The Corps of Discovery by BBD (~BHM, Eating, Love, ~~WG)

[Big Beautiful Dreamer]

~BHM, Eating, Love, ~~WG - A couple first reject, then embrace, his weight gain.

The Corps of Discovery
​

by Big Beautiful Dreamer
​

Scot Hunter stretched luxuriously the length of the bed, feeling it in his back, belly, shoulders, toes. Ah, that felt wonderful. Six hours of driving capped off with falling into bed and immediately to sleep had left him stiff as a Frito.

He stretched again, more gently, and his hands came to rest on his midsection. He froze. Slowly his hands slid down – up – down again. Stretching again, he rolled over onto his front, by now at an angle, his hands and feet hanging off the sides of the bed.

“Crap,” he said aloud. He must have put on a few pounds over Thanksgiving. That’s what he got for spending five days at his parents’ house. Mom had stuffed him to the gills, shoving plates of snacks under his nose nonstop. Cookies, brownies, Chex mix, fig bars, cheese and crackers, yogurt pretzels. And then there was Thanksgiving dinner itself. Scotty groaned, dimly remembering loading his plate high over and over again, remembering the subsequent stomachache. And the aftermath, three days of gorging on leftovers. He vividly remembered helping his dad empty the bowl of stuffing during a midnight raid. He and Wes and Dad had finished off not only the stuffing but also the cranberry relish and the mashed potatoes and the pumpkin pie while playing penny poker, in whispers, stifling their cheers and groans so Mom wouldn’t hear.

He ambled into the bathroom and flipped on the light. Critically, he examined himself in the mirror, running a hand along his belly. Did it protrude some, or was he imagining it? He tried looking at himself in profile. Aw, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? He toed the scale out into the middle of the floor and stepped aboard, blinking at the result: 202.

Whoops.

“You’ve put on a few, my friend,” Scot informed his reflection. He rubbed his belly, feeling the flesh move under his hand. The scale should have read 193. He sighed. Oh, well. He ambled out to the living room and flipped on the morning news, working out while he ingested the local blather. He showered and shaved, then dressed, frowning at the realization that he didn’t normally have to tug at the waistband of his slacks to get them fastened.

There was, of course, a pile of work on his desk and he chipped away at it, having forgotten completely about those pesky extra pounds until David Shea stuck his head in his office. “Hey, Scotty, how was Thanksgiving?”

“Good, how was yours?”

“Too good.” David patted his waistline. “Put on a few.”

“Yeah, me too,” Scotty admitted.

David grinned. “So … wanna grab some lunch?”

Scot frowned. “I don’t know …” Just then his stomach, minus breakfast, growled loudly, making both men laugh. “Yeah, all right.”

In the afternoon Scot phoned his girlfriend, Kathleen Armitage. She was an attorney in the Navy’s Judge Advocate General Corps. “Never could resist a woman in uniform,” he would tease.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Scot! Mmm. Missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

Over dinner, they caught up. She had gotten almost as much time off as he had and had spent the holidays with her folks in Reading.

“How was it?” Scot asked.

“Oh, it was good,” Kathleen said. “I had to use my superpowers to keep from snacking every waking minute.”

“I left my superpowers at home,” Scot admitted. “Put on some weight.”

“Stand up, let me see.”

Feeling stupid, Scot did.

“Looks all right to me,” Kathleen said. Did he detect a note of censure in her voice? She nodded at his entrée. “Of course, that’s not going to help.”

“Should I send it back?”

Kathleen giggled. “It’s your duty to find a good home for that poor homeless steak.”

“And the potato.”

“The homeless potato population in the state’s capital is rising…” Kathleen intoned.

After dinner, despite the cold, they took a walk, enjoying the moonlight glinting off the water. By the time Scot made it to bed, his head was filled with thoughts of Kathleen and he’d forgotten his worries about his belly.

Resuming his (mostly) healthy habits after the holiday, Scotty managed to keep his weight around 200. He didn’t lose any more weight, but he didn’t gain any either. What was five – okay, seven – pounds among friends?

Then came Christmas. Again, he got nearly a whole week off and headed for Erie. Again, the house seemed to be wall-to-wall food, and every visitor seemingly brought more. The kitchen counter disappeared under cookie tins filled with pretty little calorie bombs, homemade fudge, chocolate dipped pretzels, triple fudge brownies, molasses drop cookies, in addition to all the goodies Mom dispensed seemingly every hour on the hour.

