# An American Holiday - by BigBeautiful Dreamer (Stuffing, ~~WG)



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Nov 2, 2007)

_Stuffing, ~~WG _- A Scotsman returns with his new wife to the States and experiences the American phenomenon of Thanksgiving.


*An American Holiday*

*by BigBeautifulDreamer*​

Ian closed his eyes and tilted his head back, the catlike smile that Jackie found irresistible creasing his face. “Okay,” he said. “Explain Thanksgiving to me again.” The Scottish burr, along with the smile, still made her weak in the knees. She’d never dreamed that after her year of study abroad she would come home with a husband along with her suitcases. They’d married in his family’s church in Stirling and met her family at a reception/party in August, when they’d returned to the States.

Jackie sighed. The trip they were making to Plymouth Plantation was meant to enlighten her Scottish husband, who after all knew perfectly well who the Puritans were to begin with. As they approached the restored village, she explained as concisely as she could: the hard winter, the disease, the decimation of the population; the help from the natives; the gradual putting down of roots; the harvest festival. 

Ian interrupted. “A holiday to celebrate overeating,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s utterly American.”

Jackie swatted at his knee and resumed. “Well … so they feasted,” she said. “Somehow, over time, it’s morphed into eating too much. The bounty of food, the good company, the wine … gorging has become part of the tradition.”

Ian raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “One is supposed to overeat.”

Jackie ran an eye down her husband’s trim figure. “Really and truly. And Dad and my two brothers certainly do.”

“Well,” Ian said dryly, “far be it from me to sidestep tradition.”

“Really,” Jackie insisted, “Mom is insulted if you don’t leave the table stuffed to the gills.”

So it was that Ian joined his wife’s family around the table for his first-ever Thanksgiving, surveying a host of foods he hadn’t eaten before, but that looked mouth-watering. Eager to try these colorful, good-smelling dishes, he piled his plate high, happily pouring gravy over the turkey, potatoes, and stuffing. He dived in, taking pleasure in the symphony of flavors. He was normally a leisurely eater and was surprised to discover how quickly he had emptied his plate. Satisfied, he sighed deeply, contentedly, and was prepared to push his chair back. 

Jackie kicked him under the table. Oh. Ian looked around the table and discovered that the huge plateful had been only the first round. He gave his wife a tiny nod of acknowledgment and accepted the bowl of mashed potatoes that was coming around again. He’d eaten as much as he wanted, and so started to scoop just a token amount onto his plate, but then his wife’s foot connected with his ankle again, which hurt, so he gave the other plates a quick assessment and obediently heaped his plate again. Clearly, Jackie had been dead serious about what she’d said. Ian closed his eyes briefly at the sheer American goofiness of it all. A holiday dedicated to eating too much.

“Sorry?” He’d been tuning out. One of Jackie’s brothers was asking about Stirling.

“Northeast of Edinburgh, northwest of Glasgow,” Ian said, swallowing a hot creamy mouthful of potatoes and gravy. He scooped up a forkful of stuffing &#8211; marvelous stuff. Stuffing dispatched, he continued. “It used to be a capital of the kingdom of Scotland,” he said. “There’s a castle there, and several ghosts.” As a Celt, he was quite used to hauntings and hadn’t expected the stir his statement caused. Amused, he addressed himself to his second plateful while the conversation went on a brief tangent.

“What kind of business is there in Stirling?” Jackie’s father asked, bringing the conversation back. Ian took a swallow of iced tea. 

“Used to be a market town,” he explained. “It’s right where the lowlands meet the highlands.” His eyes became a little misty. “It’s beautiful. Anyway. There’s a university there. The castle brings in tourism. It’s also sort of a financial center. Prudential has a base at Craigforth. The Scottish EPA are headquartered in Stirling, and so are the Central Scotland Police. It’s starting to become a bedroom community for Glasgow and Edinburgh.”

That led the conversation into the principle of bedroom communities. Ian discovered, to his surprise, that his plate had mysteriously emptied. It registered at the same time that he was pretty stuffed. Discreetly, he let his belt out a notch. Ah, that was better. His stomach felt heavily full &#8211; he wasn’t used to eating so much, and it made his belly feel warm and taut, beginning to push against his waistband, the button of his pants pressing hard into his gently bulging abdomen. He hiccupped.

“Ian,” Jackie’s mother said, “have some more turkey, you’ve hardly eaten anything.” It was patently untrue, yet she was beaming maternally on him. All round the table, the rest of the family were heaping their plates. Next to him, Jackie was spooning stuffing onto her plate.

“Hey,” he said, putting his hand over hers on the spoon, “save some for me. This is delicious.”

Invisibly, unconsciously, a tiny circuit tripped in his brain. He was full, he was verging on too stuffed really, but he heaped a third helping of stuffing on his plate along with potatoes, squash casserole, green beans, those addictive little crescent rolls, cranberry sauce, gravy. Suddenly his plate was piled high. It was all so good: and, full though he was, he wanted to savor those wonderful flavors again … and again …

“Oof.” Inadvertently he grunted as he leaned forward for his glass. There seemed to be something in the way, and the act of leaning in shortened his breath. He hiccuped. Taking a deep swallow, he set his glass back and rubbed his middle. Tight as a drum! When had that happened? His shirt suddenly felt too small and the room seemed to be warmer than usual. His pants were noticeably, painfully snug, his overloaded belly pushing against the straining waistband. Oof, if only he could undo the button. The waistband seemed almost to be creaking. His belly felt huge, stretched and tender, stuffed to the brim with food and drink. 

