Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
BHM, Dining, WG
“Did you take your aspirin?” Heather asked as Chad pulled the car into her parents’ driveway.
“Yeah. But I still don’t see why you made me take aspirin when I don’t even have a headache.”
“As a preventive,” Heather replied briskly. “I have three older brothers, remember?”
Heather was right, Chad thought. The door opened and a wave of sound rushed out. It took him a minute to sort it out: kitchen noises, a football game on TV, girl chatter, and the sounds of guys watching the game. Enjoying the chaos, Chad took the proffered glass of iced tea and squeezed onto the couch to watch the game with the others.
Tantalizing smells were drifting from the kitchen for what seemed like hours before Heather’s mom finally called everyone to the table. The large dining room, most of the year, held an average-size table plus a corner where Heather’s dad tied flies and Heather’s mom did jigsaw puzzles. Today, though, all three extra leaves had been put in and the extra chairs brought out of storage. As everyone settled in, Chad did a quick head count. Heather and her parents and brothers, the only married brother’s wife, a couple of aunts and uncles, kids – more than a dozen people around the table.
And every inch of the long table was filled with food. Grace was said, dishes passed, and for about 35 seconds silence reigned. Conversation gradually resumed, however, and a rhythm developed for passing bowls and platters as most folks emptied their plates and wanted refills about the same time.
Chad, between two brothers and across from the third – he guessed it was the men’s end of the table – was enjoying both the food and the conversation. Time ebbed and flowed, and he happily ate two heaping platefuls of dinner before starting to feel full. Gulping some iced tea, he paused and laid a hand on his belly. It was comfortably stuffed and beginning to push out against his waistband.
He glanced around. No one else was ready to quit, and he knew the teasing he would endure if he was the first guy to bail. Besides, the food was all really good. He could stand another taste of the stuffing, and the cranberries, and the gravy, and the sweet corn, and the butternut squash …
He loosened his belt a notch and filled his plate again. Around him, everyone else was doing the same. He scarcely noticed that at the women’s end, they had stopped eating and were busy chatting. He slowly, contentedly, emptied his plate again. Oh … he was stuffed. Maybe one more roll with butter. And he could finish off the cranberries, couldn’t he? He shifted in his chair, his stomach starting to ache. His sides felt stretched and his waistband pinched. He let out his belt another notch and unbuttoned his jeans.
Finally, the meal appeared to be ending. Everyone was pushing chairs away, grunting with effort, standing and stretching, moaning and rubbing bulging bellies. As one, the guys moved slowly back toward the den, where the recliners and couch looked so comfortable.
They all sank into their seats, put their feet up on something, and began complaining and boasting. “Man, am I stuffed,” Rick grunted, slapping his belly. Rick was slightly built, and his stomach was roundly bloated, protruding over his unfastened pants. He belched loudly, making everyone laugh.
“Bet I ate (hic!) more than you did,” Andrew said, face flushed. Andrew had unbuttoned his jeans and had a hand slid down the front to ease his discomfort. Andrew was of average build with a slightly thickened waistline. His stomach sagged heavily, overloaded and grumbling audibly. With his free hand, Andrew gently massaged his belly to take the edge of his fullness.
“Give (urp) it up … urp … I win,” Chris announced. He was stretched out in the recliner with a hand down his pants, belt undone, jeans unbuttoned and the zipper halfway down. His shirt was rucked up and his bloated and swollen belly exposed. “This (urp) is the one (urrrrp) … day of the year (urp) Rosie doesn’t … watch what … (urrrp) I eat.”
Slowly, he rubbed his stomach, swollen and tight as a drum. He’d eaten as much as anyone, if not more, and it showed. His belly bulged upward and outward, looking like a hard dome stuffed to bursting.
Heather’s father was already asleep, but he’d done his share. His pants were unclasped and his belly bulged over the waistband. He snored quietly but steadily.
Suddenly, Rick slapped Chad’s belly. “New guy,” he announced. He belched. “How’d you do?”
“I think … (urp) I held … my own (urp),” Chad said. It was true. He’d unfastened his belt after getting up from the table, and sitting down on the couch had forced his zipper down. His belly, taut and aching, felt ready to pop. The skin of his midriff was stretched tight across the unaccustomed bulge, and he was so stuffed he was short of breath. Food was packed into every crevice of his stomach and up his throat, it felt like.
