# Bearing Up - by Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BHM, ~BBW, ~~WG)



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Apr 11, 2008)

_~BHM, ~BBW, ~~WG_ - A married couple discover that a little weight gain leads to a lot or romance gain.


*Bearing Up*

*by Big Beautiful Dreamer*​
I hung up the phone and took a deep swallow of diet pop. Fifteen minutes by the small Seth Thomas clock on my desk was a long time to listen to Mrs. Eldon Sherby (nee Alicia Andrews 41) talk about her hip replacement, but since Mrs. Sherby had just promised to write a check for $1500 to the university, I was happy to hear all about Mrs. Sherbys joints. At least my day at work was going decently.

The first year of marriage had been perfectly satisfactory, until recently. Id somehow put on ten or twelve pounds, and when a colleague gently teased me about married mans spread, Id cut back on sugary pop, midmorning doughnuts, and desserts, and started taking a brisk two-lap walk around the quad to start each day. The extra weight had pared off, and I had stepped on the scale that morning to find myself back at what I thought of as my standard operating weight of 175. 

What I couldnt calculate was when things had gone cold with Karen. The first six or eight months we had billed and cooed as newlyweds should, going on dates, leaving love notes for each other, getting intimate several times a week. Sometime around March -- having survived the first Christmas and the first Valentines Day -- she had cooled noticeably, showing zero interest in bed, not wanting to hold hands, coming up with headaches, errands, or chores when I suggested date nights. 

I drained the diet pop. Maybe it was because I had let myself get a little tubby and now that I was back to where I should be Karen would be her old self again. Maybe Id take home some flowers.

Karen thanked me for the flowers with a small empty smile and silently arranged them in a vase, which she put on the supper table. We sat down and Karen dished up meatloaf and gravy, new potatoes, lima beans, zucchini, and rolls. The talk was as minimal as ever, and after a few conversational openers that fell flat, I stopped trying.

I lifted my empty plate, intending to stand and take it to the kitchen as usual -- and saw Karen looking at me. 

Um  what?

Karen raised her eyebrows. Dont you want any more?

I set my plate back down and pressed a hand to my belly, comfortably full. Nah, I shouldnt. Dont wanna get fat here, I said lightly. 

Karens lips parted and her eyes widened slightly. Somehow that had been the wrong thing to say. 

Well, it was awfully good. Maybe just a little more. Aha, that was it. I let Karen pile my plate again.

Whoa, thats a lot, I said tentatively.

Oh  just eat what you want, Karen said, returning to her own supper.

My eyes on Karen, trying to read the subtext, I unconsciously cleaned my plate again and suppressed a belch. I was stuffed, a fullness I normally associated with Thanksgiving dinner. My belly felt distended and was pressing against my waistband. I suppressed another belch and stood. This time Karen let me take my dishes to the sink. 

Later, though, as I was watching a baseball game, Karen brought me two big brownies on a fold of paper towel, along with a tall glass of milk.

Mm? Whats this in aid of?

Karen shrugged and sat down on the sofa with her needlepoint. Just felt like making brownies.

I took a big bite. MMMmmmm, I mumbled with a full mouth. Good. I quickly polished off the first brownie, then hesitated. I glanced over at Karen and took a breath. Then I changed my mind. At least we were talking to each other, that was something.

Around ten, we both headed to bed, she to read and me to channel surf. Instead of picking up her book, though, she snuggled closer and ran a hand through my hair. The signal was unmistakable, but also unexpected. Shed been turning from me for months. Whatever-it-was, though, seemed to have passed, because she clearly wanted to cuddle. So we cuddled. And, after a while, slowly and languidly made love, which for me was like a long soft rain after a drought. It felt wonderful. I was still in the dark about what was going on, but I was thoroughly glad at the resumption of intimacy.

After that, things ran kind of hot and cold. I kept watching my snacking, and walking on the quad, but Karen seemed to have gotten into the habit of giving me seconds every night at supper and sending off signals that she would be unhappy if I didnt eat it. The thing with the brownies was repeated at least once or twice a week, brownies or blondies or cookies or some other ies that tasted scrumptious and guilty.

