Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
BHM, Romance, Eating, ~MWG - A big guy and a shy conformist both let loose of their inhibitions and discover a bigger (and beterr) life
Lewis Lingle gazed out the window, chin in hand.
Eleven-twenty. Would this session ever end? Who in their right mind scheduled breakfast for 7:30 and lunch for 12:30? A pleasant, interested expression on his face, he continued to let the time inch by until at long last 12:30 came.
Stiffly, he stood, stretched, and creaked toward the door, accidentally bumping hips with a woman coming through the door at the same moment. Their impasse resolved, they moved down the corridor toward the dining room, chatting as they walked and then as they filled their plates.
Finally, having set down his plate, Lewis thought to introduce himself.
His companion replied, “I’m Karen Woodford.” She was tall, about 5’7” to his 6’1”, a nicely curvaceous 150 pounds or so to his own 200.
Lewis worked out regularly, and had broad shoulders, firm pecs and muscular legs, but his belly defied his efforts. Despite sit-ups, crunches, and everything else he could think of, he still had a small pot resting softly on his waistband.
Lewis and Karen discovered over lunch that they had immediately fallen into the kind of instant deep friendship that occurs occasionally in relationships, and were soon deep into discussion of all sorts of topics.
Lewis went back for seconds, primarily to prolong his time with Karen, but as he resumed eating, he began to realize that he was getting full. His stomach had begun to feel stuffed and the food no longer appealed to him. His waistband was folding inward onto his belly, which was bulging tautly below his shirt.
His sides felt stretched and sore, he thought he might have pulled a rib, and every crevice was filled with warm food. The back of his neck felt damp with sweat and his forehead was sweaty as well.
As he aching tummy registered that he’d eaten too much, he also realized that the discomfort of a stuffed belly was somehow pleasurable. What the heck! He’d never made the association before, but the solidity of his distended abdomen was arousing him in another area entirely. He wanted it to last, wanted it to continue … but at the same time his stomach hurt, his temples were beginning to throb, and he kind of needed to lie down.
Inadvertently he grunted as he rose with some effort. Karen asked him, “Are you coming to the afternoon session?”
“Nah,” he said off handedly. “Not my subspecialty.”
It was true, but it was also true that, having stood up, he became more sharply aware of just how stuffed he was. His belly felt as though it was sagging heavily and his shirt felt pulled tight. He imagined the buttons were straining in their buttonholes.
He made his way to his hotel room. Once inside the cool dimness, he immediately loosened his tie and yanked it off, hastily tugging open the buttons of his shirt and pulling it off. Then came the belt, the pants and the underwear.
"AHHHHH," he thought. "Oh whew, that felt miles better."
The pressure eased slightly on his gut. He looked down, surprised that his midsection wasn’t quite as ballooned out as it felt. He poked it. Hard as a rock, a layer of skin stretched thin over what felt like a bag of cannonballs, heavy and sore. Tentatively he stroked it.
"Oh. That feels wonderful," his mind noted. Dazedly, he wandered over to a chair and sank into it. Feet outstretched, he massaged his bloated belly, surrendering to the experience of feeling sated and drowsy, stupefied with food, pressing his hands against the rock-hard swell of his distended abdomen. Every poke, every caress, made him wince a little at the tenderness of his sore tummy, but it stirred a new pleasure in him as well.
He massaged his bulging midsection, pushing and caressing, periodically coaxing up a belch. After a while, it dawned on him to run a warm damp washcloth over his abdomen, which felt wonderful. The distention of his gut was a new sensation, one he associated with Thanksgiving, and he stopped trying to understand why it felt so good if it also felt so bad.
Half-conscious, quickly becoming addicted to the dichotomy of pain and pleasure, Lewis drifted unaware into a doze.
Lewis napped off and on through the evening, later paying out of his own pocket for room service, a cheesesteak and fries, which his expense account wouldn’t cover.
The next morning, at the coffee session that ended the conference, he sought out Karen, and they exchanged contact information.
Almost a week went by before Lewis saw an e-mail from her in his in-box.
“Hi,” it read. “It was good to meet you. If you’re anywhere near downtown in the mornings, I usually stop by The Coffee Bean around 8:00. Karen.”
Lukewarm was better than nothing. He made himself wait until Wednesday before strolling into the coffee shop a few minutes after eight.
“Lewis! Hi!” Karen greeted him with an air kiss. He bought her coffee and they sat on a bench outside, solving the world’s problems for twenty minutes. Then she squealed and said she had to run to work.
By that evening when Lewis checked his e-mail, there was already a message from her.
“Hi, tall-dark-and-handsome,” she wrote. “Soooo good to meet you and to discover an instant soulmate. It’s awesome that we live so close!! Looking forward to seeing you again soon! K.”
Lewis smiled. “Ditto,” he wrote back. “I’ve never befriended anyone so quickly.'
Then he signed it mischievously. "Think it’s fate. TDH, -Tall-dark-and-handsome.”
He called her the next afternoon, inviting her out, but she regretfully said she was busy. She called him next, asking him to help her paint her dining room.
It dawned on him that she’d filed him under “buddy” rather than “potential boyfriend,” especially after their next “date” was washing her car. Still, they seemed to enjoy each other’s conversation.
Then it cooled. After being included on a few group outings, Lewis encountered silence. She was, it appeared, screening her calls, and she didn’t send any e-mails.
Tired of leaving messages that made him sound like a dork, he cooled it for a bit, pondering his next move.
Meanwhile, he sought that weird, elusive combination of pain and pleasure that he’d stumbled into at the conference. The obvious answer was to stuff himself to bursting, but such actions, of course, had consequences.
He continued to puzzle over what to do, finally convincing himself that a little weight gain was all right, but still wary for both vanity and health reasons. How could he reclaim that deliciously stuffed feeling of having his abdomen tautly distended and aching without seriously piling on the pounds? Seriously. He already had that little pot, and a mere 15 or 20 pounds might tip him into outright pudginess.
He tried a few experiments. He attempted the most obvious solution, water, first. He got to feeling waterlogged and nauseated before he got full enough to do any good.
On his second attempt, having bought enough bagged salad to repaper his apartment, he began methodically munching his way through the stuff. He eventually grew full, but not before he stopped being able to stand the taste of lettuce. His belly was stuffed, but it wasn’t any fun.
He tried yogurt, tonic water, celery, cottage cheese, nothing worked. He had modest success with watermelon, but spent the next three days on the pot.
When not conducting these bizarre experiments, he continued to eat wisely … at home.