“Stuffed … (urp) to the … (urrrrp) eyeballs.” He hiccupped loudly. “Ow.”
“So who … (urp) ate the most?” Andrew asked.
“Me (urp),” Chris said.
“Me,” Rick said, slapping his taut belly for emphasis.
“I think,” Andrew said, “the honor (hic!) should go … to the new (hic!) … new guy.”
By now the guys were slowly beginning to digest their huge meals. Faces flushed with effort, sweat beaded foreheads, and they were getting drowsy.
“Yeah,” chorused Chris and Rick.
“On your feet,” Chris said, slapping Chad again on the belly.
Confused, Chad obeyed.
“If you can do ten push-ups without barfing,” Andrew announced, yawning, “you win.”
“What do I win?” Chad asked.
“Strictly bragging rights,” Andrew replied. “Come on … drop and (urrrp) give us ten.”
Wanting to be a good sport, Chad slowly and awkwardly got into position. The three brothers counted.
“One. Two …. Three … Four. Five ….”
Chad paused, feeling his overloaded belly churning and sloshing. A huge belch rumbled forth. Even at the apex of each push-up, it felt as though his bulging stomach was dragging the ground.
“Six ….” A long pause followed. Chad belched again.
“Seven …. Eight.” Another pause. Chad saw sweat drip from his forehead onto the rug. His stomach was so full he thought it might detach itself and fall off. That would be good. He was so fricking stuffed.
“Nine.” Chad went back down and felt like staying there. He was so full and so tired and his stomach ached and his arms were sore. With a loud grunt,
Chad slowly heaved himself back up. “Ten!”
The contest over, the brothers were solicitous, helping Chad to his feet, giving him the place of honor in the recliner, gently patting his belly.
“The winning stomach,” Andrew announced. “Man, feel how tight that is.”
Rick and Chris patted his bloated midsection as if admiring a new baby. “You win, man,” Andrew said admiringly. “Good job.”
“Ohhh,” Chad moaned. It was all he could get out. His head flopped back and he drifted off to sleep.
It was dark by the time he awoke. Andrew was awake, and Heather’s father had awakened and left the room. Rick and Chris were still sacked out. Heather padded in and perched on the arm of the recliner.
“Who did the push-ups?”
“Chad,” Andrew said. “He did all ten, but it was close.”
“Poor thing,” Heather crooned. She massaged Chad’s full stomach. “He’s going to hate you guys now.”
“Nah,” Chad admitted. “All in good fun.” He wasn’t quite so stuffed. The nap had helped. Still, he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to eat again. His stomach hurt and his abdomen was still tautly stretched. Gingerly he poked it, finding no give. His midsection bulged, hard as a rock. Heather helped pull him up, Chad grunting with effort as he gained his footing.
“Bye, guy,” Andrew said, offering a hand for a high five. They slapped hands and Chad offered farewells to Heather’s parents as well. They headed out, the cold night air refreshing to Chad, drying the sweat on his face and neck. He drew a deep breath and promptly hiccupped, losing his balance a little.
“Whups,” Heather said, laughing. “Want me to drive?”
“You better,” Chad admitted. He didn’t often like others to drive the Jeep, but he was so sated he didn’t think he ought to be operating heavy machinery. He slowly made his way around to the passenger side and pulled himself in, dropping into the seat with a grunt. With some difficulty, he fastened his seat belt, then reclined the seat as Heather pulled away from the curb.
“My brothers,” Heather said apologetically. “They do this every year at Thanksgiving. It’s moronic.”
Chad hiccupped. “It’s a guy thing … that’s all.” He hiccupped again and patted his bloated belly. “Ate too much,” he admitted, making a face.
Heather reached a hand over and tentatively poked at his protruding waistline as though it were a living thing. “Wow,” she said. “Your tummy’s tight as a drum.”
In response, Chad belched hugely, making the drum shake. Heather laughed and Chad managed a small grin. For the rest of the ride home he was quiet, letting Heather talk about her big family. Occasionally he let out a groan or shifted in his seat as his overloaded stomach grumbled and sloshed.
