Treasure Island

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Big Beautiful Dreamer

ridiculously contented
Feb 26, 2006
~BHM, ~BBW, ~~WG. A young lady at home with her curves meets a young man who has some learning to do.

Treasure Island

[FONT=&quot]The beach was not crowded – one of the advantages of having a Wednesday-Sunday work week instead of a Monday-Friday one. I thunked and opened the umbrella, set down the cooler and tote bag, and spread my towel. Smeared in sunblock, I lowered myself onto the terrycloth. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Already I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders. The white sand, the fact that Treasure Island Beach felt like my own private secret, the warm blue-beige waters of the Gulf… [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]My peripheral vision noted some movement a few yards to my left. An umbrella was driven into the sand and opened. A towel was snapped and spread. A tote bag settled on the sand. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Me? I was gazing carefully and with calculation at the small family building a sand castle near the water to my left. And drinking in the view of my new neighbor.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]She was maybe 5 foot 6. The breeze whipped her chestnut bob over apple cheeks. As she shrugged out of, and let fall, a terry wrap, I was treated to smooth alabaster shoulders and arms, plump and unblemished and lovely. Magnificent, breathtaking breasts – barely contained in the slings of an electric-blue string bikini. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]By the gods…[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Love handles that lived up to the name and then some: sleekly curved, firmly rounded, jutting upward before slanting to make a 3-dimensional vee of flesh; and below the other half, the bottom of the bikini. The ties were invisible to me, but as she turned in preparation for sitting, I was treated to a glorious bottom. High and exceptionally round, it was a sculpture in cool white marble with the whimsy of a scrap of blue in its center – a wink to convention.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I got stuck on all of the above and completely missed the leg show, at least her legs when standing; she lowered herself to the towel slowly and with the ease of long practice, and fished a paperback out of her tote. She had her legs haphazardly tucked into what used to be called Indian style.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]By the gods, Asgardians! Tonight – we feast.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I deliberately kept “watching” the sand-castle construction for a bit longer before slowly shifting my gaze to the right. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Over the next couple of hours, Miss Bikini alternated between the water and her book, as did I. We made eye contact and nodded a couple of times. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I was half in a doze when I heard some rustling, followed by a curse. Automatically, I looked over. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I know I brought my lunch,” she muttered. “I remember assembling it. I put it in the fridge while I got the rest of my bag packed, and then I… I… I bet it’s still in the fridge.” She looked sheepish, but also peeved. Her face was even more gorgeous when viewed openly. Large blue-black eyes, a snub nose, a dusting of freckles, a full mouth and a heart-shaped face with a beautiful chin. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Well, I guess that’s the end of my day at the beach,” she muttered. She glanced at me apologetically, as if I were owed an explanation. “Didn’t bring any money.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Here, my treat.” I stood up and held out my hand.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Oh, no,” she said automatically. “Thanks, but no.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“You must let me rescue damsels in distress. It’s in my contract.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]She laughed.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I insist.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]She took my hand and got to her feet. “Thank you very much, completely non-threatening stranger.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“My pleasure, heart-stopping beauty,” I replied.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“My – what?” She froze halfway to picking up her wrap.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I bobbed my head in embarrassment, feeling my cheeks warm. “I think you’re beautiful.” I said it matter-of-factly.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, and finally swallowed hard, then put on her wrap and slid her feet into clogs.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Over disappointingly mediocre seafood (what part of on the beach means frozen tasteless shrimp?) – although the conch fritters were to die for – we trotted out our basic introductions.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I was that rarest of creatures, the Florida native. I had a master’s degree in literature, wrote stuff, periodically collected rejection slips for the stuff I wrote, and kept body and soul together by working on the dietary staff of a nursing home. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“It’s perfect,” I explained. “I get socialization, a paycheck, benefits, and not much brain strain.