He began to notice, however, that whenever he ate out he would feast hugely, invariably ordering an appetizer, side salad, large entrée, and dessert, and eating every scrap. He savored the sensation of his stomach gradually filling, waistband beginning to pinch, belly swelling and starting to ache, his abdomen becoming taut and distended. He came to love the effort of standing, grunting to pull himself up, the belch he tried to suppress, the sag and ache of an overloaded gut.
Regularly pigging out, even when balanced with sensible eating the rest of the time, stretched the boundaries of his stomach. Without realizing it, Lewis began to eat larger portions, even of the healthy meals he assembled at home. Invariably, the larger portions began to result in a larger Lewis.
For her part, Karen was in a turmoil. After one of their group outings, a co-worker had dropped behind the others long enough to murmur, “How can you be friends with that … tubby guy?”
“Who … Lewis?”
“‘Who… Lewis?’
"Yes, Lewis.” Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “He’s nice enough, but he’s sure a pudge-butt.”
Karen rolled her eyes.
“Whatever,” she said.
Rebecca let it drop.
At work the next day, though, it was Janice who said something. Both were getting coffee in the break room and Karen turned down a doughnut. “Better not.”
“Unlike what’s-his-name … your friend … Lewis.”
“What’s wrong with Lewis?” Karen responded.
“Nothing,” Janice said coolly, “if you don’t mind big guys.”
“Pfffttt,” was Karen’s brilliant reply.
Karen spent the weekend in self-imposed seclusion, playing CDs and pondering her friendship with Lewis. She appreciated his dry wit, his easy presence, and his love of baseball. She’d never considered him anything but a friend, not as item. Still, people were criticizing him to her … as if she were responsible for his appearance.
How nuts was that?
What if their relationship deepened? She just didn’t feel anything like that, she realized. Lewis was a good friend, but not anything more than that. So why were people telling her how to “fix” him? Did they think he was her boyfriend? Did he think he was her boyfriend?
Lewis sent a philodendron with a note. “Hope all is okay with you.”
“Does Lewis think he is my boyfriend? Does he want to be my boy friend? Does he care for me more than I care for him?” Karen continued to fret. If she appreciated his humor, his reliability, his thoughtfulness and his outlook on life, shouldn’t she be romantically attracted to him? She didn’t know – but she just wasn’t. Not a thing stirred into arousal at the thought of him, the sound of his voice, or the sight of him.
She thought back to their first meeting. Her initial impression was of mild disappointment.
“He’s nice but fat,” she remembered thinking. There was more going into that impression than Karen knew. Years of social conditioning had inculcated a certain standard of attractiveness in her. Certain sights, smells, and sounds were appealing not by instinct per se, as she thought, but by both subtle and obvious reinforcement. Society had implanted in her: “this is attractive/this is ugly,” and then strengthened that message, over and over again.
Lewis had much that attracted Karen, but his size shunted him off the attraction track without her consciously knowing it.
Finally, guilted into it by the plant Lewis had sent, she invited him along when the “gang” went bowling. The others were mostly too polite to needle Lewis to his face, but Lewis overheard, as he was meant to, when Frank mumbled, “Don’t break the lane.”
Afterward, Rebecca again pulled Karen aside. “Lewis is nice … but …”
Karen, irritated, snapped, “I’m not responsible for Lewis’ size.” Rebecca raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Karen realized that Rebecca now assumed that Lewis was Karen’s boyfriend, and made a point of flirting with Tony all evening.
The following weekend, when they went to a baseball game, Frank said outright, “How many hot dogs you planning to eat?”
Lewis’ face flamed.
“Ballpark hot dogs aren’t really food,” he said, trying to joke.
Frank couldn’t let it go, however. Later, when they were all drinking $4 ballpark beers, Frank slapped his firm stomach and said, “Liquid bread, man, it all goes right here!” with a piercing glance at Lewis’ midsection.
Lewis unwittingly brought the end on himself. He e-mailed Karen asking her to meet him for coffee the next morning.
“Karen,” he said gently, “what’s wrong? I feel like I’m on the fence with you. I like you – a lot. It’s possible that, well, you don’t feel quite the same?”
Karen blushed. “I like you,” she said to the tabletop. “You’re funny and kind and thoughtful and reliable and upright…”
Lewis broke in, “Courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful…” reciting part of the Boy Scout oath. They both laughed.
“Like I said,” Karen repeated, “I like you. But its as a friend.” She traced a pattern on the tabletop. She bit her lip. “I don’t think it’s fair to … uh, string you along.”
She finally looked up. “You’re my friend. I’m not sure it would ever be more than that.”
Lewis wasn’t stupid. He nodded and stood to leave. “See ya,” he said, pecking her cheek, but they both knew it was over. In a daze, he made it to his apartment. Mechanically, he heated up a pizza, unthinkingly eating slice after slice until the whole thing was reduced to crumbs.
Suddenly it dawned on him that the pleasure he’d been seeking had returned. His belly ached, and it felt strangely wonderful. He wanted the feeling to continue; he wanted to exacerbate it. He practically ran to the kitchen. Peanut butter … bananas … he made two thick sandwiches and poured a tall tumblerful of Coke. He ate quickly, greedily, chugging huge swallows of the soft drink.
A huge belch rattled him, but he kept going. What next? Chips. He ripped open a bag of baked potato chips and replenished his Coke. Crunching frenziedly, he sprayed his chest with crumbs, washing them down with soft drink.
He finally paused to take stock. Was he stuffed! Holy cow, his stomach ached. The skin was stretched tautly over his suddenly distended belly. His gut churned in protest of the food dump, and he had begun to sweat. Grunting with effort, he pushed himself to his feet. His heavily laden stomach sloshed in protest, bringing up a gargantuan belch. His head was spinning. He looked down in amazement. His belly had swelled enormously and, when he slapped it, it gave a hollow thump. He staggered over to the living room sofa and threw himself onto it.
"Ooohh. Ohh. Big mistake. Uhhh, that hurt." He winced and massaged his swollen and aching midsection, reveling in the familiar blend of pleasure and pain. He poked and prodded, feeling his stomach gurgle and whine. Nature called and he reluctantly staggered to his feet.
After a few weeks, Rebecca, the queen of snide asides, asked Karen casually, “Where’s the big guy been lately?”
“You mean Lewis?”
“Yeah, him.”
“I don’t know,” Karen said as mildly as she could. “We’ve kind of drifted apart.”
Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Hey. I know this guy… Frank’s roommate’s brother. You’d love him! Let me get Frank to invite him along sometime.”
“Whatever.”
Rebecca, of course, made sure the brother, Tony, came along, and also made sure they were left alone at the end of the evening.
Tony was a nice guy. Karen went out to dinner with him, to the movies with him, to a play with him, on a picnic with him. He was a nice guy, though not as reliable as Lewis. His jokes were a little forced, his humor a little crude. Karen couldn’t see this going anywhere.
Lewis joined a gym. That enabled him to vary his workouts and still stuff himself to bursting once a week or so. The feeling was so enjoyable that he was soon stuffing himself more often. His weight inched up subtly. From 200 to 215.
Chip, her next interest, was a disaster.
He courted her, swept her into bed and then, his conquest successful, stood her up for three dates in a row.
“You’re too clingy,” he finally confided, breaking up with her by phone on Valentine’s Day.
She dated the guy who came to fix her computer, charmed by his endless stream of bad puns and zingers. Teddy, his name was. Teddy was nice. A trifle unreliable and absent-minded, but nice. He didn’t put stock in the little things that mattered to her, like being freshly shaved on their dates, or treating her to coffee, or the occasional card for no reason. But he was comfortable. They took to spending whole weekends together, companionably doing the crossword.
Calling him “Lewis” in bed was kind of a deal-breaker, though. They both tried to get over it, but their time together became like roller skating on a gravel road.
Lewis had fallen into a rut. Every Friday evening he would order two large pizzas. He would stuff himself with all of one, washed down with cola, and see how much of a dent he could make in the second one. Ohhhh, pleasure pain pleasure pain pleasure pain…. From 215 to 220.
It took half a pizza for him to even begin to feel full. Massaging his swelling belly, he would steadily chug down half the bottle of cola, pacing himself, enjoying the impressive belches. His thickening midsection would press against his waistband, and he would savor it until he couldn’t stand it any more, then snap open his pants. His growing gut would balloon forward, expanding from a spare tire into a tautly distended abdomen. Slowly, even a little grimly, he would chomp down piece after piece, groaning aloud as he made himself full to bursting. He would feel his belly stretching, aching, his eyes closed as he forced down the last piece and the last of the cola.
He seldom made it more than a slice or two into the second pizza, but that little extra oomph of fullness was ecstasy. From 220 to 235.
Christmas came and went. Lewis, after agonizing over it, decided not to send Karen a card.
By then, Karen was dating Rob, who was more attentive than Teddy had been. He called, he e-mailed, he sent flowers. His conversational sphere was awfully limited, however, and he professed a pragmatic admiration for the war that Karen found hard to stomach.
Still, she liked the way the thought of seeing him perked her up.
Lewis went home for Christmas. His parents didn’t say anything about his 35 extra pounds, although his sister Jamie teased him about it, poking him in the love handles whenever she could get away with it. At dinner, she made a little oinking noise when he took a big piece of pie, then winked when he rolled his eyes.
He came back six pounds heavier. From 235 to 241.
In desperation, he trolled a bar near his apartment and picked up a mousy, shy woman. Susan was grateful for the attention, and they dutifully went out on a dozen formulaic dates, even to bed a few times. She was a gray person, though, with a monotone voice, a monotone wardrobe, a monotone outlook on life. She simply didn’t have Karen’s spark and fizz. Karen!
Lewis gently and carefully told her he wanted to “keep his options open. After it was over, he was relieved, but found himself lonely. In the aftermath of the breakup, he stuffed himself more often. His weight crept up. From 241 to 255. An uptick in his beer consumption went straight to his belly. From 255 to 262. His face had filled out, his chin doubled, like a cell reproducing.
His chest softened, spreading downward like pancake batter. His belly descended outward and sideward, forming a thick spare tire and matching love handles. When he sat, the spare tire folded in two, but when he had stuffed himself, the spare tire domed tautly, flaring firmly outward over his legs. He pleasured himself, aroused by the sensation of stuffed discomfort.
Karen found herself going to bed earlier every night, her appetite waning. How many guys had she dated? Rob had drifted away after she had the gall to complain that their dates were turning into “he came, he saw, he slept with.”
What a slut she was turning into. They were all nice enough, but it was as if, after having dated a complete jigsaw puzzle, she was now dating pieces of the same puzzle.
One evening, determined to break the boredom, she went to a poetry reading. The poetry was awful, but it was uplifting to be out and among people. She’d let her world shrink without realizing it.
Afterward, she smiled absently at a big guy who smiled at her. He looked familiar.
“Karen?”
“Yes?”
Lewis was taken aback. Was he that different looking? “Lewis.”
“LEWIS!” Karen shouted, louder than she’d intended, then blushed and laughed. “Wow, you look…”
“Bigger,” Lewis said, deflecting the obvious. Karen blushed again and impulsively leaned in to give him a hug. Wow!! Something flip-flopped in her belly. And somewhere else.
“Would you like to get a coffee?” That just flew out of her mouth.
“I’d love to … if you’ll let me treat.”
The conversation flowed easily, as it most usually did between them, though there were some noticeably awkward patches. Lewis kept trying to stifle the feelings that were swirling through him. Karen did too, though she wasn’t conscious of it.
Lewis’ stomach growled, breaking a longish silence. Lewis suggested pizza. Karen agreed.
After four slices, Lewis was comfortably stuffed and feeling lazily sated. At ease with the feeling, he dared to ask, “Uh, seeing anyone?”
Karen examined her fingernails. “Not … now.” She leaned forward. “That’s not all you’re going to eat, is it?”
Lewis was baffled. Where was she going with this? “Um, maybe.”
Karen winked as she picked up a slice and handed it to him. “Aw, come on.”
"Um, okay."
Lewis slowly and steadily chomped his way through the slice. Then another. They were big slices.
“Whew (urp) … Stuffed,” Lewis said a little breathlessly. “Not another bite (urp).”
“Can I walk you home?”
“Yeah,” Lewis said, surprised. Slowly, they strolled back to Lewis’ apartment. Once inside, Karen automatically poured herself a glass of water.
She noticed the grunt of effort as Lewis lowered himself onto the worn maroon leather sofa.
Settling herself into the butterfly chair Lewis never sat in anymore, she said, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”
“Uh, I usually stay dressed around company.”
“Hey … I’m not company.” She stood and slid off her skirt.
“WOW! What in the world was going on here,” Lewis thought.
He stood and struggled out of his pants and shirt.
“Wait,” Karen said. “Don’t sit down … yet.”
