# Viva Las Vegas - by Big Beautiful Dreamer (~BBW, ~BHM, Eating, Love, Sex, ~SWG)



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (May 26, 2007)

_~BBW, ~BHM, Eating, Love, Sex, ~SWG_ - Two young people learn what important to share in life

*Viva Las Vegas
by Big Beautiful Dreamer​*
Tiffany!

Tiffany jumped a foot, her hand still in the cookie jar. Rats! Mom had come home earlier than shed expected.

What do you think youre doing?

Duh, stupid question. Just getting a little snack.

I think you need to cut back on little snacks, her mother replied, giving Tiffany a gentle smack on the butt over which, it was true, her jeans were quite snugly stretched.

Pouting, Tiffany retrieved a Diet Coke from the refrigerator and sulked her way back to the garage apartment shed been living in since graduating from college. Jobs werent easy to find for English majors, and Tiffany was determined to work for a couple of years before hitting graduate school.
Tiffany flopped into the second-hand papa-san chair just as the phone rang. 

She popped the top on the can. Hello?

Hey, Tiff. Guess what?

Johnny Depp called to propose.

Tiffanys best friend, Jo, snorted. I turned him down. He wanted a pre-nup.

Youre dating Ellen Degeneres?

Jo snorted again. Shut up. Look, Ill tell you. Brandon is moving to Seattle. He wants me to come too. But his parents are dead set against us living together. Look  why dont you come with me? Well share an apartment, well find jobs 

Jos voice trailed off.

Mmm. Let me think about that one, okay?

Whats to think about?

Im not quite as impulsive as you are, Tiffany said gently.

Well, think fast, Jo said. 

Bye. She hung up. 

Tiffany was used to Jos abruptness. On her it was cute.

Tiffany did think about it. Her dad was boring, her mom was a nag, why not see a different part of the country? Ohio certainly wasnt tempting her at the moment. She called Jo back.

Yes, she said.

Tiffanys parents took the news better than she expected, although her mom did say, I understand theyre very health-conscious out there. 

Tiffany rolled her eyes.

It took six weeks, but suddenly Tiffany and Jo were installed in a decent apartment. Jo, who had studied accounting in college, quickly got a job, then wangled one for Tiffany at the same company, doing secretarial work.

Jo spent much of her free time with Brandon, and Tiffany didnt want to be a third wheel, so she developed her own interests. Museums, parks, bookstores, free lectures at the library, whatever was fun and low-cost. She saved her pennies, except on Friday nights when the loneliness would get to her. Then she would order a pizza and a bottle of pop and consume both, slowly, all by herself.

The binge over, she would lean back in the second-hand (ok, third-hand) recliner and extend the footstool. She would unsnap her jeans and pull up her shirt. Her belly would gleam in the lamplight, her distended abdomen taut and aching. She would revel in its discomfort, cradle the swollen midriff, massaging it and coaxing up belches. 

It was weird, weird, weird, she knew, but somehow it made her feel good. She would savor the fullness, the unimpeachable sensation of being stuffed to bursting, pinching and manipulating her bloated tummy until she digested enough so that it didnt hurt anymore. 

The next morning she would run four miles instead of her usual three, and it would be over. Until next Friday.

She managed to keep her five-foot-three self right around the 130 range, no doubt helped by the running. But then Seattles rainy season set in, and she hadnt gotten around to buying a used yhird-hand treadmill. 

The rainy season, moreover, made the coffee drinks that made Seattle famous all the more tempting. Tiffany had been dazzled by the long list of choices that even the tiniest, grungiest coffee bars offered and had begun experimenting. She had no idea that some of them translated to as many calories as a fast-food meal. On some particularly rainy and gray days, she had one in the morning and one on the way home from work. 

The cool gray weather also tempted her to more comfort food. She found herself eating deli macaroni and cheese, canned beef stew with biscuits from a tube, sometimes big servings of ice cream with hot fudge and caramel sauce.

Her weight crept up, but she genuinely didnt notice. She didnt own a scale, and shopped for virtually all her clothing except underwear in thrift shops, which often dont sort clothes by size, and whose offerings sometimes have the tags cut out if the previous owner found the tags scratchy or the number on the tag too demoralizing. Jo was all but living with Brandon anyway, only occasionally touching a foot to earth in their shared apartment on which she dutifully paid half.

Thanksgiving arrived and Tiffanys parents paid for a plane ticket home. She hadnt seen them since moving to Seattle, of course. She expected her mom to embrace her in a huge hug at the airport. She didnt expect her mother to then stand back, give her a critical once-over, and say, Oh, my, youre certainly looking  uh, blooming.

Blooming. Thanks, Mom.

Of course, there was a scale in her parents bathroom. Stung by the criticism, Tiffany made straight for it. She locked the door, stripped, and stepped on. The needle stopped at 145. Whoo. Fifteen pounds showed up quite a bit on someone her height; lets face it, there werent that many places for the pounds to hide. 

She looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, her face was fuller, she had to admit. Her chin was softer, her arms a little doughier. Her breasts had unmistakably inflated and her tummy  well  it, um, protruded. She turned sideways. It wasnt awful, but it wasnt lovely, either.

At supper, Tiffany served herself reasonable portions and declined dessert. Her mother beamed. 
_
"Shut up, Mom."_ Tiffany thought. She had no intentions of denying herself on the morrow. 

And she didnt.

