# New Year's Resolution - Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BBW/~BHM, Eating, Romance, ~SWG)



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Jan 1, 2008)

_~BBW/~BHM, Eating, Romance, ~SWG _- a loving couple discovers that replacing cancer sticks leads to a more tasty life

*“He had quit smoking at 12:01 on New Year’s Day, 
but he had paid. Oh, boy, had he paid.”
-- Richard Bachman, “Thinner.”

New Year's Resolution
by Big Beautiful Dreamer​*

As the shouts of “Happy New Year!” reached our ears, I took a last drag on what I swore (for the fourth time) would be my last cigarette ever, stubbed the butt out and dropped it into the ash minder by the doors. I shivered as the wind picked up.

“Let’s go back inside,” I said, taking Louise’s arm. Inside, we kissed, and I reflected on how lovely it would be to have the snogging without the smoke taste.

“I love you, Idris Owen,” Louise murmured.

“I love you back, Louise Morgan,” I mumbled into her lavender-smelling hair. I knew she had to have it on pretty strong for me to be able to smell it and hoped my muted senses of smell and taste would come back soon.

The next morning, we awoke around ten. I groaned and stretched, discovering that I was wearing my trousers, undone, and nothing else.

“When we got home,” Louise informed me, “All you would say is that your trousers were too tight. I got you into bed and undid them and you were out like a light. I got your shirt and tie off.”

“Well,” I mumbled. “Thanks. Ooh.” I winced as Louise opened the blinds. Clearly, I’d drunk more than she had. Surely I hadn’t had that much champagne. On the other hand, I had a splitting headache. The part of my brain that wasn’t pounding appreciated the mild pun. “Give me a cigarette?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, come on. Just one? Then I’ll quit, I swear.”

“You already quit.” Her expression softening, she said, “Look, you need some food in your stomach. I’ll make breakfast.”

My stomach churned at the thought of eating anything. My head throbbed. My mouth was parched, my whole body shaking. I wanted a cigarette worse than I’d ever wanted anything. Just one. But I knew there were none in the house, I’d gotten rid of them the day before, and there would be nothing open. I cursed as I got up, stretching, and kicked off my trousers, and took my time in the shower but didn’t bother to shave. By the time I got to the kitchen, Louise had laid out sausages, soft-boiled eggs, toast, sardines, and strong tea.

Gingerly I sipped at the tea, my head pounding, and swallowed the aspirins she handed me. I wanted a cigarette. Fiercely, I snatched a sausage with my fingers and shoved it in my mouth. The mouthful of spicy meat somewhat eased my desire for a cigarette. Just to have something, anything, for my hands and mouth to do. To my surprise, I ate everything, drank three cups of tea, and declared myself possibly alive. I started to grouse to Louise about how badly I wanted a cigarette, but bit my tongue. She knew. She’d quit smoking a year ago. Since then, I’d done my smoking outside, at the pub, in the bathroom when she was out, anywhere to avoid puffing away in her presence. She’d put on a stone and a half, more than 20 pounds, and had griped about it for a while, but seemed to have made her peace with her broader bottom and thicker waist.

In truth, I thought she’d never looked lovelier. Her hourglass figure had only been accentuated by a rounder, cushier bottom, rounding waistline, and ripening breasts, and when we made love, embracing her softer figure had been driving me wild. I’d been a bit antsy about weight gain myself, but after all, how bad could a stone or so be? It certainly looked good on Louise, I thought, gazing unabashedly as she did the washing up in her thin dressing gown. Anyway -- I’d take up jogging.

Or not. The next nine days in a row it was either raining, sleeting, or blowing. The trainers stayed in the closet and I went back to writing my soap opera scripts, only craving a cigarette every ten minutes or so. I fought it by drifting to the kitchen instead and finding something to nibble on: crisps, chocolate biscuits, plain biscuits, cheese and crackers, whatever. Louise said not a word and even came in behind me in the evening to empty the bin that would be overflowing with food wrappers.

My trousers started to become difficult to do up. Why was I bothering with trousers when I worked at home, anyway? I went out and bought several pairs of sweatpants. Script conferences were held by a combination of conference call and e-mail, and I hadn’t actually seen the rest of them for a couple of years.