She rose, wide-eyed, and circled him. Tentatively, her hands began to explore his body, poking and squeezing. She clearly took pleasure from being able to get hold of handfuls of flesh, kneading and fondling his gut and stroking his thick arms.
“Lewis,” she said in awe, “You’re beautiful!”
“No… I’m …”
She cut him off. “No, don’t say you’re not. You’re gorgeous!”
“What about your friends?”
“Hm? Oh.” Karen paused, blushing, and looked away. She sighed.
“I let them … tell me what to think. I’d like to think I’m a better person than that. I was letting them get to me. I’ve missed you. All of you,” she added, pressing against his padding, embracing him.
“What brought this on?”
“It’s you I love,” Karen insisted, running her hands down his sloping sides. “And you know, I really … mff …find this … mmm … amazingly … hmp … beautiful.”
Lewis fell silent. He’d never been able to forget her, despite his attempts. And in truth, she’d not forgotten him. forgotten how much he loved her.
She cuddled his face, squeezed his full cheeks, tripped her fingers down his fleshy back. She buried her face in his padded chest and said, “Mmmmmm,” finally coming up for air, red-faced.
All the while, of course, Lewis was undressing her and cradling his beloved’s curves. The flare of her hips, the fullness of her delicious backside, her perfect breasts tipped with nipples on full alert.
Lewis was too intelligent to arrest their passion, even though he wanted to talk to her. Naked they stumbled toward the bedroom and lowered themselves onto the bed. They drew toward each other, muffling their faces in each other, squeezing each other as though trying to turn two bodies into one. Unable to stand it any longer, they entered each other, steadily and rhythmically reaching simultaneous climax.
In the delicious silence that followed, they lay snuggled together, aware of a precious thing they had created, afraid to disturb the intimacy.
Finally Lewis spoke. “Beautiful, huh?”
“Beautiful,” she said firmly.
A long pause. Then Lewis said, “Karen, there’s something I need to confess to you.”
He told her about the accidental discovery in the hotel room, the desire to fill himself to bursting, the pleasure that he could only find in this specific kind of physical discomfort.
Finally Karen spoke, words of liberation for herself as much as for him.
“I don’t mind,” she said gently but firmly. Lewis bit his lip to keep from bringing up her friends. She’d said she was above that now. But it had bothered her earlier; why would he, 60 pounds heavier, not be irritating and unappealing to her now
“So, do you… can we … um … date?”
“Only if I get to feed you dinner every night,” she replied.
The “dinner every night,” though it sounded sweet, was impractical, of course. She made him lasagna that Friday night and sat watching as he devoured half the pan. Achingly full, he staggered to his feet and they made love on his swollen, sloshing belly. Once he was alone again, though, those doubts that plague everyone crept in. He got out of bed and examined himself naked in the mirror.
Sheesh. He slapped his belly, watching with a frown as it jiggled and wobbled. He picked his gut up and let it fall. Ow. He looked down, raising his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his second chin.
No one could love this.
He should just forget Karen.
He went online and looked at some mild porn, trying to scrub his thoughts, but it only made matters worse.
He didn’t call. He didn’t e-mail. He didn’t fax.
Unable to stand it anymore, she e-mailed him. “Hello? Why maintaining radio silence? Out.”
“I’m here,” he e-mailed back.
“???”
“☹”
“What’s wrong?” Karen e-mailed. “Can we have dinner?”
Lewis agreed to dinner. Karen made pot roast and mashed potatoes, which was a lot of work. The meal was delicious. Lewis happily cleaned his plate three times and finished with a big wedge of apple pie, but when the fullness of his aching and distended belly struck him and he struggled grunting to his feet, he was disgusted with himself again.
Karen curled up next to him on the sofa and tried to cheer him up. He was in a place she couldn’t reach. She went home early.
The next evening, Lewis’ doorbell rang. It wasn’t Karen. It was the pizza guy.
“I didn’t order this,” he said.
“Someone else placed the order, sir,” the kid said, handing over two pizzas and a bottle of cola. "Its paid for already."
Ten minutes later the doorbell rang again. This time it was Karen.
“I brought dinner,” she said brightly.
A wave of love roared up from Lewis’ toes, overwhelming him, almost making him stagger. Karen filled his heart, she made him happy, the world was a better place with her in his universe.
“Karen,” Lewis pointed out, mouth full, “If I keep eating like this I’ll be huge.”
“You still work out, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Lewis said.
She poked his arm. “So decide to do this only every X number of days or whatever. Like only on Fridays or something.”
Somehow the prospect of limiting his stuffing became much more bearable with Karen next to him.
“Mff-hmmf,” he mumbled an agreement through a mouthful. Swallowing, he said, “I don’t know about this.”
“About what? I think … really … we’ve never stopped loving each other. Don’t you trust that?”
“We were … just friends before,” Lewis said, hating himself. “It’s almost as if seeing your … um, cat, suddenly turn into a canary. You love canaries, but what the heck happened to the cat?”
Karen’s laughter pealed, giving Lewis a shiver of pleasure from that lovely remembered sound.
“Not everyone likes … bigger men.”
“I’m not everyone,” Karen said, shushing him with a kiss.
Slowly, hesitantly on Lewis’ part, they started to go out. They spent less time with
Karen’s catty co-workers and slowly and gradually cultivated a different circle of friends who were more mature.
Lewis’ weight inched up to 280. Lewis brought Karen home to Thanksgiving dinner. Something about Karen’s presence, or Lewis’ increased self-confidence kept his sister’s teasing in check.
When Karen cut off a bite of her pumpkin pie, a ring gleamed. Karen prudently rinsed it off before sliding it onto her finger.
They took their time about setting a date. Lewis inched toward 300. Karen took him home to meet her family, who embraced him and said not a word, at least not to his face, about his size. Karen swore they didn’t say anything to her about it either.
Interestingly, once Lewis reached 300 things slowed in the gaining department. He had been working out all along, and his resting heart rate was good, his pulse on the low side of normal. He continued enjoying his Friday night stuffings, reveling in the tightness, the discomfort of a distended and aching belly, the stretching of his gut. His weight slid up and down within a few pounds either way, but 300 seemed to be some kind of set point.
In June, they married. Karen was flawless, breathtaking, and Lewis was imposingly handsome in white tie and tails. In the photos, there was something timeless, majestic, strong about him, and they were clearly crazy about each other.
It had taken an awful lot of soul searching. But they had both finally found that what they both really wanted had been there all along.
