# Hills and Valleys - by Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BBW, ~BHM, Romance, ~~WG)



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Sep 28, 2008)

_~BBW, ~BHM, Romance, ~~WG_ - After meeting at the gym, a couple explore mutual admiration for each other's growing body.


*Hills and Valleys*

*by Big Beautiful Dreamer*
​
Angela usually had the gym to herself at this hour, one of the advantages of a 24-hour place, but lately shed noticed another patron coming and going. She finished her sentence on the treadmill, conscientiously wiped away her perspiration, and took herself off to the weight room.

There he was -- and he was even hotter than she had thought. A good six feet tall, though it was hard to tell exactly as he was on his back, pushing the barbell up and down. A mop of thick dark straight hair, a decided chin, broad chest and nicely muscled arms. His sweatpants hid his legs, but they couldnt hide the padding at his midsection. Angela suspected that a pair of 32s or 34s that had gotten too hard to do up had driven him to this place.

Oh so casually, she switched around her usual routine and walked over to the preacher curl bench. 

Morning, she said mildly.

The guy grunted a greeting, heaving the bar back onto its rests. He sat up, resting, and mopped his face with one of the gym towels.

Come here often? he asked, his voice a pleasant baritone.

Angela would have laughed if she hadnt been in mid-curl. That line was so cliché it was almost fresh. She waited until she had lowered the bar before replying, My favorite bar.

That earned her a quick, crooked grin, and the guy laid back down for another set. After that they worked out together in companionable silence. Afterward, in the shower, Angela found herself running a hand over her belly. She did work out five days a week, and tried to watch what she ate, but she was prone to fast-food lunches with co-workers, and the result was some tummy padding she couldnt quite get rid of. At 56 and 150 pounds, she would hardly qualify as fat, but her hourglass figure had a decent amount of sand in it.

The next day, she found herself fretting over her workout outfit and redoing her ponytail. Quit it, she told her reflection. This is not a meet market. But the guy was there, doing squats this morning, apparently one of those gym rats who alternated between upper- and lower-body workouts. Every time he rose from a squat, his shirt flapped and showed just a hint of gut. Angela didnt know what to make of the consequent and unmistakable tightening of her privates that each glimpse gave her. 

After a week of casual greetings, the guy stood up after a set and waited for her to finish her set. Then he stuck out a hand. Im Alan Evans, he said.

Angela Perry, Angela said. Nice to know you.

I, um, I was wondering if you might be interested in having dinner, Alan said to her shoes. Angela thought his shyness very cute.

Oh, well  when did you have in mind? Angela herself was looking past Alans left ear.

Ah, Friday? Today was Wednesday.

Angela thought. She would have to cancel plans, but a date always trumped a girls night out.

Okay, sure. Let me move some stuff around and 

Oh, no, I dont want to disrupt your plans.

No, no, its fine. Absolutely.

If you want to  um  meet me at Pierinis, do you know where that is?

Sure, on Gervais Avenue, right?

Right, thats right. Alan sounded relieved. Six-thirty?

Great, see you then. And Angela flew through the rest of her workout without feeling a thing, her feet six inches off the padded gym floor. She resolved to eat nothing for the next three days.

She made it through that day all right, with the help of several diet caffeine-free pops to fill her up, but in the evening was light-headed and queasy from hunger. In desperation she heated up a frozen pizza and appalled herself by eating every scrap, and draining half a two-liter bottle of Diet Sprite at the same time. 

Ohhh  hic! She leaned back and pushed the waistband of her sweatpants down and gently massaged her bloated tummy. It was tight as a drum and protruding straight out beneath her cropped T-shirt, which was now a lot more cropped. Urp. Bad  mrrp  idea. Ohhhh. Dopily she sprawled on the futon sofa, mindlessly watching television and dozing.

In the morning she awoke with a stiff neck and a resolve not to eat anything. Really. Again she made it through the day, sloshing with pop by 5:00, but stopped on the way home for KFC. She scarfed her way through the chicken-and-potato bowl, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the box of chicken, the macaroni, and the coleslaw -- that was some seriously good coleslaw -- and the remaining liter of Diet Sprite.

Then she leaned back amid the litter and belched. Ow. Oooh. Oooh. Hic! Why  hic!  why did  hic! Ow. Why did I  hic  do that? Ohhhh. She squirmed heavily and awkwardly on the futon, cradling her swollen and aching belly, which as the night before was bloated and firm. She undid her skirt and pushed the waist of her pantyhose down, gently caressing her distended tummy, where a red mark flared. This time she managed to undress and stagger to bed, awakening the next morning with a vow that today she would have a small, healthy breakfast and a salad for lunch so that she could meet Alan without making a pig of herself.

