, releasing a belch. The weight of food in his aching stomach seemed to drop slightly and suddenly the discomfort eased. Happily he filled his plate again. Savoring the food, he registered his belly becoming sore again, the sides stretched and his shirt painfully snug. His breath was coming in short puffs and a trickle of sweat ran down his chest. Ooh, oof, whoa. He was ready to burst. One move and he would overflow, he thought, all that food spilling back up. Hed eaten himself into a food coma, his eyelids heavy, brain sodden, ballooning gut engorged and sore. Oof. He closed his eyes and hiccupped.
Lucy had eaten her fair share as well, and now laid a hand atop her bulging tummy. Ooh, she groaned. I think I ate too much. Her face was flushed, and her gauzy blouse fabric, once loose, was now pulled tautly across her distended belly. She looked pregnant. Her cute tummy was round and taut, stretching her waistband, squeezing out over its sides.
Patrick put his hand on top of hers. Just right, he pronounced. He gave her swollen belly a poke, surprised at its firmness, and making her giggle. He struggled to his feet with a grunt and, regaining his footing with some difficulty, helped her up. She hiccupped.
Ooh (hic!) I need to lie down, she puffed.
Her tummy, Patrick thought, was charming, protruding over her overworked waistband and tugging her blouse upward to reveal a rosy belly button. He wanted to press it like a doorbell and see who was home.
Come on, he said, gently taking her wrist. If (urp) we hustle, we can get a couple of good chairs in the den.
Ooh, she groaned. Too (hic!) full.
Nevertheless, they made it to the den and claimed two recliners side by side. Grunting with effort, they pulled up the foot rests and leaned back.
Ohh ate too (urp), too much, Patrick groaned, gently massaging his bloated midriff. His belly was taut, stuffed to bursting. With every breath, he felt he might pop. He eased the zipper down on his pants. His engorged middle burst into the available space, a hard dome of flesh.
Me too, Lucy admitted. Have to stop doing this, she puffed. Need to lose weight.
No, you dont, Patrick chided. I told you youre (urrp) beautiful. He thumped his chest.
To his dismay, a tear trickled down her cheek. No, she said. The beautiful women are the (hic!) thin ones.
Stop, stop, Patrick urged. He took her hand.
Stop letting other (mrp) people define you. He hiccupped. Believe yourself, and believe, he puffed, you are beautiful. Ah! His statement ended with another sharp hiccup. Ow.
That made Lucy giggle. Thank you (hic!) I needed that.
A nap of nearly an hour worked wonders. Blinking awake, Patrick thought he just might survive. His gut, still bloated, made zipping his jeans a workout. He finally managed to get them halfway zipped. He didnt even try the poor button.
Before he left, Patrick made sure to get Lucys phone number and e-mail. He made himself wait until Monday evening to call and ask her to meet him for dinner. She agreed at once, and they met at a Golden Corral.
Patrick filled his plate without even thinking about it, but Lucy picked and chose carefully, ending up with what looked like a meager supper.
Youve got to eat more than that, he pronounced. Youll blow away.
Lucy snorted. Heifers dont blow away.
Patrick caught her chin in his hand. He gazed into her green eyes. Listen to me, Lucy, he said solemnly. I dont know who has been so hard on you, but you are absolutely beautiful just the way you are. I wish you would believe that.
She pulled her chin away and looked down. The only one whos hard on me is me, she admitted. I see myself not looking like the women on TV and in movies.
Well, who does? Look, Patrick said. Im no Brad Pitt. That made her giggle again. He stood up and slapped his belly, which protruded softly below his chest. Im 510 and 190 at least before last Thursday. Ill never have a six-pack, except maybe in the fridge. And thats okay. Im me, and Im a pretty nice guy.
Her lips twitched.
Now look. What would happen if you stopped spending your every waking moment obsessing about your tummy, which I happen to find very attractive? Just eat what you like, get some exercise, and
And let the sour cream and onion chips fall where they may?
He winked. Exactly.
Lucy cleaned her plate and got seconds on a few things and even had dessert. She pronounced herself really full afterward. Patrick had eaten two big platefuls as well as dessert and he was pretty stuffed himself.
