# Study Group - by Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BHM. Eating, Romance, ~SWG )



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Nov 28, 2006)

_~BHM. Eating, Romance, ~SWG -_ two law students find more in common than just citations.

*STUDY GROUP
by Big Beautiful Dreamer*​
Getting to campus late was a pain in the neck, Sarah decided. That morning, she had finally skidded into a parking space in the auxiliary-auxiliary lot (also known as “the next county”) and hiked to class. After class, though, she had time to go out and move her car to a better space.

After she’d grabbed a much better spot and was headed up the sidewalk &#8211; that was when she saw him. It was fleeting &#8211; they passed, briefly made eye contact, and nodded, but that was enough. Sarah was toast for the rest of the day, unable to concentrate. 

He was tall, perhaps six feet. He had short, damp black hair and a softly rounded, inviting face. He wore a very faded blue denim shirt, untucked, over jeans &#8211; and over just a hint of a belly. He carried a Subway bag in one hand and his drink in the other. And oh, he was handsome. Sarah had gone weak in the knees with just that glimpse. 

She had to wait three agonizing days before seeing him again. This time, he was leaving the bookstore. She immediately changed course and followed him. He was headed for the library. Sarah waited until they were almost at the entrance before “accidentally” crashing into him. Untangling herself, she smiled and blushed, averting her gaze.

“I’m such a klutz,” she said, laughing. “My name’s Sarah. Sarah Gaston.”

“Hi,” he said, meeting her gaze as she finally looked at him. “Oh. Um, I’m Joe Walsh.” 

She detected a little Southern blur around the edges of his voice.

“Where you from, Joe Walsh?” Oh my gosh, where did that come from?

“North Carolina.”

Their conversation continued as they headed into the library. When Joe sat down at the same table, Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. He smiled at her before digging out his books. Sarah got her study stuff out and made herself focus on her work, though she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at the handsome face opposite from time to time. Several hours passed. Finally they both stood at the same time, laughing at themselves as they stretched and groaned. 

Joe cocked his head. “Could I, um, buy you lunch?”

“Sure.” Sarah kept her tone casual. In her mind, she was saying, “Yes yes oh yes!”

“Uh, what?” She’d missed whatever he said.

“What’s your pleasure?” he repeated.

You, she almost said. She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Hm. The China King buffet on University?”

Joe smiled. “Great. Love Chinese.”

The drive took only a few minutes, long enough to exchange hometowns (Charlotte for him, Richmond for her) and gripe about how hard law school was. 

At the buffet, though, Sarah was a little disappointed when Joe took only a modest amount of food. She’d thought that the promise of a belly and the roundness of his face meant something good was developing. She took a swallow of water and decided to risk a small conversational foray.

“Is that all you’re eating?”

A rueful look crossed Joe’s face. “Yeah.” He patted his belly. “I’m putting on weight lately. Too many late-night pizza orders.”

Sarah let herself look politely interested. “You’re so tall, though. You need more food than that. Besides,” oh boy, “Besides, you want a little meat on your bones.”

Too easy. Joe batted it away without thinking. “Yeah &#8211; just not too much meat!” He laughed.

Oh, well. 

Their conversation took off as though they’d known each other for years. They lingered, but finally he made as if to stand. “Got a 1:00 class.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Con law,” they both said together.

“Wait &#8211; you’re in con law?” he said, surprised.

“I usually sit in the back row,” she said, looking down, “so he won’t see me.”

“Would you like a study partner?” Wow, he thought, did I just say that?

Their first study session was arranged. Joe rang the doorbell promptly at six. Both good students, they dutifully pegged away at their studies for several hours before exhaustion, stiffness and a sheer lack of remaining functioning brain cells led them to take a break.

“Just flop anywhere,” she said, gesturing to the living room. She headed into the kitchen and dished out a big bowl of ice cream on top of two homemade brownies. Joe’s eyes widened when he saw what she was presenting him, and he leaned back against the sofa.