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura (for such was my goddess’ name) was originally from southern Illinois. Bored during a rain-filled vacation, she’d read even the classifieds in the local paper and had impulsively decided to apply for work at an optometrist’s. She had worked for the optical shop at the Wal-Mart in Pana, Illinois, population 5,000, and had returned from her vacation feeling decidedly out of sorts and envious of people who got to live in Florida year-round. The western coast was equally gorgeous but less tourist-ridden than the east coast, and here was the Visionworks in eastern St. Petersburg looking for someone to manage their eyewear shop. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“So here I am – and I still can’t believe it,” she finished with a laugh. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]By the time lunch was over, we were holding hands on our walk back to our towels. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Yum,” Laura said, licking her fingers. “That was delicious. I’m stuffed.” She rested a hand on the belt of her terry wrap, below which her belly sat firm and doubtless warm. I was going crazy wanting to touch it. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Thank you so much-urp-for lunch. What a treat. Scuse me.” She glanced over. “I get paid enough to live on OK, but only because I don’t do a lot of eating out or stuff.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Stick with me, kid,” I said in a deliberately bad Humphrey Bogart imitation that made her laugh again. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I have a good thing going, seriously,” I said as we settled back down on our towels. “My grandmother died when I was twenty-two, and I inherited enough money to give me an interest payment of a couple thousand a month. I’d be living in a crap studio apartment way over in someplace like Plant City, or stuck in a job that sucked the life out of me because it paid more than nine dollars an hour. This lets me work at writing and still be comfortable.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Have you ever had anything published?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I shrugged. “The odd short story here and there. Nothing substantive. Do you like working in the eyewear place?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I actually do.” She brightened. “It’s fun, the psychology of watching people choose frames. And I like the management aspect of it. And it pays decently.” She made a face, playfully. “Not enough to live on Coquina Key…like some trust-fund brats… but I have a nice little apartment I rent on Sixth Avenue North. A studio with a little balcony.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]She raised herself up on her knees, making a face as she gently massaged her belly. I guessed that when empty, it was soft, folding into lovely grabbable rolls. But now it was tautly rounded, gleaming in the sun, a faintly rosy dome crowned with her belly button. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Ooh. Urp. I really did-hic-ow-eat too much. Urp.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Me too,” I said. “Mmm.” I was full, and would have liked to have laid down on my back for some dozing and digesting – but my belly wasn’t the only part of me that was firm at the moment. On the other hand, rolling over on my stomach wasn’t a good idea on any level. I finally settled for lying down on my back but drawing my knees up, hoping it would at least conceal my unmistakable reaction to Laura’s swollen tummy and general gorgeousness.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura also settled on her back, and we lay there in side-by-side stupors, with me (at least) sneaking occasional glances at her bodacious body.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]As the sun began to set, we both hauled ourselves up and began to pack our belongings.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Ugh,” I groaned. “Now I get to drive home, nuke a frozen dinner, and watch bad television for three hours.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Don’t you have to write?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I gave her a Cheshire-cat smile. “Did that this morning.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Um… I’m not a bad cook…” She blushed and looked at her feet.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Is that an invitation?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Is that an acceptance?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I can’t believe my luck,” I said. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I’m the lucky one,” she replied, and she gave me her address. I tapped it into my map app.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]An hour and a half later, freshly showered and neatly dressed, I knocked on her door. The usual greetings, demurral, and thanks for the flowers exchanged, she sat me on a sofa and brought me a glass of lemonade.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]We chatted back and forth as she busied herself in the kitchenette, refusing to let me help.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Well. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Beef medallions with gorgonzola crumbles in a pear-and-wine sauce. Wild rice. Mashed cauliflower with gorgonzola. A salad with gorgonzola, pears, and walnuts. And a pear-walnut tart.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]As we ate, conversation was mostly about the food, cooking shows, our jobs, the food, Florida, tourists, and the food.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I had known I was eating too much – I was aware of growing satisfied, then full, then stuffed – but everything was so delicious that I couldn’t stop. Finally, finally, the actual eating wound down, and I winced, anticipating the effort of standing up. I wriggled my chair back and hauled myself up.