Try, Try Again Redux
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
(Revised and expanded from prior version - ed.)
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
(Revised and expanded from prior version - ed.)
Lewis Lingle gazed out the window, chin in hand.
Eleven-twenty. Would this session ever end? Who in their right mind scheduled breakfast for 7:30 and lunch for 12:30? A pleasant, interested expression on his face, he continued to let the time inch by until at long last 12:30 came.
Stiffly, he stood, stretched, and creaked toward the door, accidentally bumping hips with a woman coming through the door at the same moment. Their impasse resolved, they moved down the corridor toward the dining room, chatting as they walked and then as they filled their plates.
Finally, having set down his plate, Lewis thought to introduce himself.
His companion replied, “I’m Karen Woodford.” She was tall, about 5’7” to his 6’1”, a nicely curvaceous 150 pounds or so to his own 200.
Lewis worked out regularly, and had broad shoulders, firm pecs and muscular legs, but his belly defied his efforts. Despite sit-ups, crunches, and everything else he could think of, he still had a small pot resting softly on his waistband.
Lewis and Karen discovered over lunch that they had immediately fallen into the kind of instant deep friendship that occurs occasionally in relationships, and were soon deep into discussion of all sorts of topics.
Lewis went back for seconds, primarily to prolong his time with Karen, but as he resumed eating, he began to realize that he was getting full. His stomach had begun to feel stuffed and the food no longer appealed to him. His waistband was folding inward onto his belly, which was bulging tautly below his shirt.
His sides felt stretched and sore, he thought he might have pulled a rib, and every crevice was filled with warm food. The back of his neck felt damp with sweat and his forehead was sweaty as well.
As he aching tummy registered that he’d eaten too much, he also realized that the discomfort of a stuffed belly was somehow pleasurable. What the heck! He’d never made the association before, but the solidity of his distended abdomen was arousing him in another area entirely. He wanted it to last, wanted it to continue … but at the same time his stomach hurt, his temples were beginning to throb, and he kind of needed to lie down.
Inadvertently he grunted as he rose with some effort. Karen asked him, “Are you coming to the afternoon session?”
“Nah,” he said off handedly. “Not my subspecialty.”
It was true, but it was also true that, having stood up, he became more sharply aware of just how stuffed he was. His belly felt as though it was sagging heavily and his shirt felt pulled tight. He imagined the buttons were straining in their buttonholes.
He made his way to his hotel room. Once inside the cool dimness, he immediately loosened his tie and yanked it off, hastily tugging open the buttons of his shirt and pulling it off. Then came the belt, the pants and the underwear.
"AHHHHH," he thought. "Oh whew, that felt miles better."
The pressure eased slightly on his gut. He looked down, surprised that his midsection wasn’t quite as ballooned out as it felt. He poked it. Hard as a rock, a layer of skin stretched thin over what felt like a bag of cannonballs, heavy and sore. Tentatively he stroked it.
"Oh. That feels wonderful," his mind noted. Dazedly, he wandered over to a chair and sank into it. Feet outstretched, he massaged his bloated belly, surrendering to the experience of feeling sated and drowsy, stupefied with food, pressing his hands against the rock-hard swell of his distended abdomen. Every poke, every caress, made him wince a little at the tenderness of his sore tummy, but it stirred a new pleasure in him as well.
He massaged his bulging midsection, pushing and caressing, periodically coaxing up a belch. After a while, it dawned on him to run a warm damp washcloth over his abdomen, which felt wonderful. The distention of his gut was a new sensation, one he associated with Thanksgiving, and he stopped trying to understand why it felt so good if it also felt so bad.
Half-conscious, quickly becoming addicted to the dichotomy of pain and pleasure, Lewis drifted unaware into a doze.
Lewis napped off and on through the evening, later paying out of his own pocket for room service, a cheesesteak and fries, which his expense account wouldn’t cover.
The next morning, at the coffee session that ended the conference, he sought out Karen, and they exchanged contact information.
Almost a week went by before Lewis saw an e-mail from her in his in-box.
“Hi,” it read. “It was good to meet you. If you’re anywhere near downtown in the mornings, I usually stop by The Coffee Bean around 8:00. Karen.”
Lukewarm was better than nothing. He made himself wait until Wednesday before strolling into the coffee shop a few minutes after eight.
“Lewis! Hi!” Karen greeted him with an air kiss. He bought her coffee and they sat on a bench outside, solving the world’s problems for twenty minutes. Then she squealed and said she had to run to work.
By that evening when Lewis checked his e-mail, there was already a message from her.
“Hi, tall-dark-and-handsome,” she wrote. “Soooo good to meet you and to discover an instant soulmate. It’s awesome that we live so close!! Looking forward to seeing you again soon! K.”
Lewis smiled. “Ditto,” he wrote back. “I’ve never befriended anyone so quickly.'
Then he signed it mischievously. "Think it’s fate. TDH, -Tall-dark-and-handsome.”
He called her the next afternoon, inviting her out, but she regretfully said she was busy. She called him next, asking him to help her paint her dining room.
It dawned on him that she’d filed him under “buddy” rather than “potential boyfriend,” especially after their next “date” was washing her car. Still, they seemed to enjoy each other’s conversation.
Then it cooled. After being included on a few group outings, Lewis encountered silence. She was, it appeared, screening her calls, and she didn’t send any e-mails.
Tired of leaving messages that made him sound like a dork, he cooled it for a bit, pondering his next move.
Meanwhile, he sought that weird, elusive combination of pain and pleasure that he’d stumbled into at the conference. The obvious answer was to stuff himself to bursting, but such actions, of course, had consequences.
He continued to puzzle over what to do, finally convincing himself that a little weight gain was all right, but still wary for both vanity and health reasons. How could he reclaim that deliciously stuffed feeling of having his abdomen tautly distended and aching without seriously piling on the pounds? Seriously. He already had that little pot, and a mere 15 or 20 pounds might tip him into outright pudginess.
He tried a few experiments. He attempted the most obvious solution, water, first. He got to feeling waterlogged and nauseated before he got full enough to do any good.
On his second attempt, having bought enough bagged salad to repaper his apartment, he began methodically munching his way through the stuff. He eventually grew full, but not before he stopped being able to stand the taste of lettuce. His belly was stuffed, but it wasn’t any fun.
He tried yogurt, tonic water, celery, cottage cheese, nothing worked. He had modest success with watermelon, but spent the next three days on the pot.
When not conducting these bizarre experiments, he continued to eat wisely … at home.