By the time the school year ended, to my dismay I had gained back ten pounds. Things were definitely better with Karen, though, so all I could puzzle out was that whatever had been bugging her, it hadnt been my modest pot belly.

I was developing love handles, a little flab pushing over my waistband. My trousers had become snug and as much as I could get away with it, I tended to wear one of several pairs of cotton, elastic-waist shorts during the summer. Mowing the lawn and walking the dog, I thought, was the rough equivalent of my laps around the quad.

It was something of a nasty surprise, therefore, when on August 25 I started to pull on a pair of gabardine trousers for my first day back at work and found them decidedly snug in the waist. Karen was still asleep, and anyway, what could she do about it? I shuffled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The love handles appeared bigger and my bare torso now curved outward as though Id slid a sofa cushion under my skin. My nipples, disturbingly, looked awfully prominent. Reluctantly, I stepped on the scale. I was up to 195, having packed on 20 pounds since April. 

It seemed, however, that Karen was more contented of late  not less. I frowned and poked at my belly button. Everything jiggled. I sucked it in, easy to do on an empty stomach, not so easy after one of her hearty suppers, and for a minute looked not bad. Quickly, I wrestled the hook closed while I had the chance. Exhaling, I watched my bare belly push against, then spill over the waistband. 

Karen came up behind me and ran her hands up my softening chest. Mm. Morning, she mumbled.

Karen  Im getting fat, I mumbled.

Mm. Not fat, she murmured drowsily. Handsome.

I still didnt get what was going on, but clearly Karen was happy.

Dont forget, she said as I headed out the door, we have to go to dinner at my parents tonight.

Oh. I managed not to let Karen see the face I made. Dinner with her parents was deadly dull and laced with periodic subtle criticisms, of the damned-if-you-do variety.

I finished knotting a tie, displeased at the picture I presented. I threw on a sweater vest, hoping to conceal my new paunch, and headed to work. Ill be home by 5, I promised, and she sent me off with a long soft kiss.

I got home at 5 on the dot and traded the shirt, tie and sweater for a button-down sport shirt that tugged unmistakably at my gut. The buttons didnt appear to be straining visibly, however, so I let it go. Feeling distinctly tubby, and therefore more inadequate than usual, I trailed Karen into the kitchen of her parents house. Her dad greeted me with a handshake and pressed a beer into my hand.

Gotta watch the beer, though, he added with a chuckle. Adds up. He patted his own flat belly for emphasis. You dont want to (ahem) let yourself go. That was typical of the sort of zinger they delivered. If Id kept the weight off, I would be told I looked tired and overworked.

I kept my mouth full as an excuse not to have to say much. The strategy worked, on the one hand, but on the other hand, I found at the end of the evening that Id eaten and drunk too much and my belly, swollen and aching, was straining the fabric of the shirt even more. Silently I handed Karen the keys. She knew Id had a few and made no objection.

Karen chattered all the way home, finally asking as we pulled into the driveway, Whats wrong?

Nothing, I grunted. Ate too much. She headed off to bed and I said I would stay up and watch Sports Center. I leaned the recliner back and unhooked my trousers, grateful to ease the pressure on my stuffed stomach. I slid my hand up under my shirt and massaged it, distended and firm, full of too many servings of grilled chicken, baked beans, asparagus, and strawberry tarts. And several beers. My bloated gut was tender and sore, and I spent a good half hour rubbing it, easing my discomfort, finally aided along by the slow and noisy process of digestion. I winced. Maybe I should sleep on the couch tonight. The baked beans were being efficient.

Karen padded out and perched on the arm of the chair, rubbing my belly. Coming to bed?

After a while, I mumbled. Her tone was suggestive and I glanced at her. She was wearing my favorite of her nighties and looked invitational.

Or now, I amended. Clumsily, feeling like an overfed bear, I lurched up and waddled to the bedroom, pants still undone. I groaned as I slid between the sheets. To be honest, I was too full to want to start anything, but, strangely, I also was feeling aroused. The warmth and heaviness of my gorged belly now pressing on my hips was stirring me, and Karen certainly was in the mood.

After some cuddling and massaging each other, she turned me sideways and gently took charge. All I had to do was let her run the show. The gentle pressure and audible gurgling of my full stomach felt oddly better for the activity, and I loved the feel of her hips flexing against my sagging belly.