It was yet another rainy gray morning when I reached for the crisp packet and found it empty. Already? Crap. My mind started prodding for a cigarette. I wanted a smoke so badly I could taste it. I poked at my stomach and it obligingly gurgled. Ah, that was it, I must be hungry. I rang for Chinese. When it came, the servings were huge, as always, and I figured I’d save some for us to have later. Instead, I ate every scrap. The elastic waistband of my sweatpants was biting into a belly now bulging with pork and rice, lo mein, egg drop soup. I yawned hugely, scratching my distended and warmly stuffed stomach. It wasn’t flabby, it was taut. Maybe I wasn’t putting on weight at all. I yawned again, enjoying the pull of my belly as I stretched. Maybe a nap would be good. I was ahead of schedule on the script.

Louise raised an eyebrow as I climbed into bed that evening. “Well well,” she murmured.

“What?”

Louise winked. “Someone’s quit smoking, all right,” she said, with a pointed look at my waist.

I propped myself up on my elbows. “What d’you mean?”

Louise laughed at me. “You’re getting a bit soft in the tum, darling.”

“I am, really? I thought perhaps I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you are, same as I did. Course, men carry it better.” So saying, she slid a finger down the front of her pajama top and gave me a come-hither gaze. I came hither.

The next morning, I pondered my reflection in the mirror. Was I, in fact, getting a bit soft in the tum? I poked tentatively at my belly. Sure enough. There was a podginess that hadn’t been there before, a pad of flesh around my belly button, soft nubbins of love handles framing my waistline, which I now had to admit was thickening. I reached around behind me. Good lord, was that my bottom? Surely not, much too squashy. Ah well. Soft or not, I’d better shower and shave. Louise was taking me to dinner to celebrate eight weeks of being smoke-free. It had been a long eight weeks, but I had to admit, I was looking forward to really enjoying the food.

When Louise came home, she poked her head into the study. “Oh good,” she said. “You haven’t dressed. Look.” She held up a bag. “Got you some new clothes for the occasion.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “What I’ve got are fine.” Why was I so grouchy? “I mean … thanks.” I heard the tone of my own voice and realized again that she’d been putting up with quite a lot. I vaguely remembered her being out of sorts when she’d quit. Was I being as bad -- or worse? Lucky for me Louise was tolerant and good-humored.

Louise winked and headed for the bedroom. “Here then,” she said, her voice muffled, “try these.” An arm thrust out from the closet holding my favorite trousers.

I stepped into them and pulled them up. Were they a bit snug in the rear? I tugged the ends toward each other. They failed to meet as they usually did. I tugged some more. There! I had got button and buttonhole in the same neighborhood. But I couldn’t quite get them done up. My belly was squashing, overlapping, in the way as I hopped and tugged. I kept trying to suck it in, but no matter how hard I pulled there was some in the way. My grunting and huffing was audible and Louise emerged from the closet biting back a grin. “Do me up,” she said, and I did.

Red-faced, I tugged off the trousers and wordlessly pulled the new ones out of the bag, noting as I did that they were a size larger in the waist. And they slid on a bit more comfortably, I had to admit, even though they, too, were rather snug, requiring some pulling as well. They just did up, pressed against my gut. Just how podgy was I getting? Louise came up behind me and embraced me, sliding her hands up and down my bare chest and softening midsection and turned me around for a kiss.

“Mm,” she murmured. “It’s lovely to snog without smoke.”

I grinned and kissed her back. “I agree,” I murmured. “But I would kill for a cigarette.”

I forgot about wanting a cigarette as the taxi pulled up in front of Gordon Ramsay’s Boxwood Café. “Good heavens,” I said, “how on earth did you get a reservation?”

“I placed it eight weeks ago, love,” Louise purred. 

“You had an awful lot of faith in me,” I grunted. Louise winked.

For starters, I chose a linguine of crab with chili and wild garlic, while Louise had the duck and foie gras parfait with Champagne jelly and toasted brioche. We shared back and forth, of course, but I had more than my fair share. The starters were generously portioned and by the time the plates were empty I could feel himself beginning to fill up and my waistband starting to pinch.

In a seafood mood, I followed with the brill, salmon and lobster pie, while Louise, whose starter had mainly disappeared into I, chose Cornish spring lamb. 