A (hic!) walk is in order, he announced. They strolled well, waddled out of the restaurant and along to a park, where they flopped, sweating, onto a park bench.
I like what youre saying, Lucy said. So long as I dont eat like this too often.
Patrick pressed a hand to her gently bulging belly. I know, he admitted. Youre right. I (mrrrp) ate too much again.
Lucy in turn pressed a hand to his belly, giggling when she discovered that he had unsnapped his jeans. Oink.
Patrick made snuffly pig noises back. They walked and rested, rested and walked. By the time hed escorted her home, shed admitted to owning a bicycle, and theyd made a date for Saturday.
As the weeks unfolded, punctuated with bike rides, walks, Frisbee games, concerts, museums, movies and hand-holding, Lucy became more self-confident and stopped running herself down. As Patrick had guessed, once she stopped feeling guilty about every bite, her weight did not balloon but stabilized. She even shed a few pounds.
Not too much, Patrick had said with some alarm at the announcement. If I wanted to love a stick, Id get a date in the broom aisle.
For Christmas, he invited her to the assemblage and gave her beautiful opal earrings and a matching bracelet. She gave him a wok and a Chinese cookbook. They both ate themselves under the table, lolling afterward in the recliners, stupefied by their gorging, cradling their aching bellies and commiserating.
Owoo, Patrick groaned. I (urrp) think I ate the whole turkey.
No, Lucy said, her breath coming in short puffs. I helped.
Oof, Patrick grunted. He patted his tautly distended gut, producing a hollow thud. Feel like Templeton. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the discomfort of his overstuffed belly, and created a heavy, audible sloshing.
Ooh, Lucy groaned. She belched. Oh! Dont make me laugh.
Smorgas (urp) board orgasboard orgasboard, Patrick mumbled.
Stop.
Patrick patted his stomach, bloated and swollen, creating more sloshing. After the gates he trailed off with a groan.
Are you okay?
Yeah, Patrick managed. No more ooh oh singing.
Holding hands, they drifted companionably into a doze.
Love may make the world go round, but in Patricks case it was also making the belly go round. He was dining out a lot more, consuming more movie snackage, and being fed real meals, both in his apartment and in the one Lucy shared with Patricks cousin Claire. His weight inched up, and though he noted it abstractly, his only concession was to get new clothing when his waistbands became snug.
As he bloomed in love, his face became fuller. Little pads developed under the eyes and his cheeks became ripe apples. His chin softened, a cushion of flesh resting under it, becoming a double when he looked down. Flesh appeared around his upper arms and his pecs grew, poking outward and resting on his broadening abdomen.
As his waistline perceptibly thickened, he developed burgeoning love handles and his belly curved outward, well in advance of his chest, lapping into a plump muffin top when he sat. His 190 pounds had steadily ticked upward, and when he passed 200 he noticed it only dismissively.
By Independence Day he was up to 220 and came in for some teasing.
Forget the ham, his cousin Danny called out. Patrick here brought his own pig, oink oink.
Patrick rolled his eyes. Hows your girlfriend, Danny? Danny, who didnt have one, flushed.
Patricks mother drew him aside, a challenge in the crowded kitchen, and said gently, Youve put on a little weight, darling. Its not so good for your heart.
Ma, Patrick replied patiently, Lucy and I get lots of exercise. My blood pressure is great, chill out.
All right, dear, she said, turning back to the stove.
Hey, Patrick, his dad boomed. Growin boy, eh?
Patrick rolled his eyes. Yeah. Yeah. He patted his belly. Stockin up for the winter. His father roared with laughter.
Patrick drew Lucy aside before dinner, though, asking her about it. Have I gotten fat?
Lucy laughed out loud. Excuse me? What about loving the body youre in, Mister I love you the way you are? She laid a hand on his chest and caressed it. If youre a little more padded than at Thanksgiving, you know what? Just like you dont date brooms neither do I. I happen to like big boys.
Feeling playful, Patrick gave Lucys bottom a little squeeze.