And again, gazing critically into the mirror on Dec. 27, he noticed his belly seemed more inflated than before. He sighed. Putting on a few pounds was probably status quo for this time of year. How bad was the damage? He hauled out the scale. This time it read 213. Holy cow. How had he put on 13 pounds? That was a ton of cookies, pal. That also meant that since before Thanksgiving he was up … he stopped to calculate … 20 pounds. That was a goodly jump. What would Kathleen say? They’d made plans to get together at her apartment to have their own Christmas celebration.

He plodded through his workout, feeling stiff and out of shape. Once he got to work, however, he perked up. He really enjoyed being an economist. To him it was like magic, and he found fulfillment in crunching numbers and writing reports. He’d driven to work that day, and made his way through the evening traffic to Washington, which was not bad, because in the evenings most worker bees were going the other way.

That evening, at Kathleen’s door, he tried to be cheerful, but she could tell something was bothering him. “What’s wrong?”

He made a face and patted his thickening waistline. “I’ve put on another thirteen pounds.”

“Christmas, huh?” She hugged him again, saying something that was muffled by her face against his chest.

“What?”

“I said,” she said, coming up for air, “It’s kinda cute. Besides,” she added, unconsciously patting her own trim waistline, “you work out, you’ll be able to burn that little tummy right off.”

“Uh, cute?”

“Yeah, cute,” she said over her shoulder, heading for the bedroom. “Like a teddy bear.” She was almost out of earshot, and he didn’t quite catch her next comment. “Not that you want to stay that way.”

He followed her, wondering why she was headed for the bedroom instead of the living room. He quickly found out. Kathleen didn’t often take the lead, but she was certainly the initiator tonight. She paid special attention to his softened belly, his chubbier waistline, his softening chin. They devoted much more time than usual, in fact, to foreplay, and when they actually entered each other, it was better than it had been in a while.

Scot was mightily bewildered. On the one hand, she certainly noticed his weight gain, and she’d dropped a couple of hints about paring it off. On the other hand, she was making much of his new little belly. It didn’t occur to him that Kathleen might be bewildered, perhaps without realizing it herself. She had elected to be on top this time and seemed to derive as much enjoyment from fondling his modest gut as from actually riding him, though he supposed that was debatable. He drifted off into a supremely contented sleep, having forgotten about those pesky 20 pounds.

The next morning, Kathleen greeted his drowsy entry into the apartment’s tiny kitchen with a plateful of waffles, eggs, and bacon. Scot’s eyes widened. “Wow,” he said intelligently.

“We have to go shopping,” Kathleen informed him.

“Ugh, do we really?” Ahh. No wonder. The big breakfast was a bribe, was it? Well, he supposed he could be bribed. His mouth already full, he mumbled, “Why?”

Kathleen laughed at him. “Because, silly, we have to go to the New Year’s Eve party at work.” She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Since you can’t wear a dress uniform, you’ll have to look extra spiffy. Besides,” she took a swallow of coffee, “I’m guessing that with that holiday tummy on you, your pants are getting a leetle snug in the waistline.”

Scot rolled his eyes. They were, in fact, getting a little snug, but something about her bringing it up irked him. Moreover, he loathed shopping, but since Kathleen didn’t drag him into it all that often, he supposed he could cooperate this time.

Kathleen chattered on about the party, and Scot’s plate was empty all too soon. Slowly he stood, stretching and rubbing his full stomach. Though he knew it was larger than normal, at the moment it felt pretty good: warm and full, cozily stocked up, like a bear getting ready to hibernate. Unconsciously, he was associating the full tummy with home, holidays, Mom, all the stuff that warmed his little heart right up. Being stuffed meant feeling secure. Of course, these complex connections were being made deep in his subconscious, and he wasn’t consciously aware of any of it. He quickly shaved and threw on a T-shirt and elastic-waist jogging pants – easier for trying on clothes. Besides, he kept only a handful of clothes at Kathleen’s.

The day’s outing, however, quickly put a damper on his good mood. At every stop, Kathleen would circle him like a potential car buyer. He kept waiting for her to kick the tires. She would tug at the shirt or pants or whatever it was he was modeling, stand back, tilt her head, tug some more, frown, circle him again. After this happened for the sixth or seventh time, Scotty finally said, “What is it?”

Kathleen sighed and looked at her shoes, then looked up again. She pursed her lips. “Sweaters used to look … better on you,” she finally said.

“Better than what?” Scot didn’t speak woman very well.

Kathleen pursed her lips again. “You’ve put on a little weight,” she pointed out.

Scot bit his lip, resisting saying, “Duh.”

