# Stocking Stuffer - by Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BHM, ~BBW, ~~WG, Romance, Mutual)



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Nov 5, 2009)

_~BHM, ~BBW, ~~WG, Romance, Mutual_ - A preholiday breakup leads to some interesting opportunities.


*Stocking Stuffer*
*by Big Beautiful Dreamer*​ 


*Part 1*


Cat got your tongue?

I was poking at my usual breakfast  a waffle, butter but no syrup, and a side of scrambled eggs with cheese. I set down the fork and took a swallow of cooling coffee.

Tania dumped me, I mumbled to my plate.

Right before the holidays? Harsh, Fred commiserated. He actually reached over and patted me on the head.

Dude. I jerked away.

Sorry.

I stirred the eggs. I started talking about spending Thanksgiving together, and she said ... she said ... that shed been meaning to talk to me about that. Then she said that I was, um, not exciting enough in bed but that other guys were.

Other guys?

It seems shes been stepping out.

The whole two years? Fred said. He whistled. Maybe its

Dont say its for the best. Just dont.

Kay. Sorry. Hey, he brightened. Tag along to my folks. Theres always ten or twelve people and plenty of food.

I started to refuse automatically, then paused. Fred and I had known each other since kindergarten. His parents were as much mine as his.

Um. Okay. I bit my lip. Thanks.

You gonna eat that? Fred forked up the whole waffle and started biting away around the edges. I rolled my eyes and finished my cold coffee.

Fred and I both lived a few hours away from the suburban area wed grown up in. Snow was falling lightly, just enough to be pretty, and we made it around 11:30 Thanksgiving morning.

A week since the breakup and Id hardly eaten anything. Looking at food made me faintly queasy. Why was I going to a Thanksgiving meal? Id probably barf on the turkey. I tugged at my khakis. In spite of the belt closely cinching my waist, they were getting baggy.

I endured the round of embraces, social questions, and introductions. Some of the people there I knew, some I didnt, including Freds sister Gina. Holy smoke, Gina was a grownup. She gave me a harmless wink when I tugged on her bob the way I used to tug her braids.

Fred reappeared and shoved a plate heaped with snacks into my hand. Also a beer.

As Gina kept the conversation going effortlessly, I ate and drank without thinking about it, suddenly hungry. Starving. Food would periodically reappear on the plate or another plate or something.

We found the den and sat down and kept talking. It had never been so easy to talk to anyone except Fred. 

Dinner was announced about four. At some point the flow of snacks and beer had stopped. I wasnt very hungry, but was missing the queasy emptiness Id gotten used to. I wasnt hungry because Id been noshing for several hours. What the hell.

I found my place  across from Gina, naturally, and my appetite perked up at the sights and smells. I ate enthusiastically, tasting flavors and appreciating textures for the first time in ... how long? Being with Tania had leached enjoyment from living without me realizing it. Now it was back and Id missed it.

Dishes got handed around periodically, someone asking for this or that to be passed and everyone helping themselves as the bowl went along the table.

It was only when we all slowly dribbled to a halt that it dawned on me how full I was. Stuffed. My stomach ached. It was a new sensation, not entirely unpleasant, although I could do without my belt slicing my full belly in half. I hauled myself up along with the others and drifted into the den. Before thinking about sitting down, I let my belt out a couple of notches and undid the hook on my trousers. 

Ah. That was better. I carefully lowered myself into a bagged-out easy chair and put my feet up on a low stool. Then I rested my hands on my bloated and swollen midsection. It felt warm and taut, stretched tight as a drum. I belched.

Whoops. Pardon me.

Laughter and a couple of other belches followed from Fred, his dad, a couple of cousins or uncles or something. Gina, the familys only girl, perched on the arm of my chair, balancing herself with a hand on the opposite edge. She leaned in and gently patted my tender and protruding belly.

Ooh, full tummy.

Yeah, no sh no kidding, I said, and laid my hand over hers. She didnt take it away.

I let my heavy eyelids droop and half-drowsed all evening, a bear slipping into hibernation.

I spent the night and the next day helped put a dent in the leftovers. Fred and I headed back on Saturday.

I didnt say anything about Gina. Didnt want to. I felt something fragile, newborn, and didnt want to mess with it.

Gina e-mailed me a week or so later.

_Ill be in your area on Friday. Lunch? Or dinner?_

I e-mailed back. _Yes._

That earned me:

_ Smarty. Meet me at the downtown Hyatt at 12:30, when Ill be getting out of the morning sessions._

Gina taught high school English and was taking her masters degree via summer school and several long weekends a year. Accordingly, I met her at the Hyatt, positioning myself in the hallway along which were the rooms for the morning sessions. I saw her come out and slipped behind her and put my hands over her eyes.