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Oof. Hic! Ohhhh,” I groaned. “That was … oof … amazing. Hic! I’m … stuffed.” I was so full I was short of breath, the kind of bloated distention I associated with Thanksgiving. I closed my eyes and laid a hand on my belly, which felt visibly swollen. Tender and aching, my stomach was straining its moorings. Then Laura gently rotated me around and was steering me toward the sofa. We paused, and she undid my belt, which flew open, and then undid my khakis. Ahhh.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Slowly. Burp. Slooowlyyy… there.” She lowered me onto the sofa and slid a little footstool under my feet. “Lean back a little.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I did. She lowered herself down next to me, and with a feather-light touch, began slowly massaging my gorged and bloated gut. I was so stuffed I was dizzy, conscious of nothing but the incredible fullness of my stomach, the satiation and the soreness, the stretch and pull of flesh, the odd belch or painful hiccup bursting forth. Periodically Laura would pause and rest her hands on her own tummy, which like mine was a little sphere of fullness. Round and rosy, bloated with the lovely process of slow digestion, her belly button stretched.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I have to say, I’m not used to this,” I admitted. “Hic.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura patted my tummy. “How do you feel?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Stuffed. Brim-urp-full. Urp.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura smiled. “I mean emotionally. What does it feel like to fill up and then…urp… and then recover?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I thought about it. Reflected for a good minute or so. “Warm. Satisfying. Kind of primal. Really good.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I’m a big girl,” Laura said. “You might have noticed.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I shrugged. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I like every inch of me,” she continued. “I know that’s countercultural. Hic! Ow. I don’t care. I like what I see in the mirror. I like exploring my body, in the shower, in bed.” She glanced over.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I’ve never given my body much thought,” I said. “It’s just kind of there. But… I reiterate what I first said on the beach. You are gorgeous.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Thank you,” Laura said. “You’re not so bad yourself.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]And just like that – a wild soulmate appeared. All of our spare time was now taken up with each other. Within six weeks, she was sharing my Coquina Key apartment. With our combined paychecks, I cut back to half time at work so I could be a little more domestic – keep ahead of laundry, groceries, vacuuming.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]And discovered what Laura already knew about herself. There was something indescribably magical about her body. I couldn’t keep my hands off her. We had to take care in the mornings not to make each other late for work. There is simply nothing like the sensation of filling your hands full of your partner’s tummy rolls and fondling, caressing, squeezing. Nothing like being enwrapped in a fleshly lover from head to toe as a prelude to entering each other. Nothing like, well, eating yourself stupid and massaging each other’s swollen and tautly bloated tummies. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]As taken as I was with Laura’s physical attributes, and there were many, and her personality, which was appealingly multifaceted, there was something about the way she frankly and openly loved her deluxe edition body. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Not that I’ve dated a lot of women – but the ones I had, I now realized, had a subroutine running constantly. With words, with clothing choices, with gestures, with expressions, and any time food came into play, every single female friend and girlfriend had communicated guilt, dislike, and shame about her body. And I don’t mean once in a while. I mean it really was a subroutine. In music you’d call it a ground. It ran in the background, all the time, and most of the time I don’t think they were aware of it.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]It was damned refreshing to take a woman to dinner and go two hours without once hearing, “Oh, I shouldn’t,” “I’m being bad,” “Do I want an appetizer or do I want a dessert?” “Oh, I can’t have bread.” “I’ll just have one bite.” Not to mention, “Ugh, my butt is huge,” “I don’t like what this shirt does to my tummy,” “I can’t wear skinny jeans,” “Oh my God, I look so fat.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura knew who she was, and she liked herself. You might be surprised how much self-confidence is a turn-on. At least it turned me on. I had been floating through life in my own little bubble, quietly holding myself aloof from everyone else, secure in the knowledge that no one really understood my complexities and so I was destined to walk alone.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]By the gods…[/FONT]