At the gym, after her shower, she nerved herself up to step on the scale. 150, and the measure stayed pointing up. She sighed and slid the bar over. 151. 152. Finally the measure floated into the center at 155. Surely some of that was last nights sodium-fest.

The bagel carried her tummy through to ten oclock, where she punched the button for a Diet Caffeine-Free Coke and got a regular Coke instead. Crap. Oh well. The first swallow was much too sweet, but once it hit her brain she drained the rest of the can quickly.

At lunch, she wasnt quite up for a salad but virtuously got a grilled chicken sandwich and a packet of apple slices.

Ooh, a skinny thing like you on a diet? Carrie-Anne said mischievously. 

Thanks, Angela said with a grin. Skinny I am not -- but I kind of have plans for tonight.

Hot date, hot date, Jennifer sang.

Shut up, Jennifer, Angela and Carrie-Anne said together. It was a running joke because Jennifer was so quiet.

I expect a full report on Monday.

Yes, maam, Carrie-Anne, Angela sing-songed.

Because she couldnt decide on her shoes, Angela was a little late to the restaurant, but made it there by twenty till, rosy-cheeked and apologetic.

Dont apologize. Its fine. You look so lovely, Alan said, his words stumbling over each other as he helped her into a seat. Angela was wearing a maroon wrap dress that made her belly disappear altogether and clung gently to her bottom.

You look lovely yourself, Angela said with a flash of a smile. Alan was wearing a light blue shirt and darker blue tie and had hung his gray jacket over the back of his chair. When he stood up to greet her, Angela found her eyes flicking to his waistline. Sure enough, it looked a little constrained in those trousers. Angela couldnt have said why exactly the combination of a muscular, firm torso and padded belly aroused her, but it certainly did. Was. Is. Whatever. That was when Angela decided to have a drink. Just one.

Two strong Cosmos later, Angela was mildly surprised to discover that both her plate and the bread basket were empty, when they had both been very piled up only a minute ago. Her cheeks were flushed with the food and drink and she could feel the waist of her dress pinching at her tummy, which was undoubtedly rounder.

Alan, too, had had a couple of drinks and had loosened his tie just a little -- very sexy. Angela couldnt see his belly, but he had helped her do some damage to the plate of appetizers, and his own dinner plate was now undeniably empty.

I dont know, Alan mused. I think wed better take our time with some dessert and coffee before we drive anywhere.

Angela hiccupped. Oh! Scuse me. She blushed. Maybe youre right. Her head felt light, almost detached, but her achingly full stomach kept her firmly anchored in her chair.

The desserts were huge, of course -- they always were -- but Angelas intention to just nibble seemed to vanish with the first bite, and she plowed through the rich chocolate and cream concoction with embarrassing speed. She looked up, only to discover Alan setting a fork down on his empty plate and leaning back in the booth.

He laid a hand on his belly, now unmistakably bulging, and suppressed a belch. Whoops, he said sheepishly. Im  uh  kind of trying to take off a few pounds, he admitted. I dont think that helped.

You dont need to, Angela said honestly. You look terrif. Oh wow, she never used that kind of girly slang. Hastily she took a swallow of coffee and cream.

Alan frankly eyed her up and down as she leaned back herself against the padded seat. So do you, if I may say so. Hey, he straightened up. How about a walk through Riverwalk? Burn some of this off. Riverwalk was a sort of extended piazza, covered but with open sides, winding over the river that ran through downtown. Its space held both funky little shops and open areas with benches and tables.

Angela stood and smiled brightly at him. Her stomach ached, but either she was going to move or go into a coma. Okay, great.

Alan casually draped his arm around her as they strolled, and his long fingers rested lightly on her baby love handle and swollen tummy. Without thinking, she reached over and rested a hand on his belly, which was also bloated and firm after their large meal. It surprised her by being warm, almost cozy feeling. She meant to let her hand drop, but didnt.

As they strolled, they talked, learning more about each other. By the time they finally wended their way back to where they had parked, Angelas feet were killing her, but her swollen tummy did not ache quite so much. They agreed they would see each other Monday at the gym and parted after Alans chaste but frisson-inducing kiss on the cheek.

On Monday, there he was, and they chatted between sets. Alan didnt say anything about seeing her again, but his manner certainly implied that another date would likely be forthcoming. 

So? Carrie-Anne pounced the minute Angela arrived at the office.

Tell you at lunch, Angela said airily. Carrie-Anne stuck out her tongue and flounced off, pretending to be mad. 