“Whoa, I can’t eat that!” he exclaimed. “I’d never move again.” Just then, his 
stomach growled loudly. “Traitor,” he told it, looking down with a mock frown.

“Come on,” Sarah coaxed. “You need a little something.”

Joe closed his eyes briefly, considering. Then he took the bowl out of Sarah’s hands and accepted the spoon she handed him. “Oh—kay,” he said dubiously. 

Sarah perched on the footstool and flicked on the TV. They settled on a true-crime show. 

“C’mon,” Joe mumbled through a mouthful of ice cream. “He’s toast. Left DNA at the scene.”

Sarah kept up the conversation and as Joe finished up, brought him a big mug of hot chocolate. Joe took it almost without realizing it and took a large gulp. “Ahh,” he sighed, as the hot sweet drink reached his belly. “Ah, that’s good.” 

He leaned back and patted his stomach. “That was a lot of ice cream. I think I just made a pig of myself.” He glanced at her apologetically.

“Nah. Like I said, you’re such a tall guy, something needs to fill you up.”

“Well, that did,” Joe said. He took another gulp of cocoa. “Mm, this is good. Did you make those brownies yourself?”

”Family recipe.” She winked. 

“Nice family.” They both laughed.

The next study session was also at Sarah’s, since Joe shared an apartment with three other guys and the place was unfit for female viewing. This time, they were able to start earlier &#8211; at 3 &#8211; and at 6, Sarah jumped up and took something out of the oven. As before, Joe’s stomach growled.

“Shut up,” he told it. “Something smells really good. Lasagna?”

“Good guess! And garlic bread and a nice fresh salad.”

Joe groaned. “This study group may be hazardous to my health.” 

Nonetheless, he took the plate Sarah handed him, shoving his notes aside, and ate enthusiastically. He accepted a refill, although he protested at the size of the second helpings. “I should stop,” he mumbled through a mouthful of lasagna. “But it’s so good.”

As he slowed, Sarah came around behind him and slid her hands down to his belly, which was beginning to bulge noticeably. 

“Mmm.” Joe sighed deeply.

His plate empty at last, Joe got up very slowly, wincing a little, and lumbered over to the sofa. He sat down carefully and leaned back, unconsciously sliding a hand into his waistband. As he sat, his T-shirt rode up a little, revealing how snug the waistband had become. His belly, full of good food, swelled over the button and looked as though it was stuffed to bursting. 

“Oof.” Joe grimaced as the button sliced into his waist. “Mmf. Ate too much,” he said apologetically.

“Aw, poor Joe,” Sarah cooed. “Here.” She leaned over and casually undid his button. Joe’s eyes widened, but Sarah wasn’t planning to go south just yet. Instead, she gently massaged his full tummy. Joe’s whole body relaxed and he sighed, melting into the sofa like a contented cat. Before long, he’d fallen asleep. Sarah let him sleep while she tidied the kitchen, and as she was finishing, he awoke. 

“Ah &#8211; oh! What time’sit?” Blinking, he ran a hand through his hair.

“Just seven. You weren’t asleep very long.” 

But he was shaking his head. “Made a pig of myself again. That’s a bad habit.”

Sarah bit her lip. If she said it too often, it would become both untrue and nagging. 

Good call. Joe merely sighed, and thumped back into the kitchen chair, drawing his notes toward him. They resumed studying.

As Thanksgiving approached, Sarah learned that Joe wasn’t planning on going home. Charlotte was too far to drive for such a brief holiday. Perfect, Sarah thought. She wasn’t going home either. She made it sound as though she were disappointed.

Joe came over about 9 in the morning, and they watched the parade and then the dog show while Sarah kept things going in the kitchen. After the dog show, Joe switched over to football and Sarah brought him out a big sandwich and a pile of chips &#8211; “to tide you over.” 

She pulled the turkey out at 2 on the dot, and Joe offered to carve it for her. He did a clumsy job of it, but got enough meat off to serve, and they went along the kitchen counter with their plates. Sarah encouraged Joe to take plenty &#8211; “don’t want to waste it.”