Kathleen continued. “Your clothes are looking a little … mm … snug in the waist, maybe?” She seemed to have forgotten that she’d already said that, this morning. If she was trying not to hurt his feelings, it was too late.

Scot tried to get her back on track. “This New Year’s Eve party. How should I dress?”

“Oh … a tux,” Kathleen replied offhandedly. Scot suppressed a surge of irritation. If he had to rent a tux, why were they shopping? But he said nothing and Kathleen finally settled for what they had picked out and gave up on outfitting him any further.

“My feet are starting to hurt,” she admitted. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

Scot, relieved, thought that Kathleen had dropped the subject, but of course she hadn’t. When he added a Cinnabon to his order for coffee, she shot him a look. She couldn’t resist, could she? “Are you sure you want that?” she asked. “You had a big breakfast.”

Scot bit his lip, refraining from shooting back, “Thanks to you.” Instead he offered to split it with her. She shook her head before the words were even out of his mouth.

“No, no,” she said firmly. Again the hand went unconsciously to her trim waist. Her crisp khaki daily uniform and snowy white dress uniform were an incentive to keep her good figure.

Scot sighed and looked down at his shoes while the trim teenage girl at the register waited patiently. “Forget the bun,” he finally mumbled, his face flaming that she had seen how henpecked he was allowing himself to be.

They rode back to her apartment in silence, Scotty seething over how the morning had gone. Once again, though, Kathleen baffled him. They were no sooner in the door than she was tugging a finger through a belt loop and literally leading him toward the bedroom. The way she peeled off her clothes left no doubt what she wanted. Twice in two days, both times with Kathleen starting the fire, and as with the night before, her heightened enjoyment seemed to center on his softening belly and thickening waistline. As much as she was entertaining him below the waist, she was focusing her foreplay on his new love handles, squeezing, grabbing, jiggling, kissing, caressing; and on his baby pot belly, patting it, massaging it – wow, that felt good – and getting more mileage than he thought possible out of his body.

Afterward, sated, they napped. When they woke, it was midafternoon and Kathleen promptly set about preparing dinner. She made a healthy meal, but, consciously or unconsciously, served him heaping portions. He ate everything on his plate, and three rolls with butter, and afterward relaxed on the sofa with a cup of coffee. He was a little past comfortably full, truth be known. In fact, he was pretty stuffed. He eased a hand down the front of the sweatpants he’d thrown back on. His belly was no longer soft but taut, distended with too much dinner. He glanced at Kathleen. He wasn’t going to say a thing. She was in a good mood, and he did not want her to bring up his belly again. He flicked on the TV and Kathleen picked up her cross-stitch. It was a perfectly contented domestic evening.

The next few days passed quickly, and suddenly it was New Year’s Eve. The tux had needed, uh, some alteration in the waist, but as long as he didn’t breathe too deeply, it was perfectly fine. When Kathleen opened the door to her apartment, her smile was a little cool and he saw how her gaze quickly flicked to his waistline. He suppressed a sigh. Kathleen, as usual, was ready from the neck up, her face perfectly made up and her dark hair up in a chignon dressed with something sparkly. She wore her bathrobe and undergarments. She pecked him carefully on the cheek and said, “Won’t be a sec.”

Sure enough, she emerged only a couple of minutes later and twirled for him. He drew in his breath audibly. The dress had a scoop neck with a sheer ruffle, scooped deeper in back than in front, a fitted bodice, a slender silver sash. The skirt consisted of three tiers, each ending with a deep ruffle of six or eight inches. The layer nearest her silver strappy high heels included a sheer overlay. It was in a deep, rich olive, and Kathleen had accessorized with a necklace that he had seen before and knew to be completely faux. It was still dazzling, a diamond-cut silver chain ending in a double V of “diamonds.” She was also wearing the tennis bracelet he’d given her for Christmas.

“Wow,” Scot gasped. Kathleen beamed.

“Let’s go, beautiful,” Scot said. He offered his arm, and she scooped up her lined wool shawl. She was chatty in the car, excited about all her colleagues seeing her all glammed up instead of in uniform.

Scot made a face as he parked. “But all those guys will be spiffed up in their dress whites,” he grumbled. “Even a tux can’t compete.”

Kathleen winked at him. “Don’t worry,” she said. She patted his cummerbund. “It’s not that noticeable.”

Scot felt his lips compress. That was not what he had been talking about. He had been looking forward to the evening, but that one line had managed to dim his pleasure. He forced a smile onto his face and, a little grimly, struggled out of the low car seat and came around to open her door. If nothing else, he would be a perfect gentleman.