Well. Angela dragged the word out, lowering her eyes.

Well? Carrie-Anne demanded.

Angela shrugged. He was nice. He didnt pounce, he didnt book me up for the next eighteen weeks, he was very gentlemanly.

No such guy, Jennifer put in. She blinked and widened her eyes. Or hes secretly gay.

Angela smiled.

Whered you meet him? I need to go there. Carrie-Anne.

At the gym.

Oh. Carrie-Annes face fell. She was tall and a little hippy but walked a mile and a half every morning; that was the extent of her workout. Jennifer was contentedly stocky and short, looking a bit like an ottoman, with a big chest, proportional rear, and heavily padded waist. 

Whats he do? Jennifer asked.

Oh investment banker. Jennifer and Carrie-Annes antennae went up so quickly Angela almost heard the whoosh-click.

Does he  have any  colleagues?

I dont know, Carrie-Anne, should I ask? 

Carrie-Anne blushed and changed the subject.

Friday found them at La Puerta Verde, which made the best margaritas anywhere, in Alans opinion. Angela required two to render her decision, which agreed with Alan. On Saturday they went to a Green Day concert and agreed they needed a little alone time on Sunday. It wasnt long before they were going out on Wednesdays as well, and within a month Angela was staying over on weekends, punctiliously going back to her apartment on Saturday nights, no matter how late. Somehow the odd formality and little breaks suited both of them and kept the pace from moving too quickly. 

When the scale read back 162, she told herself that Alans scale was set differently. Every scale was different. Right? She told herself the same thing at 167.

Only some of her outfits were at Alans, which is how the disaster happened. Alan, attracted by the wail from the bathroom, stuck his head in to discover Angela wearing the maroon wrap dress. Or, rather, almost wearing it. The deep V neck still flattered her gorgeous chest, but the skirt now clung with ferocity to her unmistakably spreading backside and she could feel the seams straining along her middle, which protruded even before dinner. The fabric stretched almost translucent, making her belly look huge to her critical eyes. Alan looked puzzled.

Whats wrong? He was half dressed, shirt in hand, trousers done up, and the trousers were having almost as rough a go of it as the dress. The waistband stretched snugly around his thickening waist, having slid in self-defense south of the belly button. The zipper was working overtime. 

This dress! It used to fit.

Alan came up behind her and gently tugged it over her head, then smoothed her hair and slid his hands over her shoulders, coming to rest in an embrace around the tummy in question, which pooched out over her bikini panties. He rested his chin on her shoulder and cradled her to him.

I think you look fabulous, he murmured, kissing her hair. A goddess, an absolute goddess. Wear the blue thing.

Angela frowned, pulling her head back in surprise. Was that a double chin shed just made? No. Impossible. All right. She pasted a smile on for Alans benefit and went to put on the blue thing, a loose dress that she belted with the buckle a notch behind where it used to fasten. 

Later that night, naked in bed, stuffed full of Chinese food, Angela slid her hand along her bare belly. Even allowing for the huge dinner, it was a lot rounder. Her hourglass was becoming a cylinder; soon her waist would be as big around as her bust. A horrifying thought.

Alan.

Mmm.

Im not sure youre good for me.

Surprised, Alan reared up on his elbow and gazed at her, his blue eyes liquid in the dim moonlight filtered through the curtains. Say what?

Angela bit her lip and poked her belly, round and fleshy, jiggling. Im getting  fat.

Alan frowned and laid a hand on his own belly, which if anything was more padded than when theyd first met. I could swear I set out to lose this gut, he said lightly, but it doesnt seem to want to move out. I wanted to go down to 185, but Im going up instead. Scale said 210 this morning. Then he caressed her middle, making her shiver with pleasure.

May I tell you something? he asked softly.

Angela nodded.

I find your figure incredibly attractive. He leaned in and kissed her belly button. You have an outstanding bottom  gorgeous breasts  and I absolutely adore your tummy. Its the cutest thing Ive ever seen besides you as a whole person.

A whole fat person.

Shush, Alan said firmly, almost with an edge to his voice. Dont you dare even think of making that tummy any smaller. He glanced away, then back. Um. Oh. Never mind. He leaned in and kissed her, on the lips this time, and a shiver of pleasure went through her as his swollen stomach brushed against hers.

Angela pursed her lips. Never mind what?

No. Nothing. He glanced away again.

Alan

Alan sighed. Youre going to leave when you hear this.

Tell me first. I dont think Ill leave.

Its a  really sick  fantasy.

Angela envisioned handcuffs. Well?