Later, she whispered, squeezing him back.
Oh boy.
As summer slowly and humidly melted into fall, their relationship became stronger. Patrick, however, despite Lucys protestations, became alarmed at how much more easily he became short of breath, how even toweling off after a shower made him sweat. He reluctantly dragged himself to a doctor, who was much too glad to explain the health risks associated with obesity.
Obese? Patrick managed, a little shocked at the word.
You have a BMI of 31.6, the doctor said. A BMI of 30 or higher calculates as officially obese. He continued rattling off Patricks increased risk, finally and grudgingly admitting that Patrick did seem to get plenty of exercise. He suggested a food diary.
Well, Lucy said carefully over dinner. As Ive said, I am very fond of big guys. And Im especially very fond of this big guy. She kissed him on the cheek. What harm can it do?
Patrick obediently kept the food diary and tried to eat less, but like many novice dieters, he dropped his intake far too drastically, imagining the weight would just fall right off. Instead, he found he was giving himself headaches, was grouchy and listless, and often wound up overcompensating in the evenings. After two weeks, hed lost half a pound.
Look, Lucy said. Your blood pressure is enviable, you get tons of exercise. Your heart rate is terrific. I love you. I hate to see you so unhappy. Can we just forget the stupid food diary?
They made a ceremony of burning it in the kitchen sink.
Suddenly, it was Thanksgiving again. Patrick was up to 230, which provided a pretty good gut on his 510 frame. The family had essentially gotten used to Patrick 2.0, and hed reassured his mom about his health countless times until she finally stopped bringing it up. Lucy had ticked up to 160, providing delightful curves and hillocks for Patrick to explore. He was gradually revamping her wardrobe as his budget permitted, replacing the unflattering drapey tunics with low-rise jeans and fitted tops that accentuated her lush curves, creamy belly, and hourglass figure. Youre my woman, woo-man, he would murmur into her ear, gently pressing a fingertip to her belly button, their private joke.
Patrick surveyed the crowded room. He climbed onto a coffee table and emitted a shrill, taxi-summoning whistle, getting the silence he wanted. He helped a puzzled Lucy onto the sturdy coffee table and got down on one knee. Gaining his balance, he pulled the box out of his pocket and popped it open. Lucy, I love you and I cannot live without you. Will you marry me?
Her answer was almost lost in the cheers, whistles, and applause that followed.
~~**~~
EPILOGUE
I cant believe you made me wait until now to tell everyone, Lucy giggled.
The better to surprise them with, my dear, Patrick said. He rested a hand on her ballooning belly, rock-hard beneath the light fabric of her blouse. It bulged out below the swell of her breasts, already damp with perspiration.
He took the hand back to wheel the car into line next to the others. Grunting with effort, he pulled himself up out of the drivers seat while Lucy huffed to her feet on the other side. They joined hands and together moved slowly along the white-gravel road to the Memorial Day family gathering at the beach house.
Since the whole clan hadnt been together since Christmas, their entry was greeted first with enthusiasm then with something akin to awe. Parents, siblings, and cousins crowded around the pair.
Lucy what happened?
Well, if you dont know, were not going to tell you, crowed Patrick.
Swallowed a watermelon, Lucy said unblushingly. The questions and comments flowed thick and fast as the women crowded forward to touch Lucys pregnant belly, share their own pregnancy stories, and sympathize. The men, meanwhile, surrounded Patrick.
Dude, Danny said admiringly. We know what Lucys gone and done whats your excuse? For Patrick, too, had expanded. In the months since the previous Thanksgiving, he had grown from 230 pounds to 275, which was rather a lot for his height. His face was fuller, his backside was broader, his thighs meatier; but the majority of his poundage was concentrated in his belly. It curved out solidly from below his pectorals, which lay flabbed onto his chest, and protruded as though he, too, were carrying a baby. Though he had love handles and some back fat, most of his size went straight out in front, creating what Lucy called her stately pleasure dome.
Well, Patrick replied, Lucy was a little self conscious about rounding out there. His hands described pregnancy curves. She said that she would feel better about it if my belly got rounder along with hers. Proprietarily, he stroked it. In a way, were both eating for two.