He began to notice, however, that whenever he ate out he would feast hugely, invariably ordering an appetizer, side salad, large entrée, and dessert, and eating every scrap. He savored the sensation of his stomach gradually filling, waistband beginning to pinch, belly swelling and starting to ache, his abdomen becoming taut and distended. He came to love the effort of standing, grunting to pull himself up, the belch he tried to suppress, the sag and ache of an overloaded gut.
Regularly pigging out, even when balanced with sensible eating the rest of the time, stretched the boundaries of his stomach. Without realizing it, Lewis began to eat larger portions, even of the healthy meals he assembled at home. Invariably, the larger portions began to result in a larger Lewis.
For her part, Karen was in a turmoil. After one of their group outings, a co-worker had dropped behind the others long enough to murmur, “How can you be friends with that … tubby guy?”
“Who … Lewis?”
“‘Who… Lewis?’
"Yes, Lewis.” Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “He’s nice enough, but he’s sure a pudge-butt.”
Karen rolled her eyes.
“Whatever,” she said.
Rebecca let it drop.
At work the next day, though, it was Janice who said something. Both were getting coffee in the break room and Karen turned down a doughnut. “Better not.”
“Unlike what’s-his-name … your friend … Lewis.”
“What’s wrong with Lewis?” Karen responded.
“Nothing,” Janice said coolly, “if you don’t mind big guys.”
“Pfffttt,” was Karen’s brilliant reply.
Karen spent the weekend in self-imposed seclusion, playing CDs and pondering her friendship with Lewis. She appreciated his dry wit, his easy presence, and his love of baseball. She’d never considered him anything but a friend, not as item. Still, people were criticizing him to her … as if she were responsible for his appearance.
How nuts was that?
What if their relationship deepened? She just didn’t feel anything like that, she realized. Lewis was a good friend, but not anything more than that. So why were people telling her how to “fix” him? Did they think he was her boyfriend? Did he think he was her boyfriend?
Lewis sent a philodendron with a note. “Hope all is okay with you.”
“Does Lewis think he is my boyfriend? Does he want to be my boy friend? Does he care for me more than I care for him?” Karen continued to fret. If she appreciated his humor, his reliability, his thoughtfulness and his outlook on life, shouldn’t she be romantically attracted to him? She didn’t know – but she just wasn’t. Not a thing stirred into arousal at the thought of him, the sound of his voice, or the sight of him.
She thought back to their first meeting. Her initial impression was of mild disappointment.
“He’s nice but fat,” she remembered thinking. There was more going into that impression than Karen knew. Years of social conditioning had inculcated a certain standard of attractiveness in her. Certain sights, smells, and sounds were appealing not by instinct per se, as she thought, but by both subtle and obvious reinforcement. Society had implanted in her: “this is attractive/this is ugly,” and then strengthened that message, over and over again.
Lewis had much that attracted Karen, but his size shunted him off the attraction track without her consciously knowing it.
Finally, guilted into it by the plant Lewis had sent, she invited him along when the “gang” went bowling. The others were mostly too polite to needle Lewis to his face, but Lewis overheard, as he was meant to, when Frank mumbled, “Don’t break the lane.”
Afterward, Rebecca again pulled Karen aside. “Lewis is nice … but …”
Karen, irritated, snapped, “I’m not responsible for Lewis’ size.” Rebecca raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Karen realized that Rebecca now assumed that Lewis was Karen’s boyfriend, and made a point of flirting with Tony all evening.
The following weekend, when they went to a baseball game, Frank said outright, “How many hot dogs you planning to eat?”
Lewis’ face flamed.
“Ballpark hot dogs aren’t really food,” he said, trying to joke.
Frank couldn’t let it go, however. Later, when they were all drinking $4 ballpark beers, Frank slapped his firm stomach and said, “Liquid bread, man, it all goes right here!” with a piercing glance at Lewis’ midsection.
Lewis unwittingly brought the end on himself. He e-mailed Karen asking her to meet him for coffee the next morning.
“Karen,” he said gently, “what’s wrong? I feel like I’m on the fence with you. I like you – a lot. It’s possible that, well, you don’t feel quite the same?”
Karen blushed. “I like you,” she said to the tabletop. “You’re funny and kind and thoughtful and reliable and upright…”
Lewis broke in, “Courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful…” reciting part of the Boy Scout oath. They both laughed.
“Like I said,” Karen repeated, “I like you. But its as a friend.” She traced a pattern on the tabletop. She bit her lip. “I don’t think it’s fair to … uh, string you along.”
She finally looked up. “You’re my friend. I’m not sure it would ever be more than that.”
Lewis wasn’t stupid. He nodded and stood to leave. “See ya,” he said, pecking her cheek, but they both knew it was over. In a daze, he made it to his apartment. Mechanically, he heated up a pizza, unthinkingly eating slice after slice until the whole thing was reduced to crumbs.
Suddenly it dawned on him that the pleasure he’d been seeking had returned. His belly ached, and it felt strangely wonderful. He wanted the feeling to continue; he wanted to exacerbate it. He practically ran to the kitchen. Peanut butter … bananas … he made two thick sandwiches and poured a tall tumblerful of Coke. He ate quickly, greedily, chugging huge swallows of the soft drink.
A huge belch rattled him, but he kept going. What next? Chips. He ripped open a bag of baked potato chips and replenished his Coke. Crunching frenziedly, he sprayed his chest with crumbs, washing them down with soft drink.
He finally paused to take stock. Was he stuffed! Holy cow, his stomach ached. The skin was stretched tautly over his suddenly distended belly. His gut churned in protest of the food dump, and he had begun to sweat. Grunting with effort, he pushed himself to his feet. His heavily laden stomach sloshed in protest, bringing up a gargantuan belch. His head was spinning. He looked down in amazement. His belly had swelled enormously and, when he slapped it, it gave a hollow thump. He staggered over to the living room sofa and threw himself onto it.
"Ooohh. Ohh. Big mistake. Uhhh, that hurt." He winced and massaged his swollen and aching midsection, reveling in the familiar blend of pleasure and pain. He poked and prodded, feeling his stomach gurgle and whine. Nature called and he reluctantly staggered to his feet.
After a few weeks, Rebecca, the queen of snide asides, asked Karen casually, “Where’s the big guy been lately?”
“You mean Lewis?”
“Yeah, him.”
“I don’t know,” Karen said as mildly as she could. “We’ve kind of drifted apart.”
Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Hey. I know this guy… Frank’s roommate’s brother. You’d love him! Let me get Frank to invite him along sometime.”
“Whatever.”
Rebecca, of course, made sure the brother, Tony, came along, and also made sure they were left alone at the end of the evening.
Tony was a nice guy. Karen went out to dinner with him, to the movies with him, to a play with him, on a picnic with him. He was a nice guy, though not as reliable as Lewis. His jokes were a little forced, his humor a little crude. Karen couldn’t see this going anywhere.
Lewis joined a gym. That enabled him to vary his workouts and still stuff himself to bursting once a week or so. The feeling was so enjoyable that he was soon stuffing himself more often. His weight inched up subtly. From 200 to 215.
Chip, her next interest, was a disaster.
He courted her, swept her into bed and then, his conquest successful, stood her up for three dates in a row.
“You’re too clingy,” he finally confided, breaking up with her by phone on Valentine’s Day.
She dated the guy who came to fix her computer, charmed by his endless stream of bad puns and zingers. Teddy, his name was. Teddy was nice. A trifle unreliable and absent-minded, but nice. He didn’t put stock in the little things that mattered to her, like being freshly shaved on their dates, or treating her to coffee, or the occasional card for no reason. But he was comfortable. They took to spending whole weekends together, companionably doing the crossword.
Calling him “Lewis” in bed was kind of a deal-breaker, though. They both tried to get over it, but their time together became like roller skating on a gravel road.
Lewis had fallen into a rut. Every Friday evening he would order two large pizzas. He would stuff himself with all of one, washed down with cola, and see how much of a dent he could make in the second one. Ohhhh, pleasure pain pleasure pain pleasure pain…. From 215 to 220.
It took half a pizza for him to even begin to feel full. Massaging his swelling belly, he would steadily chug down half the bottle of cola, pacing himself, enjoying the impressive belches. His thickening midsection would press against his waistband, and he would savor it until he couldn’t stand it any more, then snap open his pants. His growing gut would balloon forward, expanding from a spare tire into a tautly distended abdomen. Slowly, even a little grimly, he would chomp down piece after piece, groaning aloud as he made himself full to bursting. He would feel his belly stretching, aching, his eyes closed as he forced down the last piece and the last of the cola.
He seldom made it more than a slice or two into the second pizza, but that little extra oomph of fullness was ecstasy. From 220 to 235.
Christmas came and went. Lewis, after agonizing over it, decided not to send Karen a card.
By then, Karen was dating Rob, who was more attentive than Teddy had been. He called, he e-mailed, he sent flowers. His conversational sphere was awfully limited, however, and he professed a pragmatic admiration for the war that Karen found hard to stomach.
Still, she liked the way the thought of seeing him perked her up.
Lewis went home for Christmas. His parents didn’t say anything about his 35 extra pounds, although his sister Jamie teased him about it, poking him in the love handles whenever she could get away with it. At dinner, she made a little oinking noise when he took a big piece of pie, then winked when he rolled his eyes.
He came back six pounds heavier. From 235 to 241.
In desperation, he trolled a bar near his apartment and picked up a mousy, shy woman. Susan was grateful for the attention, and they dutifully went out on a dozen formulaic dates, even to bed a few times. She was a gray person, though, with a monotone voice, a monotone wardrobe, a monotone outlook on life. She simply didn’t have Karen’s spark and fizz. Karen!
Lewis gently and carefully told her he wanted to “keep his options open. After it was over, he was relieved, but found himself lonely. In the aftermath of the breakup, he stuffed himself more often. His weight crept up. From 241 to 255. An uptick in his beer consumption went straight to his belly. From 255 to 262. His face had filled out, his chin doubled, like a cell reproducing.
His chest softened, spreading downward like pancake batter. His belly descended outward and sideward, forming a thick spare tire and matching love handles. When he sat, the spare tire folded in two, but when he had stuffed himself, the spare tire domed tautly, flaring firmly outward over his legs. He pleasured himself, aroused by the sensation of stuffed discomfort.
Karen found herself going to bed earlier every night, her appetite waning. How many guys had she dated? Rob had drifted away after she had the gall to complain that their dates were turning into “he came, he saw, he slept with.”
What a slut she was turning into. They were all nice enough, but it was as if, after having dated a complete jigsaw puzzle, she was now dating pieces of the same puzzle.
One evening, determined to break the boredom, she went to a poetry reading. The poetry was awful, but it was uplifting to be out and among people. She’d let her world shrink without realizing it.
Afterward, she smiled absently at a big guy who smiled at her. He looked familiar.
“Karen?”
“Yes?”
Lewis was taken aback. Was he that different looking? “Lewis.”
“LEWIS!” Karen shouted, louder than she’d intended, then blushed and laughed. “Wow, you look…”
“Bigger,” Lewis said, deflecting the obvious. Karen blushed again and impulsively leaned in to give him a hug. Wow!! Something flip-flopped in her belly. And somewhere else.
“Would you like to get a coffee?” That just flew out of her mouth.
“I’d love to … if you’ll let me treat.”
The conversation flowed easily, as it most usually did between them, though there were some noticeably awkward patches. Lewis kept trying to stifle the feelings that were swirling through him. Karen did too, though she wasn’t conscious of it.
Lewis’ stomach growled, breaking a longish silence. Lewis suggested pizza. Karen agreed.
After four slices, Lewis was comfortably stuffed and feeling lazily sated. At ease with the feeling, he dared to ask, “Uh, seeing anyone?”
Karen examined her fingernails. “Not … now.” She leaned forward. “That’s not all you’re going to eat, is it?”
Lewis was baffled. Where was she going with this? “Um, maybe.”
Karen winked as she picked up a slice and handed it to him. “Aw, come on.”
"Um, okay."
Lewis slowly and steadily chomped his way through the slice. Then another. They were big slices.
“Whew (urp) … Stuffed,” Lewis said a little breathlessly. “Not another bite (urp).”
“Can I walk you home?”
“Yeah,” Lewis said, surprised. Slowly, they strolled back to Lewis’ apartment. Once inside, Karen automatically poured herself a glass of water.
She noticed the grunt of effort as Lewis lowered himself onto the worn maroon leather sofa.
Settling herself into the butterfly chair Lewis never sat in anymore, she said, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”
“Uh, I usually stay dressed around company.”
“Hey … I’m not company.” She stood and slid off her skirt.
“WOW! What in the world was going on here,” Lewis thought.
He stood and struggled out of his pants and shirt.
“Wait,” Karen said. “Don’t sit down … yet.”