The next morning, Chad made himself get up and work out, returning an hour later sweaty and hungry. Heather had had to go in to work, but Chad had the day off. Virtuously, he prepared a bowl of instant oatmeal and peeled and ate an orange. He ran a couple of errands, picked up flowers for the kitchen table, and even was inspired to vacuum the downstairs.
Thanksgiving over, life and eating habits returned to what Chad thought of as normal. Living with someone, though, was making it hard to keep his thickening waistline from getting out of control. He continued to work out and tried to use restraint when Heather made brownies or cookies. He stood 5 foot 10, and his weight slid up and down between about 175 and 185. Heather never said anything either way, and she seemed to be happy enough in the bedroom.
Occasionally, in the mornings just out of the shower, Chad would experimentally pinch or poke his waistline or make a face when his pants were too snug. “Gettin’ fat,” he would say.
Heather, putting on makeup, would laugh. “You’re man enough for me,” was her stock answer. A few times, though, she’d put down the makeup brush and hug him, murmuring, “More of you to love.”
He had proposed nearly eleven months easrlier on New Year’s Eve, sitting on a blanket on the beach with a half of champagne between them. They agreed to get married on the Tuesday of Thanksgiving week and take a honeymoon after Turkey Day so that everyone could be present. Chad was glad for Heather’s big family; an only child, he’d lost his father 10 years ago and his mother two years ago, leaving him essentially family-less.
At the reception, when by chance they had a moment alone (how had that happened?), Heather had stood on tiptoe to whisper something to her new husband. (The photograph later was cute. Heather had put it in her scrapbook with the caption, “Already giving advice!”)
“Sweetie,” she whispered. “I want you to get bigger.”
Chad pulled back and frowned. “What do you mean? I’m not going to get any taller.”
“No,” she murmured. She laid a hand on his waist. “Bigger…. Like a darling teddy bear.”
“You’re nuts,” Chad whispered back, unsure what to say.
“Just try it for a year,” she murmured.
“Well … okay, I guess,” he said, just as an obscure aunt and her tank-sized purse descended on them for a hug.
PUSH-UPS
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
“Did you take your aspirin?” Heather asked as Chad pulled the car into her parents’ driveway.
“Yeah. But I still don’t see why you made me take aspirin when I don’t even have a headache.”
“As a preventive,” Heather replied briskly. “I have three older brothers, remember?”
Heather was right, Chad thought. The door opened and a wave of sound rushed out. It took him a minute to sort it out: kitchen noises, a football game on TV, girl chatter, and the sounds of guys watching the game. Enjoying the chaos, Chad took the proffered glass of iced tea and squeezed onto the couch to watch the game with the others.
Tantalizing smells were drifting from the kitchen for what seemed like hours before Heather’s mom finally called everyone to the table. The large dining room, most of the year, held an average-size table plus a corner where Heather’s dad tied flies and Heather’s mom did jigsaw puzzles. Today, though, all three extra leaves had been put in and the extra chairs brought out of storage. As everyone settled in, Chad did a quick head count. Heather and her parents and brothers, the only married brother’s wife, a couple of aunts and uncles, kids – more than a dozen people around the table.
And every inch of the long table was filled with food. Grace was said, dishes passed, and for about 35 seconds silence reigned. Conversation gradually resumed, however, and a rhythm developed for passing bowls and platters as most folks emptied their plates and wanted refills about the same time.
Chad, between two brothers and across from the third – he guessed it was the men’s end of the table – was enjoying both the food and the conversation. Time ebbed and flowed, and he happily ate two heaping platefuls of dinner before starting to feel full. Gulping some iced tea, he paused and laid a hand on his belly. It was comfortably stuffed and beginning to push out against his waistband.
He glanced around. No one else was ready to quit, and he knew the teasing he would endure if he was the first guy to bail. Besides, the food was all really good. He could stand another taste of the stuffing, and the cranberries, and the gravy, and the sweet corn, and the butternut squash …
He loosened his belt a notch and filled his plate again. Around him, everyone else was doing the same. He scarcely noticed that at the women’s end, they had stopped eating and were busy chatting. He slowly, contentedly, emptied his plate again. Oh … he was stuffed. Maybe one more roll with butter. And he could finish off the cranberries, couldn’t he? He shifted in his chair, his stomach starting to ache. His sides felt stretched and his waistband pinched. He let out his belt another notch and unbuttoned his jeans.