Moving toward the pool, he peeled off his madras shirt, revealing a smooth, lightly tanned midsection resting above his red trunks. He slipped out of his flip-flops and began to job heavily toward the pool.
Cannonball!
Patrick and Lucy
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
For as long as he could remember, Patricks familys holidays had been very much alike. Relatives would begin arriving early in the morning, and by noon, his parents spacious house would be filled with forty or so aunts, uncles, and cousins. He was one of six children, his father one of four and his mother one of seven, so he literally had more cousins than he could keep track of.
Food and drink would circulate liberally throughout the day, and no one was ever more than a few inches from a plate or bowl of steadily replenished snacks. The snacks, his mother insisted, were needed because the main meal wasnt served until three in the afternoon.
Despite the plethora of relatives, Patrick knew most of them by name and all of them by sight, which is why he froze in his tracks when he glanced toward the fireplace and saw a face hed never seen before. It belonged to a young woman, perhaps 22 or 23. Patrick guessed her to be five foot four or so, with hair in a glossy chestnut pageboy framing a heart-shaped face. Plump, rosy cheeks, twinkling green eyes, soft shoulders peeking out of an off-the-shoulder burgundy top. She was softly curvaceous, maybe 140 to 150 pounds. Patricks heart skipped a beat, maybe two. She was beautiful, he thought.
Coke in hand, he made his way over to her. Hi, he said, thinking: Oh, stunningly good conversational opener.
She smiled. Hello, she said. Happy Thanksgiving. She held out her hand. My names Lucy Patton. Im your cousin Claires roommate. She was kind enough to invite me over today.
Oh. Well, good, Patrick said, automatically shaking her hand.
His brother Danny, in passing, patted him on the shoulder. Youre Patrick remember?
Patrick blushed. Oh. Right. Patrick. Claires he stopped to think. Claire is, um, my mothers younger sisters middle daughter.
Wow, Im impressed, Lucy said. Ive never seen so many related people in one room.
You should see one of our weddings, Patrick blurted, then could have kicked himself. Clumsy!
But Lucy only smiled. If we hunt, she said, we might find a room with under ten people in it. Then we could um, talk.
Talk. Yes, Patrick agreed. I like to talk. Lucy giggled and took his hand, winding him through the crowd to a bedroom that was currently unoccupied.
And they talked.
Soon enough, though, Lucy admitted that she was thirsty and they rejoined the fray. Patrick dived into the kitchen, emerging unscathed with a Fresca. In the scrum, they ended up by a table holding a bowl of mixed nuts, a bowl of chips, and a plate of cookies. In his nervousness, Patrick ended up eating most of the nuts, although Lucy took her share.
Periodically, she would admit, I really shouldnt. I ought to lose weight.
Patrick shook his head, eyes wide. No. Youre beautiful just the way you are.
Youre sweet, Lucy told him.
They managed to sit next to each other at dinner, ending up at one of the borrowed rectangular folding tables. There was so much food on the table that there was scarcely room for the plates. Everyone dived in, placing empty bowls on the floor to free up space.
Patrick, smitten, ate automatically, but after a while felt his stomach filling up. His waistband was beginning to dig into his midsection and his underwear began to pinch as his belly filled. He probably ought to stop but the food was all so good he kept wanting just a little more.
A little bite couldnt possibly make a difference. Then another. Then another. He passed full, and progressed to being truly stuffed, his breathing shallow, face flushed. His stomach grew taut, skin stretched across his distended belly, shirt snug. He discreetly unsnapped his jeans. Oh, wow, was he full. He couldnt eat another bite. He should stop. Really stop. His gut was swollen and aching, but the food was so good he just had to have a little more. He massaged his bloated midriff, releasing a belch. The weight of food in his aching stomach seemed to drop slightly and suddenly the discomfort eased. Happily he filled his plate again. Savoring the food, he registered his belly becoming sore again, the sides stretched and his shirt painfully snug. His breath was coming in short puffs and a trickle of sweat ran down his chest. Ooh, oof, whoa. He was ready to burst. One move and he would overflow, he thought, all that food spilling back up. Hed eaten himself into a food coma, his eyelids heavy, brain sodden, ballooning gut engorged and sore. Oof. He closed his eyes and hiccupped.
