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Treasure Island

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Big Beautiful Dreamer

ridiculously contented
Joined
Feb 26, 2006
Messages
3,984
Location
,
~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]
[FONT=&quot]
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]

 

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