Laura was changing everything. This was the first relationship where I hadn’t had to hold a polite mask up to my face in the early days, where both of us were putting that best foot forward and doing the well-mannered courtship gavotte. I was who I was, she was who she was, no games, no pretension – and each of us seemed to be bringing out the best in each other. Pleasing her pleased me, and vice versa.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura got a raise. We celebrated by splurging – three days and two nights at Disney World, staying at one of the Magic Kingdom’s inside-the-park hotels, the Polynesian Village. It was by far one of the pricier choices, but it had monorail transportation and a waterfall slide into the pool. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]It was magical. So as not to wear ourselves out, we mostly stuck to the original Magic Kingdom stuff and didn’t try to cram in too many of the auxiliary parks. Finishing with these enormous dinners – hey, we’d done a lot of walking – at Cinderella’s Royal Table, then the monorail back to the hotel and a couple of Mai Tais. Finally, stuffed and tipsy, we’d stagger out to the balcony to watch the fireworks. And then make some fireworks.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]That was the first time we’d been intimate with each other. Not because we were shy or prudish, but because everything about our relationship felt so right, and we figured we would know when it was time. And, it was time.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]We were both naked, the lights dim, and I gently lowered myself onto Laura. I could feel my own chest warm against her magnificent breasts, mounded warm pillows, and the little electric shock we both felt when my roundly full belly, stretched and aching, very carefully pressed against Laura’s own stuffed tummy. We were both seriously and unexpectedly aroused by the intimate pressure on our tautly distended midsections. Foreplay was of necessity slow, but it felt good, as though we were moving under water. Finally we coupled, rhythmic and languid, stimulated by the slick warmth of perspiration sealing our softening bellies together. When it was all over we both felt and heard the soft schwuck of the vacuum [FONT=&quot]of sweat[/FONT] being broken. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]By the gods, Asgardians![/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura rested her head on my shoulder and I held her with one arm, wordless, and sublimely happy. She laid a hand on my gut, which was still achingly full but now damp and somewhat pliable. She shushed the belly back and forth idly.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Do you have any idea how attractive this is?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I felt myself tense up. “Gettin’ kind of a pot,” I said.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“ ’Snice,” she murmured.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I laid my hand atop hers and belched. “Urp. I am, though. I’m starting to get fat.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“And…” Laura made a go-on hand motion.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I shrugged my free shoulder. “And. I don’t know.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“You know,” Laura said drowsily, “I suspect that we’re drawn to mates who are … solid. Warm. Tells us that they can survive the winter.” She snuggled a little more decisively onto my chest.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Um, mates?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura blushed. “I mean… I didn’t…”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Ha, gotcha,” I said, poking the top of her hair.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Our time in the Magic Kingdom concluded, we returned to St. Pete and to our routines. Work became even less of a chore, since I knew that I was coming home to Laura. But by now we’d been together for six months, and I was unmistakably and visibly putting on weight. My chin softened and my cheeks became fuller. My pecs turned into pancakes, flabbing on my chest. My backside broadened. My belly took the brunt of it, though: Curving out from below my pecs, it described a definite convexity. Most of the time, it declined into a couple of rolls, a smaller spare tire stacked onto a larger one. After a big meal, it was a balloon, surface tension taut, firm and resistant, warm and solid yet tender, as though the slightest touch would cause an eruption.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I was up fifty pounds since that fateful day on the beach, and Laura couldn’t keep her hands off me. With words and actions, and in other more subtle ways, she made it clear that she loved the way I was looking. I felt conflicted, though. I had gained fifty pounds, and the little subroutine I had tired of in women was [FONT=&quot]now running in my head - although I didn't vocalize it. [FONT=&quot]A[/FONT][/FONT]nd the other dietary staff were starting to give me crap. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Hey, ’sup, buddy?” Rick Reynolds slapped me on the shoulder as he came into the storage room to grab a restaurant-size bag of creamer powder, preparing to fill up the containers before the residents’ breakfast. He reached around me into the box, then blinked, taken aback at something.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“What,” I said.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Nothing. Um, nothing, big guy.” Rick kept his tone light. “Lunch on the back patio.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Yeah,” I replied automatically. Big guy. I sucked in my gut, noticing a little movement, then exhaled, and the spare reinflated. I shrugged. I had rolls to make for lunch. I didn’t have all day to, um, navel-gaze. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Over lunch, though, when I took the last handful of fries from the communal plate, Cory made unmistakable pig noises. My hand froze. Rick looked away. I stared at Cory. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Sorry. I just … well … man, you’re getting kinda big.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Suppose I am,” I said, and lifted my chin. (Chins?) “No, ah, no big deal, right?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Yeah. No. No big deal,” Cory stuttered.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Big guy,” Rick added too heartily, patting my shoulder.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Cory fished out his phone. “Time to clock back in. Get cleaned up before the second shift comes on.”[/FONT]