Sated, in more than one sense, I barely kept awake long enough to kiss and caress her a little afterward. It wasnt long before I was soundly asleep.

Autumn blew in and as the weather grew colder, I found myself stocking up as a bear does before hibernation. Karen served up thick stews, biscuits, meatloaf smothered in mushroom gravy, baked potatoes, succotash, smooth creamed corn, chicken grilled with bacon and mustard, crusty bread from the bakery, pumpkin pie, plum tarts, molasses cookies big as your hand.

I was still taking laps around the quad  if the weather was cooperative  and if I didnt run into a colleague and get diverted over to the bookstore for coffee laced with cream.

Whatever malaise had brought Karen low in our first year was seemingly well and truly gone. She was all but purring, domestic and content.

I tried to close my eyes to my steadily thickening waistline, which was getting hard to ignore. I was decently past 200 pounds by fall break, and on the morning of Thanksgiving, which we were luckily spending with friends since Karens parents were visiting her brother in Colorado, the treacherous scale clocked me in at 215. I was only 510 so there werent that many places for the extra pounds to hide, and most of them went right out front, into a steadily thickening waistline. What I now carried could only be described as a pot belly, sloping outward from my pecs to my periodically straining waistband. My once-firm pecs were soft and unmistakably added a modest curve below my shirts. My cheekbones had rounded into apples, a second chin had emerged, and little pads of fat sat below my eyes, an effect I felt rather than saw. My colleagues poked a little fun, but no one was making it as an underwear model, so the sense was that we were all in the same boat. One that was just gradually riding lower in the water.

Max and Emily welcomed us with glasses of wine and a tray of hors doeuvres, of which I snapped up far too many. By the time Emily called us and another couple of friends to the table, I was already not that hungry. The food, though, was going to be awesome, I could tell by looking. Karen had brought her vegetable casserole, Sara brought calico beans, and Max and Emily were laying along the counter a big platter of fresh-sliced roast turkey, a heaping bowl of apple and sage stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, a bowl of rich brown gravy, cranberry sauce shimmering in a cut-glass relish dish  mmmmmmmm.

We heaped our plates high as we went through the line, and conversation, wine, Southern style iced tea, all flowed in equal measure. It seemed as though someone was always getting up for more or sitting back down; the traffic was light but constant. I admit that I did more than my share of damage. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It was all so good I kept wanting just one more bite of this and just one more bite of that and my fork kept being lifted to my lips. It wasnt until we finally surveyed the battlefield and agreed that we couldnt swallow another bite  and I tried to stand  that I realized how full I was.

Stuffed to bursting. Painfully, achingly (oof) full.

As if by unspoken rule, the women clustered in the kitchen, making some gestures toward cleaning but mostly drinking herb tea and chatting. The men made for the den, sinking into bagged-out sofas, reclining, groaningly bragging about what pigs we had made of ourselves. Max clicked on a football game, which gave us a suggestion of focus, and we half-bragged, half-griped. Do men eat more in groups? Someone should do a study.

I hiccuped, pressing a hand to my swollen and aching belly, which protruded from my middle as though someone had grafted on a basketball. Oh  (hic!) ate too much. My middle felt as though it was straining at the seams, holding my poor belly tautly in place over a hugely rounded bulge.

Max laughed, which turned into a groan as his visibly bulging belly clutched. Storing up for the winter (urp), right. He winced and massaged his gut. Overdid it a little there.

Saras husband, Aaron, patted his own distended belly, producing a thump. Oh yeah. Stored right up. He stifled a belch.

I slid my hand back and forth, trying to ease the discomfort of my tautly swollen gut, which felt heavy and warm, sagging into my lap and spilling over my unbuttoned jeans. I really did feel like a bear ready to hibernate; my full gut made me sated and drowsy, a little stupid. Maybe thats what made me bring up Karen.

I put on a few  (mrrp)  when we first got married, I confessed, puffing a little. I had eaten so much my diaphragm felt squashed. Managed to  ooh  take it off  but  s come back  brought friends. I stifled a belch. Thought Karen d be on my case.

Shes not? Max asked. He made a face and patted his swollen midriff. Emily will sure give me a hard time  oh  tonight.