Once they got in the door, however, he felt his resolution falter. The vast majority of the men at the party were JAG Corps staff, and they were all in their dress whites. With no exceptions that he could see, every one was firm-waisted and dazzling in his dress whites. The few civilian men, significant others of the women, were all wearing tuxes, and the women were in an array of evening gowns. Scot suddenly felt hopelessly podgy, a depressingly average tubby guy with prematurely gray hair. He forced the smile back onto his face and endured Kathleen’s necessary working of the room. She beamed at the many compliments she received and seemed to be in a terrific mood.

Once they started dancing, though, her smile dimmed.

“What’s wrong?” Scot asked.

Kathleen closed her eyes, then opened them. “Nothing,” she said, in the tone that means it’s not nothing.

“What?”

Kathleen sighed. “Nothing.”

“Kathleen.”

Kathleen finally said, “Well … um …” the words finally came out in a rush. “Could you make a New Year’s resolution for me?”

“Sure. Whatcha want?”

“See if you can’t take off that holiday weight.” Her hand slid to his perceptibly thickening waistline, and her eyes darted once around the room.

The light dawned for Scot. She’d seen him in a roomful of trim officers in their dress whites, and he suddenly looked to her the way he felt, plain and … fat. Seemingly every male torso in the room was firm but his, every waist trim but his. He felt every ounce of those recently packed on 20 pounds, felt keenly the outward curve of his abdomen, the padding on his waistline, the protruding belly.

“Fine.” Scot just wanted the evening to end, but they’d barely begun.

Suddenly he felt a tap on the shoulder. A woman with a cute gamine haircut was smiling at him. Huh? She was looking at Kathleen.

“May I cut in?” she asked.

“Oh! Okay,” Kathleen agreed. She melted away and suddenly Scotty was dancing with a different woman. This one, who introduced herself as Gwen, was shorter than Kathleen, a slip of a girl, and she beamed up at him as they danced.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gwen confided. “I’ve been watching you from across the room and I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Couldn’t stand what?”

“Oh … seeing such a tall handsome man. And I love gray hair,” she said.

Scotty laughed. “Runs in the family,” he admitted. “I’ve been gray since college.”

Gwen put on a mock-pout. “So you’re not really 60?”

“Seventy-four,” Scotty joked, then amended his answer.

“Twenty-seven. But,” he said, “I never ever get carded.”

They kept flirting and dancing through several numbers. When there came a tap on the shoulder, it wasn’t Kathleen, but another female officer, Susan Barnes, who like Gwen similarly flirted with him outrageously as they danced. What the heck! Scot’s self-confidence was beginning to slowly curl back into his system. When Kathleen finally reclaimed him, she seemed to be looking at him with new eyes.

“Well,” she murmured. “I had no idea I’d have to sign up to get on your dance card. Who knew that a man out of uniform was such a catch?” But there was no malice in her voice, only desire. Scot wondered what Kathleen had been up to while he had been dancing with Gwen and Susan.

“They seemed to find you awfully attractive,” she purred, and ran a hand down the belly in question. Which, unfortunately, chose that moment to grumble. Kathleen instinctively jerked her hand away, making them both laugh. She pulled him closer.

The food at the party was hors d’oeuvres – good, but hardly enough – so on the way back to her apartment at the end of the evening, at Kathleen’s request, they stopped by a McDonald’s, having had the extraordinary good fortune to find one that was open on New Year’s Eve. He ordered a Cobb salad with no dressing for her and a Double Quarter Pounder large combo for him. To his surprise, Kathleen didn’t say a word about the calorie-laden order. Popping a French fry into his mouth, he mumbled, “The diet starts tomorrow.”

Kathleen sighed and ran her hand down his arm. “Whatever you say,” she murmured. She was suddenly interested in something other than food. Just as well that Scot managed to chow down the entire meal on the way back to her apartment, slurping down the last of the Coke as he parked.

Hauling himself out of the car, he let out a huge belch. “Oops,” he mumbled.

Kathleen giggled.

The late dinner, however, had put a hurt on his already snug rental tux, and his haste in undressing was prompted more by discomfort than desire. Oh, did it feel good to get that cummerbund off. The button and zipper practically undid themselves, and it felt wonderful to liberate himself from his underwear. By then Kathleen was naked as well, and they fell into bed, which made Scot belch again. Kathleen giggled again.

Their intimacy was fun, just plain fun, and afterward Kathleen lay snuggled on his chest, rubbing her hand around his ever burgeoning belly.