“I’m full already,” Louise declared, but everything looked so good that we added side orders of grilled leeks, grilled tomatoes with garlic, and green beans with walnuts and lemon. Of course, it was too much food, and we had already tucked away quite a lot, but each bite was so breathtakingly delicious that it called for another and another. I was full, I was stuffed, I was groaning, but it was streets better than the biscuits and cola I’d been stuffing myself with for weeks and the frozen dinners that were all Louise could make. 

I had to restrain myself to keep from moaning aloud as each succulent bite melted in my mouth and slid down to my swelling belly, which I could feel steadily stretching and pulling. The waistband tugged and I could feel the beginnings of a proper stomach ache, but it was so good I had to have another bite. In the occasional peripheral glance I could actually see my gut protruding, pushing over the waistband, which had become uncomfortably snug. With every swallow my belly responded with a gravid heaviness, warm and packed to the gills, the abdominal muscles pulling, sides aching. 

Louise, too, had eaten heartily and her face was flushed, her hair damp around her face. All I could see of her was from the chest up, but that much of her dress was starting to tug and pull, her cleavage more pronounced, a dampness at her collarbone.

My new trousers had long been undone by the time we settled on white chocolate cheesecake and a pain au chocolat bread-pudding. I sipped at the coffee, intending to have just one bite, but of course the first mouthful was so good I had to have another. As with the starters we swapped and I got a lot more of Louise’s than she did of mine. She got a healthy dose of it, though. By the time we finally, groaningly, stood and tried to stretch, her dress was pulled snugly against her bloated tummy, which ballooned out as though she were pregnant, her abdomen roundly swollen, the fabric stretched nearly to translucence, the seams visibly straining.

“Ooh,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her bulging middle and stifling a belch. “Oh, I ate too much.” She waddled slowly and cautiously toward the exit, one hand on her bloated heaviness, the other cradling it as though it would drag her to the ground.

I laid a hand on my own swollen and aching belly, finding it distended and sore. I was afraid to put any pressure on it and like Louise, I found I was so full that it hurt to straighten up; I was afraid I would burst. “Mm,” was all I could manage as, slowly, we made their way to the sidewalk. In the taxi, we both leaned back, achingly replete. The presence of the driver inhibited our conversation, but as soon as we were in the house we looked at each other and groaned aloud. 

“Quick, undo my dress,” Louise said, short of breath. She turned and almost lost her balance, grabbing my arm. 

“Oof, don’t, careful,” I said. Steadying her, I ran the zip down. It caught twice but at last was undone and immediately spread wide in relief. Awkwardly, too stuffed to raise her arms, Louise shrugged out of the dress and gently sank onto the bed, moaning with satiation as her belly sloshed. She propped her head onto her pillows, bent her legs to make peaks of her knees, and gently massaged her rounded, taut belly, which was audibly gurgling and squeaking.

I, meanwhile, had tugged off my undone trousers, my underpants, unbuttoned my shirt, yanked off my tie, and sat down heavily on the bed. Grunting with effort, I got my socks off and lay down next to Louise.

“I think (hic!) we celebrated,” I panted, too full to draw a deep breath. I belched twice, patting my gorged belly, feeling the hollow thump and the taut distention of my own fullness. I began to slowly and dopily massage my swollen and aching stomach but felt Louise’s hand warm on my heavily full tummy. I put my own hand on her protruding and tender belly.

“You know what?” I mumbled into her tumble of hair.

“Mm.”

“I don’t want a cigarette.”


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Jan 1, 2008)

Dedicated to all those good Dimmers and friends out there who have resolved to quit smoking. I have several friends who have tried and succeeded. Good luck with this and other resolutions!


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## samster (Jan 1, 2008)

Really enjoyable read and I loved the picture of Louise at Gordon Ramsey's restaurant - nothing like a lady dressed up indulging herself and showing the signs of her indulgence. The food they were eating sounded great too. Also, a cool topic with weight gain around quitting smoking. It does happen and eating is alot better for you I loved the idea Louise saw it coming and booked ahead.

Your two characters really worked well together and it was easy to picture them actually as a couple. Its hard to explain what I mean but the WG was sort of based around their relationship rather than Louise just shoving food on him. Sort of, she loved him and knew it was a positive sign because she knew he was kicking the smoking. All this shone through in the story.

Anyways enough rambling from me and I really enjoyed the read and thanks very much!


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## Koldun (Jan 2, 2008)

Yummy as usual.


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