Alan sighed again. I  um  I  I wish I could see you get  as full as you can. I mean  really really stuffed, about to pop. Then  wed  make love  he trailed off.

Angela was silent. What would your tummy look like if it was that full? she asked. Alan smiled wryly and laid back. 

Like this, he said. What had once been a little padding was now an unmistakably developing paunch, curving out into love handles and softening his pecs. Angela thought the combination of a muscled torso and round belly incredibly sexy.

No, she said now, really full.

Alans gaze met hers. Soon. If youre  okay with this  thing, he laughed with embarrassment, well  um  try it soon.

By the time Angela felt comfortable revealing the Mystery Mans name to Carrie-Anne and Jennifer, she was up to 170, a twenty-pound gain in only ten weeks. That was dismayingly quick  and dismayingly round. Angela told herself it was all the eating out. She left half her burger, then absently nibbled it away as the three finished talking. 

I shouldnt have, she said, almost to herself.

Carrie-Anne looked over at her plate. Dieting for Alan?

Yes. No. He she blushed and didnt finish the sentence. Jennifer pinched a handful of fries from Angelas plate. 

More for me, she mumbled. Carrie-Anne said nothing and looked thoughtful. As the days spiraled on, though, she began silently eyeballing Angelas lunches. Angela switched to salads, unmindful that many of the fast-food variety were as fat-, calorie-, and sugar-laden as the burgers and French fries. The next time she pushed her plate away, half-eaten, it drew a more pointed remark from Carrie-Anne.

Dieting, are you? No more skinny little thing.

Angela made a face. Um. I dont know. Jennifer glanced over and slurped the last of her milkshake. Carrie-Anne raised an eyebrow and silently glanced down at Angelas increasingly cushioned figure.

Angela thought Alan had forgotten his earlier suggestion until two weeks later, when they were again naked in bed, full of Chinese food and pleasantly drowsy.

Then Alan again propped himself up on his elbow and said, I still want to see you  um  stuffed.

I am. Angela groaned and poked at her inflated belly. 

You know what I mean.

Angela bit her lip. Ive gained twenty pounds. Plus. Since we started dating.

Alan laughed. Hey, youre falling behind. Ive put on twenty-three, and it all goes right here. He slapped his broadening midsection, making it jiggle. And have I mentioned how incredibly sexy I find your tummy? Women should have a cushion there. Fewer bruises that way. He kissed her belly button. Her stomach chose that moment to grumble, not from hunger but from digestion. Alan deliberately misinterpreted it.

Theres pizza in the freezer. And ice cream, he coaxed.

And pop in the fridge. Angela was amazed that her mouth had said that independently of her brain.

Race you!

Remember now, Angela said, Ive already got a tummy full of Chinese food.

Sove I. Alan thrust out his gut, making it even more protuberant. Angela felt her whole body respond at the sight of that broad chest and muscular arms paired with the round bloated midriff. While they waited for the pizza, they sat down on the futon sofa with matching pints of Ben and Jerrys New York Super Fudge Chunk, softened in the microwave. Alan was wearing a pair of bikini briefs that might, he said, have fit him six months ago. Angela was in a sports bra and bikini panties, both strained at the seams.

They raced each other; they ate in slo-mo; they fed each other; they licked around the cartons rims. With a full pint of ice cream resting atop a large Chinese dinner, Angela felt stuffed. Her tummy, firm and round, swelled out from below her bra and was pushing her panties down. She leaned back and groaned, pressing a hand to her hugely distended belly, round and firm, stretched and sore. Alan looked, to her eyes, little changed, although he managed several impressive belches. They kissed after each one.

Mm, chocolate, Angela murmured, placing his hand on her belly. He poked.

You have room.

She poked back. Hic! So do you, she said teasingly. Alan, groaning, got up to get the pizza. There was only one, but it was a big one. They were both less enthusiastic about the pizza and tall glasses of pop than they were about the ice cream. Side by side, massaging their increasingly gorged bellies, they slowly and methodically downed slice after hot cheesy slice, gulp after fizzy gulp.

Angela was full up to her eyeballs and felt like she had pizza coming out her ears. She took a gulp of pop quickly and forced a belch. Then another.

Ohhh  mrrrp  she groaned and cradled her swollen and aching belly. Round and firm, with no room, no give, it stuck straight out in front of her, tender and bloated. She couldnt move. Her sides felt stretched to bursting and ready to pop with the least movement. An enormous belch erupted, startling her and leaving a hot fizzy taste in her mouth. 