“I know,” he mumbled. “Twenty pounds is a lot to pack on. I’ll go on a diet.”

“Mmm. Yes,” Kathleen mumbled sleepily, but without conviction.

In the new year, however, though he did try, Scot had a hard time getting any of his weight to budge. Having moved in, the 20 pounds had made themselves at home … and were inviting friends along. The poundage creep was insidiously slow and hard to detect. If you watched it in time-lapse photography, you could have seen the perceptibly thickening waistline, the growing love handles, the burgeoning gut, the pants growing snugger, the way the pockets gapped, the belt being periodically let out, the effects of 20 … 23 … 27 … 30 … pounds.

By Easter, Scotty’s once average-podgy frame was now holding up a solid two-and-a-quarter. He bought new clothes when he could no longer button the current ones, but tried not to give too much thought to it otherwise. Without realizing it, he’d become able to shave without really looking at himself, drying off after a shower in his bedroom, not in front of the mirror. He faithfully worked out, but as his growing stomach demanded more to fill it, his portions became larger. Kathleen’s comments, after her holiday nag-fest, had tailed off after the New Year’s dance.

They spent the long Easter weekend at a friend’s cottage in St. Michaels, and though the water was too cold for swimming, Scot enjoyed gazing at Kathleen in a bathing suit. He kept to shorts and T-shirts after one frank look at his pale self in a mirror shirtless. The second evening, though, as they were lounging on the beach watching the sunset and drinking beer, Kathleen propped herself up on her elbows and said, “Take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“Go on. It’s a lovely evening.” Kathleen was still in her bathing suit.

Scot sat up and peeled off his shirt, then flopped back and took another swallow of beer. Suddenly he felt the beer being gently lifted out of his hand. Kathleen, now on her feet, was pulling him up.

“Come on,” she said urgently.

“Huh? Come on where?”

“Back to the house.” Kathleen winked. “I suddenly remembered something else we have to do.”

Afterward, Kathleen took a very long shower, thinking while the water cascaded down her soapy body. When she got out, Scot had fallen asleep, so Kathleen put on a robe and went out on the beach. Enjoying the evening breeze, she strolled on the sand and thought. She was finding Scotty much more attractive, much more yummy, since he’d started packing on the pounds. It hadn’t been that way at first of course, and Kathleen understood her initial reaction to Scot’s holiday gains. But something had slowly been unfolding in her mind during and after that New Year’s dance, and it had begun to dawn on her that she minded other people’s (mostly imagined) reactions to Scot being heavy than she minded Scot being heavy. In fact, as Scot’s weight progressed, she was enjoying their sex life much more. But there was more. She enjoyed cuddling with him; she enjoyed just being in the same room with him; to her surprise, she was enjoying being out and about with him. She had expected public censure, if unspoken (to her face), but if it was there, she found that she didn’t care about it. She loved Scot, loved who he was, and loved him as a handsome larger guy. Her guy.

In the morning, as Kathleen prepared breakfast, Scot slowly and carefully got down on one knee. “Kathleen, I love you and want you to become my wife.” He swallowed hard. “I will lose weight before the wedding for you. I will get back in trim…” A finger was pressed to his lips, then her hand was helping him up.

“I believe all you have to say is, ‘Will you marry me?’ And all I have to say is ‘Yes,’” Kathleen murmured. She leaned into his embrace and continued, “I love you just the way you are and I’m sorry if I’ve ever been silly or cruel about your size. I, uh…” she paused and gulped. “I find you very, very attractive … just as you are. Amazing as that may seem to you. It seems amazing to me. I don’t know where this came from. But I know that I love you so much it hurts… I will marry you, and don’t you dare go on a diet! So there.” She finished with a deep, soft kiss that started in the kitchen and ended in the bedroom.

After the fireworks, Scot murmured, “So do you want me to stay at 225 or get bigger?” Sweet Jesus. He never thought he’d say that to a woman.

“Mm,” Kathleen murmured. “You know what? Let’s just let nature take its course.”

“Sure, okay,” Scotty said.

The same thought occurred to them simultaneously and they were out of bed and scrambling into clothes. The half-prepared breakfast forgotten, they jumped into the car to head for a restaurant with a breakfast buffet.

“No reason,” Kathleen said with a wink, “We can’t give nature a bit of an assist.”

 

[Daknee]

 

[Risible]

 

[Big Beautiful Dreamer]

 

[cammy]

 

[Risible]

 

[Big Beautiful Dreamer]

 

[Observer]

 

[Risible]

 

[zonker]