Lucy had eaten her fair share as well, and now laid a hand atop her bulging tummy. Ooh, she groaned. I think I ate too much. Her face was flushed, and her gauzy blouse fabric, once loose, was now pulled tautly across her distended belly. She looked pregnant. Her cute tummy was round and taut, stretching her waistband, squeezing out over its sides.
Patrick put his hand on top of hers. Just right, he pronounced. He gave her swollen belly a poke, surprised at its firmness, and making her giggle. He struggled to his feet with a grunt and, regaining his footing with some difficulty, helped her up. She hiccupped.
Ooh (hic!) I need to lie down, she puffed.
Her tummy, Patrick thought, was charming, protruding over her overworked waistband and tugging her blouse upward to reveal a rosy belly button. He wanted to press it like a doorbell and see who was home.
Come on, he said, gently taking her wrist. If (urp) we hustle, we can get a couple of good chairs in the den.
Ooh, she groaned. Too (hic!) full.
Nevertheless, they made it to the den and claimed two recliners side by side. Grunting with effort, they pulled up the foot rests and leaned back.
Ohh ate too (urp), too much, Patrick groaned, gently massaging his bloated midriff. His belly was taut, stuffed to bursting. With every breath, he felt he might pop. He eased the zipper down on his pants. His engorged middle burst into the available space, a hard dome of flesh.
Me too, Lucy admitted. Have to stop doing this, she puffed. Need to lose weight.
No, you dont, Patrick chided. I told you youre (urrp) beautiful. He thumped his chest.
To his dismay, a tear trickled down her cheek. No, she said. The beautiful women are the (hic!) thin ones.
Stop, stop, Patrick urged. He took her hand.
Stop letting other (mrp) people define you. He hiccupped. Believe yourself, and believe, he puffed, you are beautiful. Ah! His statement ended with another sharp hiccup. Ow.
That made Lucy giggle. Thank you (hic!) I needed that.
A nap of nearly an hour worked wonders. Blinking awake, Patrick thought he just might survive. His gut, still bloated, made zipping his jeans a workout. He finally managed to get them halfway zipped. He didnt even try the poor button.
Before he left, Patrick made sure to get Lucys phone number and e-mail. He made himself wait until Monday evening to call and ask her to meet him for dinner. She agreed at once, and they met at a Golden Corral.
Patrick filled his plate without even thinking about it, but Lucy picked and chose carefully, ending up with what looked like a meager supper.
Youve got to eat more than that, he pronounced. Youll blow away.
Lucy snorted. Heifers dont blow away.
Patrick caught her chin in his hand. He gazed into her green eyes. Listen to me, Lucy, he said solemnly. I dont know who has been so hard on you, but you are absolutely beautiful just the way you are. I wish you would believe that.
She pulled her chin away and looked down. The only one whos hard on me is me, she admitted. I see myself not looking like the women on TV and in movies.
Well, who does? Look, Patrick said. Im no Brad Pitt. That made her giggle again. He stood up and slapped his belly, which protruded softly below his chest. Im 510 and 190 at least before last Thursday. Ill never have a six-pack, except maybe in the fridge. And thats okay. Im me, and Im a pretty nice guy.
Her lips twitched.
Now look. What would happen if you stopped spending your every waking moment obsessing about your tummy, which I happen to find very attractive? Just eat what you like, get some exercise, and
And let the sour cream and onion chips fall where they may?
He winked. Exactly.
Lucy cleaned her plate and got seconds on a few things and even had dessert. She pronounced herself really full afterward. Patrick had eaten two big platefuls as well as dessert and he was pretty stuffed himself.
A (hic!) walk is in order, he announced. They strolled well, waddled out of the restaurant and along to a park, where they flopped, sweating, onto a park bench.
I like what youre saying, Lucy said. So long as I dont eat like this too often.