Adam!

She turned and gave me a warm kiss ... on the cheek.

We left the hotel and walked a block or so to an Italian buffet. I disgraced myself by ending up with five  five!  empty plates.

Then came a belch I couldnt stifle. _Brrp_. Ah. Scuse me.

Gina winked. Good appetite, she said placidly. I walked her back and then returned to my work. I was the founder and senior partner in an architectural firm, and if I took a long lunch, then I took a long lunch.

I met Gina at 4:30 and took her to the hotel bar for a drink. We went back to the Italian place, and as we headed to the buffet tables I silently vowed to limit myself to two plates.

Okay, four. The fifth plate had nothing but dessert on it, so it didnt count.

This time I had unquestionably overeaten. I felt myself waddling as I truckled Gina back to the hotel. My stomach bulged tightly under my turtleneck and I couldnt button my jacket. I had let my belt out two notches, refusing to go to three, and still my khakis were painfully snug. Gina slid her arm around my swollen waist and I cringed. I didnt want her to feel how much of a pig I had been.

She snuggled happily against my side and rubbed her hand up and down along my bloated midsection.

Full?

_Brrp_.

What if I came back next weekend? Say Friday evening to Sunday midday?

Gina lived a couple of hours away.

You want to? I sounded pathetically eager.

Let me cook for you.

Oh, boy.

Well.

Gina came, and we spent the entire weekend in the apartment. True, she spent some of it on her teaching stuff, but I think she spent most of the rest of it in the kitchen. (And, okay, the bedroom.) She fed me hugely, and I ate hugely.

That Monday morning I stepped onto the scale grimacing. The digital number flashed 202.

Crap, that was ten pounds since Thanksgiving. Okay, Id probably lost a couple after Tanias departure, but still.

My stomach growled. I made myself a plateful of scrambled eggs and toast.

When the doorbell rang the following Friday, I was in sweats and half-asleep on the sofa.

It wasnt Tania.

It was Gina. 

It was Gina carrying two grocery bags.

The light bulb went on.

I let her in (_duh_).

By now it was December, so when Gina wasnt cooking, she was baking. The counter stacked up with tins full of homemade goodies, and I dutifully emptied them.

Gina slid her arms around me from behind one late December evening and her hands didnt meet. 

Whoops.

Santa Claus, she said happily.

Santa my ... butt, I mumbled. Between her fingertips I pinched a good inch-plus. Gina, Im a pig. Getting fatter by the minute.

She leaned against my back and mumbled into my shirt. So what.

So what, what? I replied.

So what.

I stood for a minute, enjoying the feel of her against my back, and felt her spread her fingers and squish into my stomach. There was a lot more to squish, a good healthy spare tire and love handles. 

You get handsomer by the minute, she said finally.

Gina. I turned around. I braced my hands on her shoulders.

What do you want for Christmas?

You, she said firmly. She poked her finger into the cavern of my belly button and twiddled.

Will this do? I fished into my pocket and pulled out a box.

The sparkle bounced off the kitchen light and counters and put rainbows on her face.

Thank you, Santa Claus. She dried her tears against my tummy.


----------



## mikael (Nov 5, 2009)

sweet story. i hope you continue


----------



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Dec 11, 2009)

*Part 2*

That made Christmas Day a lot more exciting. The minute we got to her parents, Gina broke the news in spectacular fashion, alternately waving her left hand and throwing her arms around me. The latter left her looking a little flushed and rumpled by the time we sat down to dinner. 

Id gotten bigger since Gina and I had started dating. A fair bit bigger. Id been in the neighborhood of 190 that Thanksgiving, and Id been avoiding the scale lately, but given the way Gina had embraced me from behind  her hands not meeting in front  just before Id proposed, I would guess that I was pushing two and a quarter, with no signs of slowing down. Interestingly, it was what I would have classed as excess that seemed to appeal to her the most. In bed, or out of it, she loved to stroke, squeeze and cuddle my round belly, ballooning love handles, and softening cheeks and chin. 

Of course, some of her flushed and rumpled condition might be that all the jumping up and down shed been doing had been a little too much exertion for her fair self. For as much as Gina liked to cook and bake, she also liked to sample her creations. The tidily proportionate curves, today encased in a V necked black sweater and short black pleated skirt, had gotten noticeably fuller, and there was a roll  a what do you call it, muffin top  above the skirts waistband. When she ducked her head, a second chin peeped. When she laughed or smiled  often  her cheeks dimpled visibly. The skirt rode over a luscious backside and highlighted the bountiful curves of her legs.

When she sat down next to me at the table, I squeezed her knee, which was pleasantly squashy, like a cinnamon roll. She winked at me and we helped each other pile our plates.