As they ate, they talked, and ate, and talked. Sarah paced herself; she didn’t want Joe thinking he was eating alone. As soon as his plate was empty she refilled it, piling it high, and did so twice. Joe felt the encroaching fullness, but the food was good and Sarah looked so appealing, and she clearly wanted him to eat this stuff. Finally, clearing his plate for the third time, he surrendered.

“Oof &#8211; enough,” he said, pushing back his chair. “I’ll pop.” 

He patted his bloated belly, swollen and aching. His shirt was stretched tightly across his new expanse of midsection, and failed to completely cover it. His pants looked uncomfortably snug and he had already undone the top button. Slowly, cautiously, he stood, pausing to adjust his balance to an unexpected center of gravity. 

“Mmm,” he made his way over to Sarah at the sink. “Help w’the dishes,” he mumbled, stifling a belch.

She waved him away. “Go watch football, sweetie.” Whoops! Where had that come from? 

Joe moved ponderously to the sofa and dropped heavily onto it. He belched hugely. “Whoa. ’Scuse me.” He undid another button on his pants and rubbed his gut. He’d eaten himself into a major stomach ache. Without realizing it, he’d also eaten a little too fast at first, making the bloating worse. 

Sarah materialized beside him. Without saying a word, she gently massaged his bulging stomach, discreetly undid the next button on his jeans, and helped ease his immediate discomfort.

She snuggled up next to him, and they watched football for an hour or so. After a while, Sarah got up and came back with a large slice of pumpkin pie in a shallow bowl with an equally large scoop of ice cream.

“Oh no,” Joe said immediately, but he took the bowl, and reflexively started eating. Before long, that bowl was empty and Joe was rubbing his aching stomach again.

“Agh, I’m stuffed.” He shook his head. “I have got to stop pigging out.”

Thanksgiving was not a great time to have this talk, Sarah thought, but they were going to have it anyway.

“Look,” she said patiently, sliding her hand up his bloated tummy. “I think you are the handsomest devil I’ve ever seen. And,” she pouted, “I think you look very handsome with a little meat on your bones. Give it a rest,” she said kindly, stroking his hair.

Joe sighed and leaned his head over so that she was nuzzled against his chest. “Mmm.” Inconclusive, she thought happily.

First-semester finals were over, and there was nothing for it but to celebrate. Joe and Sarah joined half a dozen classmates at the local bar and grill, where they had drinks and appetizers. Gradually, the others drifted off. “Let’s order dinner.”

“I’m full up of appetizers,” Joe said, rubbing his tummy. Over the preceding several months, the tummy in question had gotten noticeably larger. He wasn’t that big &#8211; yet &#8211; but that hint of a bulge Sarah had seen on the first day was no longer just a hint. 

“Don’t be silly. You need more than that.”

For the first time, Joe didn’t protest, nor did he gripe about his weight. He just rolled his eyes and picked up a menu.

He ordered chicken fettucine alfredo. It came in a large shallow bowl. His appetite renewed by the sight and smell, Joe dug in with a will.

The bowl empty, Joe pushed his chair back with some difficulty. He belched. “’Scuse me.” He patted his groaning belly. “Stuffed.”

Sarah ordered coffee for both of them. She got a gleam in her eye. “Just how much can that gorgeous stomach hold, Joe?”

Joe stared at her, unsurprisingly. It’s not something one usually hears someone say.

Sarah winked. “I’ll bet you the cost of a diploma frame that you can’t eat your way out of your pants at the China King buffet tomorrow.”

A bet, eh? Joe stroked his chin. “Oh, what the heck,” he said. “Sure.”

Sarah kept her expression neutral. Score.