Nope, I said, hearing a note of spousal pride in my voice. Hasnt  (urp)  said a word. I fell silent. I was really too stuffed to talk. My sides pulled heavily and the skin of my bulging gut felt thin and stretched over a mountain of Thanksgiving dinner. I could feel and almost hear grumbles and gurgles as my insides struggled to digest a load of rich food.

Mmm, was all that Aaron managed. He was nearly asleep, his hand slid down the straining waistband of his trousers. I wasnt far behind, logy and feeling my eyelids fluttering, my head falling back.

Karen later told me, laughing, that when Emily checked in on the guys, we were all three splayed out like unconscious bears, heads lolled back, pants undone, distended, heavily gorged bellies slowly rising and falling. She drove home, and I leaned back in the passenger seat, groaning at every bump.

Ooh  that is a full tummy, Karen said, letting her fingers trip lightly across the firmly swollen surface. She poked it, prompting a groan.

Oh, dont, I grunted. No give. I groaned loudly as she happened on a particularly sore spot just southwest of my belly button.

Hurt? 

Uff. Yeah. I winced. Karen gently probed. 

It almost feels like  a pocket of air  probably gas, she diagnosed. If you let me, I bet I can break it up and youll feel better.

I drew my breath in sharply and hiccupped as she pressed the spot again. Okay. Do  oh  your worst.

Karen prodded and massaged as if burping a baby.

Ohh  owoo  ooh. I tried not to act like a baby. Then I felt a belch begin to form. Okay. Stop, I gasped. Karen stopped. I produced a big burp and an aftershock.

Ohh, I groaned, this time in relief. Better. Oh  (hic!)  thanks.

Karen patted my bulging belly. Full tummy  youll feel better after a while.

I let a few minutes pass in silence. I know Ive put on weight, I ventured.

Mm  I have too, she admitted. I glanced over. Surprised. I actually hadnt noticed. She made a face. Almost fifteen pounds since we got married."

I snorted. I think Ive left you  ooh  (mrrp) in the dust, I said, patting my pot. I paused. Does it  bother you?

Does which bother me?

Me gaining weight.

She thought about it. Nope. Really doesnt.

Are you sure? I asked. I can  you know 

No, dont, Karen said more firmly. I like the way it feels when we cuddle.

Well. Ohh  kay, I said. Then I made a risky spousal move. I reached over and laid my hand on her tummy, which felt firmly round and warm. Shed eaten her share. I could feel her stiffen.

Ill lose the weight.

No, I said. Dont you dare. _I _like the way it feels, too.

Karens eyes widened as we pulled into the drive. Are you sure? Drew, really? I mean  you dont  Im fat. Are you sure youre okay with this?

We paused to pull ourselves into the brisk night air. I waddled around to her side of the car and embraced her. Does a bear live in the woods? I mumbled, holding her close and warm.

~*~

Thanks to my recent raise, I was able to afford to take Karen and me to the beach for a week the next summer. That first afternoon, we lay on the lounge chairs, drinks in hand, gazing out to the ocean. Karen set her drink down on the cooler and stood. I think Ill go in. I stood, too, and drank in my gorgeous wife. She now stood 55 and 160 breathtaking pounds. Her breasts generously filled her bikini top and her smoothly tanned belly bulged, a cutely rounded tummy between the softened dents of her hourglass waistline. I had a back view at the moment, and I appreciated it, taking in the scenery of her rounded backside flaring out from the small of her back, a ripe double handful leading to golden creamy thighs.

I stood, feeling my arousal brush the fabric of my new trunks, which I wore slung below my own paunch, smoothly gleaming with sunblock, protruding well proud of the elastic waistband, casting a small shadow over my feet. I carried 250 pounds on my 510 frame, and Karen and I were seemingly more contented by the day. A gull wheeled over, screeching. I put my arm around my bride, and she leaned into the warm coziness of my well-padded chest.

Me too, I murmured. Then  lets go back  inside. I lifted her off her feet and carried her, happily shrieking, to where the waves lapped the sand.

~*~


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## berlin-girl (Oct 9, 2008)

bbd, you do the best! LUV yer stories http://www.dimensionsmagazine.com/forums/images/smilies/wub2.gif


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