Big Beautiful Dreamer

ridiculously contented
Feb 26, 2006
[FONT=&quot]Today was my last day on the job for a few days. I had put in months ago to have the Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday of Thanksgiving off, to spend with my mother, brother, and his family in Winter Park. Laura was flying to Pana that day, and I needed to get home and get her to the airport in Tampa.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Don’t be sad,” she said in the car, patting my knee as I steered us across the Courtney Campbell Causeway. “We’ll be back together on Saturday.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I sighed. “Guys at work are giving me a hard time.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“What, for having time off?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“No. For this.” I patted my gut, which nearly brushed the steering wheel. “I’m clocking in at 245.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“And. I. Love. Every. Ounce.” Laura said, tapping my belly button. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Laura’s buoyant self-confidence, her unabashed love of her own deluxe body, her pleasure and delight in her gorgeous curves and lush handfuls, all were a significant part of what had knocked me into loving her. And I had to admit, if I were being honest, that I sort of enjoyed soaping up my real estate in the shower. It was sensual and pleasurable.[/FONT] But.

[FONT=&quot]“Okay,” I agreed. “No more sulkies.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Just for fun, I had opted – since I was going to be in Tampa anyway – to take the train to Winter Park, where my parents had settled in the mid-1960s, when Dad was advised to find a warm climate, which had done wonders for his rheumatoid arthritis. He’d died six years ago, having retired from his successful florist business. One tiny storefront in 1965 had become two decent stores once Disney World opened in 1970, and by the time Dad died, Sunshine Florist consisted of twelve outlets from Sanford to Lake Wales. Chris and I had given up urging Mom to get away from the Mouse Ears and retire to the coast – either coast. She was quietly happy playing bridge, tending her garden, and hitting the tennis courts a couple of times a week.[/FONT]

While the train bore me eastward, I brooded. Why did I feel so guilty about getting fat? I continued to exercise, continued to eat good minimally processed food, yet the voice in my head nagged at me from time to time that I was getting fat -- and that I needed to reverse the trend. I mulled and pondered. What was prompting this guilt, and what could I do about quieting it? The main reason for my feelings, I decided, was external. Society had drummed into all of us that thin is better than fat, and had done such a thorough job that we all accepted it and beat ourselves up for not looking like Chris Hemsworth. So shut up, internal voices!