The next day, they met up at the buffet, both arriving at the exact same time. Feeling like fools, they shook hands firmly. Sarah looked him up and down. That face was softer and fuller, the eyes a little deeper, their pads of fat a little more noticeable. The chin was definitely two chins now, and his chest was broader and softer. 
\
More noticeably, he hadn’t bought new clothes, and there was evidence of a nice gain. His shirt already strained against his growing belly, and it rode up slightly, displaying a waistband that looked pretty snug. Joe held the door for her, and at the steam tables she took a modest amount before sitting down.
Joe sat down with a heaping plateful.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” Joe picked up his fork. Pacing himself, he ate slowly and steadily, drinking plenty of water. Two platefuls vanished with no hint of obvious discomfort, but Joe was already beginning to feel a little stuffed. He shifted in his seat, but didn’t undo his pants. It didn’t dawn on him that any time he wanted, he could have undone the pants and declared that he had, indeed, eaten himself out of them. Besides, the growing fullness was accompanied by unmistakable arousal. It felt kind of good to be this stuffed.

Another plateful. Joe leaned back and managed to coax up a smallish belch. His stomach was telling the tale. Taut and hard, it tested the stitching of the shirt, which now gapped more than an inch above his jeans. In the exposure, his overloaded gut bulged painfully, squashed between fabrics, making it hard to breathe. Love handles eased out on both sides, belly offshoots looking for a new home. To triumph, he had to genuinely eat himself out of his pants. No faking allowed. 

Another plateful. He was definitely slowing down. He was puffing after each bite, and the bites came more slowly. One more plateful. Could he do it? He piled it impressively high, making Sarah’s eyes widen. One bite at a time. He chipped away at the pile, pausing to press his sore tummy, now sagging heavily, churning and protesting. He was determined not to undo that button himself. 

Amazingly, the plate was empty. Joe hesitated visibly.

“C’mon,” Sarah urged. 

Awkwardly, Joe levered himself to his feet, clutching his gut as he did. There was no question that was one full belly. His shirt, having given up, had slid up above it to the relatively safe zone of his chest. Embarrassed, Joe tugged it back down, but that fabric was stretched thin and still didn’t make it all the way over his swollen gut. A little stiff, he stretched. 

Thwp.

The top button gently detached itself from his jeans and landed on the carpet. 

Joe stretched again, more, this time trying to draw a deep breath, though he was much too full.

Thwp.

Button number two joined the first.

Sarah broke the impasse. “Enough,” she declared. She very, very gently poked at that bloated dome, hard as a rock. “You have done it.”

Joe had triumphed, but he didn’t feel all that triumphant. Instead, he felt queasy and achingly overfull. Sarah helped him to her car and drove back to her apartment. There, he leaned heavily and unashamedly on her as she helped him up the stairs and onto the sofa. 

Just before he sat, she swiftly undid the remaining three buttons and tugged and wiggled until she got his jeans off. The underwear came with it. Unembarrassed &#8211; too full to care &#8211; Joe let her take off his shirt too.

Naked, he sank onto the sofa. Sarah draped an afghan over him, then snuggled up beside him. Tenderly, she massaged Joe’s aching tummy, ignoring the digestive noises. After a while, he stopped excusing himself. 

“I love you,” he mumbled.

Sarah’s response was not well thought out. “Really?”

Joe smiled. Yes (hic!), really.” He continued stroking her hair.

“I love you too.”

“I’m such a pig,” Joe started to say, but Sarah shushed him. 

“All of you.” She patted his swollen gut. “I like my guys big-n-tall. Both.”

Joe slumped in relaxation. “That’s all right, then (hic!).”


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## zonker (Nov 29, 2006)

My, my, you are prolific! Seems like every few days, I find more and more of your delicious tales here.... And they're well-written too! How do you do it? I wish I had your dedication to writing. Instead, I find myself just getting all my pleasure from reading you, Rachel and a few others...


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## beginner_belly (Jan 19, 2007)

C'est magnifique, I love it. your writting is so detailed and realisitic


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Jan 30, 2007)

This is my outlet from the papers and assignments of graduate school. The bursts of prolitic-ness tend to come late int he semester to clear my brain from term paper overload.


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## Melian (May 14, 2007)

WOW....this is the best story I have ever read, and I troll these boards like a fiend. It is so incredibly similar to my current relationship too. Amazing work *applauds*


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