She turned her head to look at Alan. He was sprawled next to her, eyelids fluttering, his mouth rimmed with sauce and his magnificently engorged gut swelling straight up, belly button a slit, smooth hard abdomen distended and tight. He felt her gaze and, grunting, awkwardly heaved himself up.

Come on  urrp  little girl, he said, puffing. He pulled her up. She staggered, caught off guard by the weight of her sloshing, laden stomach. Together they waddled slowly toward the bedroom and cautiously eased into bed. Grunting, they turned carefully toward each other and slowly embraced. As Angelas bloated tummy pressed against Alans, she groaned at the feel of it, then shuddered as warmth coursed through her at the unusual feeling. She wanted more, more, more, and quickly.

Alan groaned and heaved closer. Ohhhhh, he murmured. Mmmm. Full and gorged belly pushed against full and gorged belly, Alans hardness pressing into Angelas bloated abdomen and her tingling breasts squashing against his smooth chest. Together they caressed each other, cradling full and aching tummies and broadening backsides, moving gently and carefully and finally coupling. Almost immediately they found a rhythm. What had been languid became urgent, driven by the warmth and intimacy of full belly to full belly, the tenderness and pressure, stretch and slosh and groan, it went on forever and ended too quickly and for a long time they simply lay in each others arms feeling their mingled sweat trickling down into belly buttons, swollen guts breathing in and out in unison.

Okay, Alan finally said. One of us has to move.

You first. Hic, Angela countered. 

Groaning, Alan untangled himself and thudded toward the shower. 

The next morning, for the first time in her adult life, Angela surveyed herself naked in the mirror and allowed pleasure to dominate. She turned this way and that, arms above her head, letting herself find her gravid belly attractive, ripe, bounteous. Unmistakably fat, her midriff hung pearlike, heavily, below her ripening breasts. In the morning light she was rosy and round, all curves and cushion, dent and dimple, drowsy and glowing.

Alan appeared and nuzzled her neck, cradling her peach-pink belly. Good morning, my goddess, he murmured. He stepped aside and copied her move, thrusting his belly outward. It was round and firm and very, very sexy, she thought.

Good morning, master, Angela murmured back, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

Let me repeat myself, Alan said, tracing her middle. I love every gorgeous inch of you. Dont you dare try to make this beautiful tummy any smaller.

What about bigger? Angela felt a chill.

Bigger is fine, Alan mumbled, kissing her neck again. And  if I were to ask you to marry me, would you be willing to quit that soul-draining job of yours?

What would I do all day? Angela asked a throwaway question to quiet her suddenly racing heart. Her knees were weak and a flush ran up her neck.

Um  cook?

Six months later, Carrie-Anne carefully straightened Angelas filmy veil. Beautiful bride, she said, a trace of doubt in her voice. Angela looked in the mirror at the veil, her dark hair shining beneath it, her creamy neck supporting the round face, the dress Grecian neckline, the way the cream-colored dress clung to her bust and fell away in a drape that gently hugged her curves. All of them, all two hundred pounds worth of hills and gorgeous bounty. And out through the door, only a few yards away, was Alan, tall and handsome, broad-chested and full-bellied, brimming with love for her. 

She turned to Carrie-Anne and took her bouquet from a beaming Jennifer.

Yes, she said firmly, and straightened up. I am.


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## Lardibutts (Sep 28, 2008)

No doubt in my mind, a truly delightful piece.


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## Mac5689 (Sep 28, 2008)

i liked the story.


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## fatmac (Sep 29, 2008)

I want to make a book of all your wonderful stories

Mac


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## billedmeup (Sep 29, 2008)

Are you a writer in real life? You have a great style and knack for storytelling that makes me suspect that you do this for a living maybe as a journalist.


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Sep 29, 2008)

I once was a wordsmith for a living. I do other things now, but remain entranced by the flexibility and power (as well as limitations) of words. They make lovely playthings.


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## jjgreen14 (Sep 29, 2008)

Thank you for that wonderful story, loved the story, well-written, you did a terrific job with the descriptions in certain scenes. Thank you again for writing that delightful story.


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## Risible (Sep 30, 2008)

Big Beautiful Dreamer said:


> I once was a wordsmith for a living. I do other things now, but remain entranced by the flexibility and power (as well as limitations) of words. They make lovely playthings.



"They make lovely playthings" is indeed a lovely way of expressing the enthusiasm which shows so clearly in your stories, BBD.


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## Tad (Sep 30, 2008)

Big Beautiful Dreamer said:


> I once was a wordsmith for a living. I do other things now, but remain entranced by the flexibility and power (as well as limitations) of words. They make lovely playthings.



Thank you for letting us see the results of your playing, they are always enjoyable


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