I quickly became engrossed in enjoying the delicious food, each bite so very good I wanted to savor another and another. Slowly, I became aware that I was getting full, but I was far from being willing to quit just yet. Everything tasted so good, and it was all stuff that I saw only once or twice a year. It was so special, I just had to enjoy everything before it disappeared until next Thanksgiving or Christmas.

But oh, was I getting stuffed. I paused long enough to undo my jeans and slide the zipper down. Discreetly I massaged my swelling belly, coaxing up a healthy belch. There. More room now, a bit, anyway. A few dishes on the table were nearing empty, and I wanted a few more tastes. My plate was never completely empty, so it was hard to track how many helpings Id consumed. My now-aching stomach told me that it was a lot. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, flushed with my bodys initial efforts at digestion. I had become stupefyingly gorged, my swollen and distended gut painfully taut as well as a little damp with perspiration. I discovered I was so full I was puffing, short of breath. It felt as if I tried to draw a deep breath I would pop.

I glanced at Gina. Her face was positively rosy, and a faint sheen of perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip. She rested one hand on her own tummy, which was protruding visibly, the hem of her sweater rucked up and the waistband of that poor skirt about to burst its seams. Her belly button was now a definite outie and almost a slit. I had a feeling that if I were foolish enough to poke it, she too might pop. Wed explode together.

With an entirely inadvertent groan, I slowly hauled myself up.

Oof_hic_oohstuffed, I grunted. Gina eased herself up, first one side, then the other, like a hot air balloon beginning to lift from the ground, though she looked anything but buoyant. If my aching belly were anything to go by, she felt sodden, leaden, hugely loaded down by the afternoons feast. In a daze I poked my tongue out and licked a trace of cranberry from the side of my mouth. In a daze I followed her into the den, where, like docking a liner, I cautiously lowered myself onto the sofa.

Ugghhh. _Hic._ Ow. Ah, I gasped, grimacing. I was wickedly stuffed and only with a huge effort did I manage to suppress a belch.

Gina didnt. _Urrrp_. Ooh. Cuse me. _Mrrp_. She blushed and laid a hand to her lips. She moaned again, looking a little green. My love had definitely overeaten. She eased her sweater the rest of the way up to reveal a tummy distended and flushed, and gently began to massage it. She was so stuffed that her flesh moved hardly at all. I could hear faint grumblings and gurglings within.

No, was that her belly  or mine? Hard to tell. I tugged up my shirt, which hadnt been quite so snug through the middle this morning, and massaged it, or tried to. Like Ginas, my own belly was tight as a drum, ungivably firm. I persisted anyway, and felt  and heard  rumbling and groaning. It rolled up and out before I could stop it.

_Urrrrp. Urrp_. I winced and groaned, carefully pressing a hand to the general vicinity of my actually stomach, which felt like an overfilled balloon. Oh  why did I  eat  so_hic_much?
Fred belched. Cause its there. Urrp. Dopily I looked around. To my bleared gaze it appeared that everyone was in the same condition  felled by food, laid low by gravy, socked by squash. 

I hiccupped again. Grunting like a stuffed puppy after nursing into satiation, I drifted off. When I awoke, Ginas mom was laying a light supper. I couldnt believe that I would ever have been hungry again, but I found enough room to put away a few turkey sandwiches and a large wedge of pumpkin pie with whipped topping.

I barely remember waddling off to the guest room.

A snowstorm blew in overnight and made driving inadvisable, so Gina and Freds parents turned it into a giant house party. Gina and her mom whipped up brownies, cookies, pumpkin roll, and chocolate pie as well as panckages, omelettes, hot sandwiches, turkey corn soup, sausage dressing, unbelievable arrays of food with seemingly no end in sight.

By the time Gina and I headed back, the steering wheel was uncomfortably close to my growing gut and I was wearing a sweatshirt tugged snugly down to conceal my unsnapped jeans. There was simply no way to do them up short of defying the laws of physics.

Gina was wearing the Christmas dinner sweater, which now looked painted on over the tantalizing curve and drape of breast and tummy, and sweatpants that clung, deliciously outlining her plump and rosy thighs. Shed pulled off the impossible and switched school systems midyear, being hired to take the place of a teacher whose husband had been transferred to Oregon.

It was late afternoon by the time we got back, but we went shopping nevertheless, Gina wisely advocating for a secondhand store. Youre my growing bear, she said happily, and Id replied, Youre my growing Goldilocks. Yeah, sappy.

On New Years Eve, after a good bit of champagne, I toasted Gina and said, I resolve to always clean my plate.

Gina toasted me right back and said, I resolve to always fill that plate right up.


----------



## fat hiker (Dec 14, 2009)

Great story!


----------



## slurpeekell12 (Dec 16, 2009)

great holiday story, very sweet


----------