She rose, wide-eyed, and circled him. Tentatively, her hands began to explore his body, poking and squeezing. She clearly took pleasure from being able to get hold of handfuls of flesh, kneading and fondling his gut and stroking his thick arms.
“Lewis,” she said in awe, “You’re beautiful!”
“No… I’m …”
She cut him off. “No, don’t say you’re not. You’re gorgeous!”
“What about your friends?”
“Hm? Oh.” Karen paused, blushing, and looked away. She sighed.
“I let them … tell me what to think. I’d like to think I’m a better person than that. I was letting them get to me. I’ve missed you. All of you,” she added, pressing against his padding, embracing him.
“What brought this on?”
“It’s you I love,” Karen insisted, running her hands down his sloping sides. “And you know, I really … mff …find this … mmm … amazingly … hmp … beautiful.”
Lewis fell silent. He’d never been able to forget her, despite his attempts. And in truth, she’d not forgotten him. forgotten how much he loved her.
She cuddled his face, squeezed his full cheeks, tripped her fingers down his fleshy back. She buried her face in his padded chest and said, “Mmmmmm,” finally coming up for air, red-faced.
All the while, of course, Lewis was undressing her and cradling his beloved’s curves. The flare of her hips, the fullness of her delicious backside, her perfect breasts tipped with nipples on full alert.
Lewis was too intelligent to arrest their passion, even though he wanted to talk to her. Naked they stumbled toward the bedroom and lowered themselves onto the bed. They drew toward each other, muffling their faces in each other, squeezing each other as though trying to turn two bodies into one. Unable to stand it any longer, they entered each other, steadily and rhythmically reaching simultaneous climax.
In the delicious silence that followed, they lay snuggled together, aware of a precious thing they had created, afraid to disturb the intimacy.
Finally Lewis spoke. “Beautiful, huh?”
“Beautiful,” she said firmly.
A long pause. Then Lewis said, “Karen, there’s something I need to confess to you.”
He told her about the accidental discovery in the hotel room, the desire to fill himself to bursting, the pleasure that he could only find in this specific kind of physical discomfort.
Finally Karen spoke, words of liberation for herself as much as for him.
“I don’t mind,” she said gently but firmly. Lewis bit his lip to keep from bringing up her friends. She’d said she was above that now. But it had bothered her earlier; why would he, 60 pounds heavier, not be irritating and unappealing to her now
“So, do you… can we … um … date?”
“Only if I get to feed you dinner every night,” she replied.
The “dinner every night,” though it sounded sweet, was impractical, of course. She made him lasagna that Friday night and sat watching as he devoured half the pan. Achingly full, he staggered to his feet and they made love on his swollen, sloshing belly. Once he was alone again, though, those doubts that plague everyone crept in. He got out of bed and examined himself naked in the mirror.
Sheesh. He slapped his belly, watching with a frown as it jiggled and wobbled. He picked his gut up and let it fall. Ow. He looked down, raising his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his second chin.
No one could love this.
He should just forget Karen.
He went online and looked at some mild porn, trying to scrub his thoughts, but it only made matters worse.
He didn’t call. He didn’t e-mail. He didn’t fax.
Unable to stand it anymore, she e-mailed him. “Hello? Why maintaining radio silence? Out.”
“I’m here,” he e-mailed back.
“???”
“☹”
“What’s wrong?” Karen e-mailed. “Can we have dinner?”
Lewis agreed to dinner. Karen made pot roast and mashed potatoes, which was a lot of work. The meal was delicious. Lewis happily cleaned his plate three times and finished with a big wedge of apple pie, but when the fullness of his aching and distended belly struck him and he struggled grunting to his feet, he was disgusted with himself again.
Karen curled up next to him on the sofa and tried to cheer him up. He was in a place she couldn’t reach. She went home early.
The next evening, Lewis’ doorbell rang. It wasn’t Karen. It was the pizza guy.
“I didn’t order this,” he said.
“Someone else placed the order, sir,” the kid said, handing over two pizzas and a bottle of cola. "Its paid for already."
Ten minutes later the doorbell rang again. This time it was Karen.
“I brought dinner,” she said brightly.
A wave of love roared up from Lewis’ toes, overwhelming him, almost making him stagger. Karen filled his heart, she made him happy, the world was a better place with her in his universe.
“Karen,” Lewis pointed out, mouth full, “If I keep eating like this I’ll be huge.”
“You still work out, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Lewis said.
She poked his arm. “So decide to do this only every X number of days or whatever. Like only on Fridays or something.”
Somehow the prospect of limiting his stuffing became much more bearable with Karen next to him.
“Mff-hmmf,” he mumbled an agreement through a mouthful. Swallowing, he said, “I don’t know about this.”
“About what? I think … really … we’ve never stopped loving each other. Don’t you trust that?”
“We were … just friends before,” Lewis said, hating himself. “It’s almost as if seeing your … um, cat, suddenly turn into a canary. You love canaries, but what the heck happened to the cat?”
Karen’s laughter pealed, giving Lewis a shiver of pleasure from that lovely remembered sound.
“Not everyone likes … bigger men.”
“I’m not everyone,” Karen said, shushing him with a kiss.
Slowly, hesitantly on Lewis’ part, they started to go out. They spent less time with
Karen’s catty co-workers and slowly and gradually cultivated a different circle of friends who were more mature.
Lewis’ weight inched up to 280. Lewis brought Karen home to Thanksgiving dinner. Something about Karen’s presence, or Lewis’ increased self-confidence kept his sister’s teasing in check.
When Karen cut off a bite of her pumpkin pie, a ring gleamed. Karen prudently rinsed it off before sliding it onto her finger.
They took their time about setting a date. Lewis inched toward 300. Karen took him home to meet her family, who embraced him and said not a word, at least not to his face, about his size. Karen swore they didn’t say anything to her about it either.
Interestingly, once Lewis reached 300 things slowed in the gaining department. He had been working out all along, and his resting heart rate was good, his pulse on the low side of normal. He continued enjoying his Friday night stuffings, reveling in the tightness, the discomfort of a distended and aching belly, the stretching of his gut. His weight slid up and down within a few pounds either way, but 300 seemed to be some kind of set point.
In June, they married. Karen was flawless, breathtaking, and Lewis was imposingly handsome in white tie and tails. In the photos, there was something timeless, majestic, strong about him, and they were clearly crazy about each other.
It had taken an awful lot of soul searching. But they had both finally found that what they both really wanted had been there all along.