Finally, the meal appeared to be ending. Everyone was pushing chairs away, grunting with effort, standing and stretching, moaning and rubbing bulging bellies. As one, the guys moved slowly back toward the den, where the recliners and couch looked so comfortable.
They all sank into their seats, put their feet up on something, and began complaining and boasting. “Man, am I stuffed,” Rick grunted, slapping his belly. Rick was slightly built, and his stomach was roundly bloated, protruding over his unfastened pants. He belched loudly, making everyone laugh.
“Bet I ate (hic!) more than you did,” Andrew said, face flushed. Andrew had unbuttoned his jeans and had a hand slid down the front to ease his discomfort. Andrew was of average build with a slightly thickened waistline. His stomach sagged heavily, overloaded and grumbling audibly. With his free hand, Andrew gently massaged his belly to take the edge of his fullness.
“Give (urp) it up … urp … I win,” Chris announced. He was stretched out in the recliner with a hand down his pants, belt undone, jeans unbuttoned and the zipper halfway down. His shirt was rucked up and his bloated and swollen belly exposed. “This (urp) is the one (urrrrp) … day of the year (urp) Rosie doesn’t … watch what … (urrrp) I eat.”
Slowly, he rubbed his stomach, swollen and tight as a drum. He’d eaten as much as anyone, if not more, and it showed. His belly bulged upward and outward, looking like a hard dome stuffed to bursting.
Heather’s father was already asleep, but he’d done his share. His pants were unclasped and his belly bulged over the waistband. He snored quietly but steadily.
Suddenly, Rick slapped Chad’s belly. “New guy,” he announced. He belched. “How’d you do?”
“I think … (urp) I held … my own (urp),” Chad said. It was true. He’d unfastened his belt after getting up from the table, and sitting down on the couch had forced his zipper down. His belly, taut and aching, felt ready to pop. The skin of his midriff was stretched tight across the unaccustomed bulge, and he was so stuffed he was short of breath. Food was packed into every crevice of his stomach and up his throat, it felt like.
“Stuffed … (urp) to the … (urrrrp) eyeballs.” He hiccupped loudly. “Ow.”
“So who … (urp) ate the most?” Andrew asked.
“Me (urp),” Chris said.
“Me,” Rick said, slapping his taut belly for emphasis.
“I think,” Andrew said, “the honor (hic!) should go … to the new (hic!) … new guy.”
By now the guys were slowly beginning to digest their huge meals. Faces flushed with effort, sweat beaded foreheads, and they were getting drowsy.
“Yeah,” chorused Chris and Rick.
“On your feet,” Chris said, slapping Chad again on the belly.
Confused, Chad obeyed.
“If you can do ten push-ups without barfing,” Andrew announced, yawning, “you win.”
“What do I win?” Chad asked.
“Strictly bragging rights,” Andrew replied. “Come on … drop and (urrrp) give us ten.”
Wanting to be a good sport, Chad slowly and awkwardly got into position. The three brothers counted.
“One. Two …. Three … Four. Five ….”
Chad paused, feeling his overloaded belly churning and sloshing. A huge belch rumbled forth. Even at the apex of each push-up, it felt as though his bulging stomach was dragging the ground.
“Six ….” A long pause followed. Chad belched again.
“Seven …. Eight.” Another pause. Chad saw sweat drip from his forehead onto the rug. His stomach was so full he thought it might detach itself and fall off. That would be good. He was so fricking stuffed.
“Nine.” Chad went back down and felt like staying there. He was so full and so tired and his stomach ached and his arms were sore. With a loud grunt,
Chad slowly heaved himself back up. “Ten!”
The contest over, the brothers were solicitous, helping Chad to his feet, giving him the place of honor in the recliner, gently patting his belly.
“The winning stomach,” Andrew announced. “Man, feel how tight that is.”
Rick and Chris patted his bloated midsection as if admiring a new baby. “You win, man,” Andrew said admiringly. “Good job.”