Patrick pressed a hand to her gently bulging belly. I know, he admitted. Youre right. I (mrrrp) ate too much again.
Lucy in turn pressed a hand to his belly, giggling when she discovered that he had unsnapped his jeans. Oink.
Patrick made snuffly pig noises back. They walked and rested, rested and walked. By the time hed escorted her home, shed admitted to owning a bicycle, and theyd made a date for Saturday.
As the weeks unfolded, punctuated with bike rides, walks, Frisbee games, concerts, museums, movies and hand-holding, Lucy became more self-confident and stopped running herself down. As Patrick had guessed, once she stopped feeling guilty about every bite, her weight did not balloon but stabilized. She even shed a few pounds.
Not too much, Patrick had said with some alarm at the announcement. If I wanted to love a stick, Id get a date in the broom aisle.
For Christmas, he invited her to the assemblage and gave her beautiful opal earrings and a matching bracelet. She gave him a wok and a Chinese cookbook. They both ate themselves under the table, lolling afterward in the recliners, stupefied by their gorging, cradling their aching bellies and commiserating.
Owoo, Patrick groaned. I (urrp) think I ate the whole turkey.
No, Lucy said, her breath coming in short puffs. I helped.
Oof, Patrick grunted. He patted his tautly distended gut, producing a hollow thud. Feel like Templeton. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the discomfort of his overstuffed belly, and created a heavy, audible sloshing.
Ooh, Lucy groaned. She belched. Oh! Dont make me laugh.
Smorgas (urp) board orgasboard orgasboard, Patrick mumbled.
Stop.
Patrick patted his stomach, bloated and swollen, creating more sloshing. After the gates he trailed off with a groan.
Are you okay?
Yeah, Patrick managed. No more ooh oh singing.
Holding hands, they drifted companionably into a doze.
Love may make the world go round, but in Patricks case it was also making the belly go round. He was dining out a lot more, consuming more movie snackage, and being fed real meals, both in his apartment and in the one Lucy shared with Patricks cousin Claire. His weight inched up, and though he noted it abstractly, his only concession was to get new clothing when his waistbands became snug.
As he bloomed in love, his face became fuller. Little pads developed under the eyes and his cheeks became ripe apples. His chin softened, a cushion of flesh resting under it, becoming a double when he looked down. Flesh appeared around his upper arms and his pecs grew, poking outward and resting on his broadening abdomen.
As his waistline perceptibly thickened, he developed burgeoning love handles and his belly curved outward, well in advance of his chest, lapping into a plump muffin top when he sat. His 190 pounds had steadily ticked upward, and when he passed 200 he noticed it only dismissively.
By Independence Day he was up to 220 and came in for some teasing.
Forget the ham, his cousin Danny called out. Patrick here brought his own pig, oink oink.
Patrick rolled his eyes. Hows your girlfriend, Danny? Danny, who didnt have one, flushed.
Patricks mother drew him aside, a challenge in the crowded kitchen, and said gently, Youve put on a little weight, darling. Its not so good for your heart.
Ma, Patrick replied patiently, Lucy and I get lots of exercise. My blood pressure is great, chill out.
All right, dear, she said, turning back to the stove.
Hey, Patrick, his dad boomed. Growin boy, eh?
Patrick rolled his eyes. Yeah. Yeah. He patted his belly. Stockin up for the winter. His father roared with laughter.
Patrick drew Lucy aside before dinner, though, asking her about it. Have I gotten fat?
Lucy laughed out loud. Excuse me? What about loving the body youre in, Mister I love you the way you are? She laid a hand on his chest and caressed it. If youre a little more padded than at Thanksgiving, you know what? Just like you dont date brooms neither do I. I happen to like big boys.
Feeling playful, Patrick gave Lucys bottom a little squeeze.
Later, she whispered, squeezing him back.
Oh boy.
As summer slowly and humidly melted into fall, their relationship became stronger. Patrick, however, despite Lucys protestations, became alarmed at how much more easily he became short of breath, how even toweling off after a shower made him sweat. He reluctantly dragged himself to a doctor, who was much too glad to explain the health risks associated with obesity.