[FONT=&quot]Mom met me at the train station. We exchanged a big hug, then stepped back. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Mom, you look great.” She did. Seventy-three and unashamedly gray, she was as always birdlike and casually dressed. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Milo. Darling.” She looked me over. Some imp in me took over. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I know, I’ve got fat,” I said, striking a pose. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Mom opened her mouth, drew a deep breath, closed it. “Well. So. Why on earth didn’t you bring Laura?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“She’s got family too, Mom.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Well, I know… but make sure you squeeze her in to come see this old lady after Christmas, during the other holidays.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I was quiet on the ride to the house. What would Mom think once she saw Laura? She would blame my goddess for making me fat. OK, cool it, pal. One holiday crisis at a time.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Chris was less circumspect. “Whoa, pal! Moose crossing, there.” He faked a couple of punches at my belly, which ballooned out over my waistband. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Yeah. I know. I’m fat.” I decided to try the pre-emptive approach again. Chris circled me, waggling his eyebrows. I played along, holding my arms out and letting him look his fill.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Any particular … I don’t know … reason?” he finally asked.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Met a girl. She likes me big.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Ah, the famous Laura!” Chris exclaimed. “Whose picture I have yet to see.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Obligingly I pulled out my cell phone. Mom appeared over my shoulder. Both of them silently looked as I slid through several photos.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“She’s an eyeful,” Chris said admiringly. “Nice, uh…” he gestured at chest level. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Pretty talk,” Mom scolded. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Uncle Milo! Uncle Milo!” Martina and Stefan appeared, followed by Kamila, Chris’ wife. Tall and dark, she had been a Disney staffer the same time Chris had.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Milo, how lovely,” she said, giving me a sisterly kiss on the cheek. Her Czech accent made everything she said sound like a song.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Martina and Stefan eyed me curiously. They could tell I looked different, but they were far too well-mannered to say anything. Grinning in spite of myself, I handed over a wrapped gift for each: a jigsaw puzzle for Stefan, and a potholder making kit for Martina. I was rewarded with hugs, smiles, thank-yous.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Later that evening, Chris and I had repaired to the den, football on TV, for some guy time together.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“You know, bro… uh…”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I sighed. “I’m aware, yes. I’ve gone from 190 to 245. In the neighborhood of fifty pounds. I still work out, I still eat healthy, I just eat a lot more.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Chris stared at me for a while, then turned his gaze back to the television. “What does, uh, Laura think?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I bit my lip. “She says it’s very sexy.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Sexy. Huh.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Yup,” I said. “I’ll spare you the details, but she likes me big. A lot of women do. It’s surprising.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Isn’t Laura, um…”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“She is deluxe-size. Yes,” I said. “First time I saw her she was wearing a string bikini.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Chris whistled. “Wow.” Then: “And you… you like that?” He was careful to keep his voice uninflected.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Turns out I do,” I said simply. Chris and I pondered for a while, half-watching the game, reflecting on desire. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“You know, since Kamila had the twins, she’s got just a little bit of a pooch there,” Chris said slowly. “I gotta say… when we… you know… I like how it feels.” He slapped his belly. “Course, we’ve been married ten years… I’ve put on a few myself.” He glanced over. “But Milo, man, jumbo-sizing, that’s… I don’t know… it’s…”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Countercultural?” I suggested.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Chris shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, man. Like you’re giving the bird to all those bullshit standards society tries to pressure everyone into.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I told him that was part of what attracted me to Laura, her flagrant self-confidence, how she was refreshingly free of the self-criticism so many women have going on autopilot. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Kamila is too,” I pointed out. “At least among family. I have never once heard her complain about getting fat or how her butt looks. Mind you, her butt is amazing.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“True dat. And you know what? She doesn’t. And it’s nice not to have to hear that crap, I’ll give you that. You gonna enjoy yourself tomorrow?”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Um, yeah,” I said, and we both laughed.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Enjoy myself I did. We all did. Mom, me, Chris and Kamila, Martina and Stefan, Mom’s elderly neighbors. We savored all the traditional Thanksgiving fare plus potato dumplings, bramboraky, peach kolaches, fried Gruyere. I piled my plate, vaguely aware that any subroutines I might have had about overeating or getting fat had been blown to smithereens. I enjoyed the taste combinations, the textures, the colors, the contrasts. I ate and ate.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I felt myself getting full, my midriff slowly pushing against my waistband. I loosened my belt, purely as a precautionary measure. I drank some more water, enjoying the sensation of the cold liquid coursing down my throat and washing into my ballooning abdomen. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Almost abstractly, I piled my plate again. A couple more dumplings. One more triangle of fried Gruyere. A scoop of stuffing. Gravy. A spoonful of cranberry relish. A couple of deviled eggs. One more roll. My belly was expanding with every mouthful. I could feel the skin stretching tightly as my gut grew achingly taut. I loosened my belt the final notch, then wrestled my jeans unbuttoned. No relief. Dreamily I swallowed bite after bite. I wanted to unzip my jeans, but I doubted it would do any good, and I didn’t think my shirt would cover the acreage.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Mom was laying a plate in front of me. A big triangle of pumpkin pie, side by side with two more kolaches, blackberry this time. Yum. Only, I was so full. Achingly stuffed, sounds muffled as all the blood fled to the emergency digestive scene in my stomach, now filled to overflowing. My spare tires were now fully inflated, my gut a sphere. Dazedly, I hauled myself to my feet.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The neighbors tottered on home, the kids made for the master bedroom to watch Disney videos, and Chris and I repaired to the den. I waddled heavily in my brother’s wake, feeling myself list from side to side, several large belches erupting as I went.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I sank onto the old saggy sofa, grateful for its give. Unzipping my jeans before I sat, putting my feet on the low worn footstool, groaning and grunting.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Oof. Urp. Oh. Oof. Wow. Urp.” I rested my hands on my cartoonishly swollen and bloated belly. Gorged, sated, utterly dopey, I was prepared to hibernate.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Get enough—urp—to eat?” Chris asked drowsily. His khakis were undone and he had a hand thrust down the front, resting on his visibly full stomach, which pouched out like a soccer ball.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Mmmm,” I agreed. I was aware of a vigorous stirring in my pants. I would have run over squirrels for a chance to take Laura to bed right this minute. Kamila appeared in the doorway, caught Chris’ eye. Chris struggled to his feet, gave me a smirk, and vanished. Lucky bastard. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The train ride back home gave me time to think. About self-confidence, about Laura’s vocal views on my growing appeal (ha), about my conversations with Chris.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Luckily, I had several hours after arriving in Tampa before meeting Laura’s plane. I did some shopping, then returned to the airport. Our embrace was brief for the sake of discretion, but we both looked each other over and the stirrings returned with a vengeance. I could not get back to Coquina Key fast enough.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]She silently invited me to tug off her cowl-neck sweater and unhook her gray lace bra, a large and serviceable thing for large and seriously attractive breasts. I paused in my labors to bobble them gently: a generous handful, soft and warm, spilling through and over my fingers and speaking to me of succulence and plenitude.