He glanced at Jackie. She was leaning back in her chair, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, gaze languorous and distant. Her belly bulged visibly below her green stretch top, which was more stretched than it had been, and the waistband of her jeans had been pushed downward, to somewhere Ian couldn’t see. She stifled a belch, her hand fluttering to her full, damp lips.

Jackie’s father, beaming expansively, his face ruddy, was patting his middle; her sister-in-law was licking her lips; her brothers had finally agreed to split the last crescent roll. 

“Everyone had enough?” Jackie’s mom was asking. Around the table, she was met with groans and sheepish looks. Jackie’s mother stood and pressed a hand to her waist. “Ooh!” She let out a hiccup. Jackie stood, too, leaning on the table and cradling her swollen tummy, and followed her mother into the kitchen. Ian wondered what was next.

Incredibly, a few minutes later, Jackie and her mother emerged carrying deep plates laden with pumpkin pie à la mode. Dessert! Ian could think of nothing he wanted less. Yet the tantalizing scent of the uniquely American dish, warmed in the oven, tickled his nose. The others seemed similarly torn. “Oh, I’m stuffed.” “Just a small piece.” “I really shouldn’t.” Token protests while eager hands reached out for the servings.

Ian was full to bursting. He was sure he couldn’t manage to swallow another bite. The serving laid in front of him seemed huge. Then the scent again teased his nostrils. Mmmmm.

Stuffed as he was, Ian couldn’t resist. He cut off a large bite and spooned up some melting ice cream with it. The contrasts were amazing. Warmth and chill, the smooth iciness with the silken, spicy pie, the mouthful slid right down his throat. His stomach, loaded with too much dinner, gurgled audibly. He shifted heavily in his seat, feeling his gut slosh. Ohhh. He had to have another bite. 

All too soon, the plate was empty of all but a last splash of melted ice cream. Ian pressed a hand to his distended midsection, now achingly firm with not a millimeter of give to it. Even that slight touch felt bruising; the skin was stretched so tightly it had become tender and sore. Jackie unobtrusively guided his hand to her belly, letting him feel how tautly ballooned it had become. She winked at him.

Amid grunts, groans, and head-shaking, everyone was cradling swollen bellies and rising ponderously to their feet. Ian glanced round. Jackie’s father and brothers were looking sated, dopey; belts had been loosened, midriffs bulged. Jackie’s mother and sister-in-law each had a hand pressed to a full tummy; like Jackie, their faces were rosy and eyes fluttering at half-staff. Mom hiccuped delicately. “Ooh, I’m stuffed,” she allowed.

Jackie chimed in. “Ate too much,” she said, punctuating her admission with a stifled belch. Slowly, they waddled in a group to the deck, where a mild breeze beckoned. Having obtained permission, Ian filled and lit his pipe, reclining in the deck chair with his feet outstretched and his free hand resting gently on his bloated and aching belly. He glanced over at Jackie. “Tradition, eh?” he was going to say, but only belched.


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## stuffedbellylover (Nov 3, 2007)

@Big Beautiful Dreamer:

I liked the story. But in my opinion it was too male related as I´m a fan of female stuffing. 

I do translations for a German site about stuffing and so on. I would like to translate this story into German with some changes:

- The Scoth guy would be a German lesbian girl
- The brothers and the sister-in-law are 3 sisters
- the father of Jackie is absent during the story...

I´d like to ask for your permission to change the story that way because it wouks really be a brilliant story. 

Thank you for hearing from you soon!

Best wishes,

Chris


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## Risible (Nov 3, 2007)

stuffedbellylover said:


> @Big Beautiful Dreamer:
> 
> I liked the story. But in my opinion it was too male related as I´m a fan of female stuffing.
> 
> ...



I think it's brilliant as is. Don't change a thing, BBD! The Dims Library is lucky to have someone contributing beautifully written stories that change up the female weight gain paradigm.


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## stuffedbellylover (Nov 4, 2007)

Risible,

I guess we have a misunderstanding here.

I didn´t ask BBD to change the story. I asked her (?) if I could use that story as kind of frame for a German story but with the changes I wrote above. I wanted to ask for permission before starting work. 

Best wishes,

Chris


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## Risible (Nov 4, 2007)

stuffedbellylover said:


> Risible,
> 
> I guess we have a misunderstanding here.
> 
> ...



Oh, I remember you, Chris. Yes, I understand now. I thought you were being critical of BBD's story, instead you were actually complimenting her! I'm sorry, the misunderstanding is mine.

Regards,

Risible


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Nov 8, 2007)

Uh, you certainly may rewrite the story with whatever changes you like, but the writing credit on the German site should be to you, not to me. It's a fairly basic story framework and I don't mind if you borrow some descriptives.


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