Obese? Patrick managed, a little shocked at the word.
You have a BMI of 31.6, the doctor said. A BMI of 30 or higher calculates as officially obese. He continued rattling off Patricks increased risk, finally and grudgingly admitting that Patrick did seem to get plenty of exercise. He suggested a food diary.
Well, Lucy said carefully over dinner. As Ive said, I am very fond of big guys. And Im especially very fond of this big guy. She kissed him on the cheek. What harm can it do?
Patrick obediently kept the food diary and tried to eat less, but like many novice dieters, he dropped his intake far too drastically, imagining the weight would just fall right off. Instead, he found he was giving himself headaches, was grouchy and listless, and often wound up overcompensating in the evenings. After two weeks, hed lost half a pound.
Look, Lucy said. Your blood pressure is enviable, you get tons of exercise. Your heart rate is terrific. I love you. I hate to see you so unhappy. Can we just forget the stupid food diary?
They made a ceremony of burning it in the kitchen sink.
Suddenly, it was Thanksgiving again. Patrick was up to 230, which provided a pretty good gut on his 510 frame. The family had essentially gotten used to Patrick 2.0, and hed reassured his mom about his health countless times until she finally stopped bringing it up. Lucy had ticked up to 160, providing delightful curves and hillocks for Patrick to explore. He was gradually revamping her wardrobe as his budget permitted, replacing the unflattering drapey tunics with low-rise jeans and fitted tops that accentuated her lush curves, creamy belly, and hourglass figure. Youre my woman, woo-man, he would murmur into her ear, gently pressing a fingertip to her belly button, their private joke.
Patrick surveyed the crowded room. He climbed onto a coffee table and emitted a shrill, taxi-summoning whistle, getting the silence he wanted. He helped a puzzled Lucy onto the sturdy coffee table and got down on one knee. Gaining his balance, he pulled the box out of his pocket and popped it open. Lucy, I love you and I cannot live without you. Will you marry me?
Her answer was almost lost in the cheers, whistles, and applause that followed.
~~**~~
EPILOGUE
I cant believe you made me wait until now to tell everyone, Lucy giggled.
The better to surprise them with, my dear, Patrick said. He rested a hand on her ballooning belly, rock-hard beneath the light fabric of her blouse. It bulged out below the swell of her breasts, already damp with perspiration.
He took the hand back to wheel the car into line next to the others. Grunting with effort, he pulled himself up out of the drivers seat while Lucy huffed to her feet on the other side. They joined hands and together moved slowly along the white-gravel road to the Memorial Day family gathering at the beach house.
Since the whole clan hadnt been together since Christmas, their entry was greeted first with enthusiasm then with something akin to awe. Parents, siblings, and cousins crowded around the pair.
Lucy what happened?
Well, if you dont know, were not going to tell you, crowed Patrick.
Swallowed a watermelon, Lucy said unblushingly. The questions and comments flowed thick and fast as the women crowded forward to touch Lucys pregnant belly, share their own pregnancy stories, and sympathize. The men, meanwhile, surrounded Patrick.
Dude, Danny said admiringly. We know what Lucys gone and done whats your excuse? For Patrick, too, had expanded. In the months since the previous Thanksgiving, he had grown from 230 pounds to 275, which was rather a lot for his height. His face was fuller, his backside was broader, his thighs meatier; but the majority of his poundage was concentrated in his belly. It curved out solidly from below his pectorals, which lay flabbed onto his chest, and protruded as though he, too, were carrying a baby. Though he had love handles and some back fat, most of his size went straight out in front, creating what Lucy called her stately pleasure dome.
Well, Patrick replied, Lucy was a little self conscious about rounding out there. His hands described pregnancy curves. She said that she would feel better about it if my belly got rounder along with hers. Proprietarily, he stroked it. In a way, were both eating for two.
Moving toward the pool, he peeled off his madras shirt, revealing a smooth, lightly tanned midsection resting above his red trunks. He slipped out of his flip-flops and began to job heavily toward the pool.
Cannonball!