“Ohhh,” Chad moaned. It was all he could get out. His head flopped back and he drifted off to sleep.
It was dark by the time he awoke. Andrew was awake, and Heather’s father had awakened and left the room. Rick and Chris were still sacked out. Heather padded in and perched on the arm of the recliner.
“Who did the push-ups?”
“Chad,” Andrew said. “He did all ten, but it was close.”
“Poor thing,” Heather crooned. She massaged Chad’s full stomach. “He’s going to hate you guys now.”
“Nah,” Chad admitted. “All in good fun.” He wasn’t quite so stuffed. The nap had helped. Still, he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to eat again. His stomach hurt and his abdomen was still tautly stretched. Gingerly he poked it, finding no give. His midsection bulged, hard as a rock. Heather helped pull him up, Chad grunting with effort as he gained his footing.
“Bye, guy,” Andrew said, offering a hand for a high five. They slapped hands and Chad offered farewells to Heather’s parents as well. They headed out, the cold night air refreshing to Chad, drying the sweat on his face and neck. He drew a deep breath and promptly hiccupped, losing his balance a little.
“Whups,” Heather said, laughing. “Want me to drive?”
“You better,” Chad admitted. He didn’t often like others to drive the Jeep, but he was so sated he didn’t think he ought to be operating heavy machinery. He slowly made his way around to the passenger side and pulled himself in, dropping into the seat with a grunt. With some difficulty, he fastened his seat belt, then reclined the seat as Heather pulled away from the curb.
“My brothers,” Heather said apologetically. “They do this every year at Thanksgiving. It’s moronic.”
Chad hiccupped. “It’s a guy thing … that’s all.” He hiccupped again and patted his bloated belly. “Ate too much,” he admitted, making a face.
Heather reached a hand over and tentatively poked at his protruding waistline as though it were a living thing. “Wow,” she said. “Your tummy’s tight as a drum.”
In response, Chad belched hugely, making the drum shake. Heather laughed and Chad managed a small grin. For the rest of the ride home he was quiet, letting Heather talk about her big family. Occasionally he let out a groan or shifted in his seat as his overloaded stomach grumbled and sloshed.
The next morning, Chad made himself get up and work out, returning an hour later sweaty and hungry. Heather had had to go in to work, but Chad had the day off. Virtuously, he prepared a bowl of instant oatmeal and peeled and ate an orange. He ran a couple of errands, picked up flowers for the kitchen table, and even was inspired to vacuum the downstairs.
Thanksgiving over, life and eating habits returned to what Chad thought of as normal. Living with someone, though, was making it hard to keep his thickening waistline from getting out of control. He continued to work out and tried to use restraint when Heather made brownies or cookies. He stood 5 foot 10, and his weight slid up and down between about 175 and 185. Heather never said anything either way, and she seemed to be happy enough in the bedroom.
Occasionally, in the mornings just out of the shower, Chad would experimentally pinch or poke his waistline or make a face when his pants were too snug. “Gettin’ fat,” he would say.
Heather, putting on makeup, would laugh. “You’re man enough for me,” was her stock answer. A few times, though, she’d put down the makeup brush and hug him, murmuring, “More of you to love.”
He had proposed nearly eleven months easrlier on New Year’s Eve, sitting on a blanket on the beach with a half of champagne between them. They agreed to get married on the Tuesday of Thanksgiving week and take a honeymoon after Turkey Day so that everyone could be present. Chad was glad for Heather’s big family; an only child, he’d lost his father 10 years ago and his mother two years ago, leaving him essentially family-less.
At the reception, when by chance they had a moment alone (how had that happened?), Heather had stood on tiptoe to whisper something to her new husband. (The photograph later was cute. Heather had put it in her scrapbook with the caption, “Already giving advice!”)
“Sweetie,” she whispered. “I want you to get bigger.”
Chad pulled back and frowned. “What do you mean? I’m not going to get any taller.”
“No,” she murmured. She laid a hand on his waist. “Bigger…. Like a darling teddy bear.”
“You’re nuts,” Chad whispered back, unsure what to say.
“Just try it for a year,” she murmured.
“Well … okay, I guess,” he said, just as an obscure aunt and her tank-sized purse descended on them for a hug.