She tugged off my sweater and languidly undid my shirt buttons, pushing the clothing aside. She ran her hands gently, lightly, ticklishly, along my broad shoulders and decently exercised chest, then down my torso, resting for only a moment on my midriff, a little bloat there at the moment.

I unbuttoned her jeans and slowly ran down the zip. I’d forgotten how sexy the act of undressing a woman could be. I gave the waistband a little push and she wriggled out of the jeans, leaving her in nothing but a scrap of gray lace bikini panties. I was stunned again, and my body wasted no time in responding even as I was processing these new sights.

There she was, all alabaster curve and rosy swell of soft, warm flesh, and she was gorgeous. I released my hold on her breasts long enough to cradle my way down a padded torso to soft handfuls of waist and dared to gently finger her navel, just above where a flap of tummy folded over the panties, playing peekaboo with the lace. Her navel was firm to the touch, her tummy a tantalizing hint of give, a suggestion of surrender.

While I was thus thoroughly dazed, Laura slowly unlatched my belt, then unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them downward. I stepped out of my jeans and boxers, Laura disposed of her panties, and then we were utterly starkers in my bed.

Slowly, as if for the first time, we explored each other, the only sounds our inarticulate murmurs and occasional advice as to placement and touch. I was staggered by her beauty, rose and cream, warmth and fold, all softness and curve. The effect was gentle, womanly, warm and welcoming, and I burrowed and nuzzled and cuddled, traced and cradled, letting my hands fill up with her bounty. I was home.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I was also vividly aware of Laura fondling me, cradling my pecs, grabbing and kneading my love handles, nuzzling my second chin, burrowing into my embrace. Finally we settled down, her head on my warm chest, both of us damp with perspiration.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]With some effort, I pulled open the drawer of the night table and fished out a box. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Laura,” I said. “You have opened my eyes, you have opened my heart, you have unleashed my soul. Marry me,” I begged. “Marry me. Please.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Laura plucked the ring from its slit and slid it onto her finger. “You didn’t have to say please.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]By the time we found ourselves in front of a trellised archway set up on the Treasure Island beach, it was mid-May, and the breezes were enchanting. The small gathering perched in folding wooden chairs comprised my mother, Chris and Kamila, the twins, Laura’s parents, her sister and brother and their families, and that was it. Laura’s mom and dad were throwing a big reception for us in Pana over Memorial Day weekend to meet the extended clan.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]A well-fitted tuxedo flatters any shape. I was feeling like the king of the world in a white tie and tails ensemble that smoothly draped my three hundred and six pounds. Laura, meanwhile, took my breath away in an Empire waist gown with a square ruffled neckline, sheer sleeves, and a cutaway hem that showed her gorgeous legs in front and swooped to just above her ankles in back. Perfect for the beach. Although I could hardly wait to see her rocking her two-eighty-five in the black bikini she had bought for our honeymoon.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Oh. The honeymoon. The old question, Where does a Floridian go on honeymoon?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]On a cruise. Naturally. [/FONT]


Well-Known Member
Jun 26, 2007
There is no writer more gifted than you. And the romantic
Nature of your stories is such a nice touch.


Well-Known Member
Sep 8, 2011
You always write such wonderfully romantic weight gain tales! I know I don't comment on all your stories, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate them all!

Thank you for so many hours and hours of reading pleasure over the years, BBD!

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