Then again, neither did anyone else.

Tiffany, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved sweater, actually looked very pretty as she sat at the table with her parents, her older brother, his fiancée, and her younger sister. Her hair was shining, swinging softly at chin level, and her cheeks were rosy. Her eyes were bright. She lifted her wineglass with the others in a toast to the day and began filling her plate.

She piled it high, as everyone did, even her mom, and poured gravy on. Then she dug in. Shed meant to pace herself, but her plate seemed to be empty awfully fast. On a normal day, she would stop eating, but today was a festival of fullness. 

A feast of fat things, she dimly remembered. From the Bible? Shakespeare? Whatever. Her tummy was pleasantly full, but the food was so good, she was so glad to be around the table with her family, no one else was stopping, she piled her plate high again. She became aware of her stomachs growing fullness, the waistband of her jeans pressing against her softening waistline, her gut sending satiation signals, which she ignored.

She paused only briefly as a surge of heartburn flared, then she continued chowing down. Her stomach stretched and groaned, she could feel her sides swelling, her jeans were really becoming snug. She discreetly undid the button and suppressed a belch. She should stop. She found herself puffing. 

Determinedly, she soldiered through the remnants of what was on her plate, finally managing to clean her plate. Wow, was she full! Her eyelids were growing heavy and her stomach ached. She looked down. She could actually see her midriff bulging, her bloated tummy pushing against the sweater fabric.

Incredibly, her mom was bringing out two pies, pumpkin and apple. Her dad took a slice of each. Her brother took a slice of each. Her sister took a slice of each. Her brothers fiancée took a slice of each. Well, in for a penny Tiffany took a slice of each. And stared at her plate. She was so full she could hardly summon the energy to lift her fork. She surely didnt want to eat any more. 

But even as her gut sloshed, the scent of pie wafted to her nostrils. She watched herself slice of the tips of both and eat, the flavors mingling. Before she knew it, the plate was empty. With the rest of her family, Tiffany pushed back her chair. She grunted, hauling herself to her feet. The gravid weight of her overloaded belly sagged, almost pulling her back down. 

She tried to straighten up, but it hurt too much. At the first attempt, discomfort sliced along the circumference of her distended abdomen and instinctively she slouched again. 

Awkwardly, in a half-crouch, she wobbled toward the sofa. She cautiously lowered herself onto it, grunting with effort as she hefted her feet onto the coffee table. Leaning back brought a small measure of relief. With an entirely involuntary groan, she laid her hands on top of her bloated midriff and blinked slowly.

She was not alone. The rest of the family was likewise reclining, taking the pressure of distended and aching bellies, unsnapping jeans, putting feet up. Amid groans came half-hearted boasting about how full they were.

Ohhh (urp)  ate too much, her brother offered.

His fiancée hiccupped delicately. Oo, me too.

Her sister shifted uncomfortably in her seat. I always swear I wont  but then I do.

Her dad belched loudly. Overfilled the tank there. He glanced over at 

Tiffany. Tiff? You okay?

Tiffany moaned. No  (urp)  ate too much, she admitted. Her dad was still gazing at her.

You still running?

Three miles every day, she said truthfully.

Good, good. He sighed. You dont want to let the pounds pile on.

Tiffany managed not to roll her eyes. It was good to get home  but it would also be good to get back to Seattle.

Something about the trip home, though, had made her solo status painfully acute. One afternoon, instead of getting a coffee drink and heading out, she claimed a table in the coffee shop. She barely glanced at the guy next in line. After he doctored his coffee, however, he glanced at her, then held his gaze.

Hi, he said.

She nodded politely.

He indicated the other chair. May I?

Sure.

He held out his hand. Im Cory Tomlinson.

Tiffany Miller.

They chatted. He was from Portland, Oregon; she was from Columbus, Ohio. He worked for Boeing; she worked for a software manufacturer. He was one of two boys; she had a brother and sister.

All the while, Tiffany was looking him over, aware that Cory was returning the favor. He was on the tall side of average, maybe 510 or 511. She guessed him to ring in at around 200 pounds; he was strong but with a layer of flab sitting gently atop the muscle, his belly curving out slightly over his jeans.

Before she knew it, shed made a date with him. He picked her up on time, a point in his favor, and did not bring flowers, which she thought overrated. 

They went to the Olive Garden. Tiffany meant to order only soup, not wanting to look like a pig, but ended up ordering an entrée that turned out to be pretty generously portioned.

As they conversed, she realized shed cleaned her plate, putting all that food atop a big salad and several breadsticks. Suddenly she was full up, her belly pressing tautly against her snug waistband and a belch trying desperately to escape. She half managed to stifle it.

Oh no, she said automatically to Corys offer of dessert. You go ahead. Ill just have coffee.

Otherwise unoccupied, she raptly watched Cory demolish a large dessert. He stood and helped her up. He patted his stomach sheepishly and belched gently. 

Ate a lot, he admitted. 

She found herself blushing. Me, too.

He took her home and, gentlemanly to the end, kissed her chastely on the cheek. That night she dreamed that she and Cory had to eat their way out of a pizzeria.

After a month of dating Cory steadily, Tiffany was up to 150  ish  but he never commented on her appearance except to compliment her, which he did, often. He hadnt been idle himself in the eating department. Tiff noticed that his pants were now visibly too small in the waist and his shirts pulled around the belly and chest.

Since he never brought it up, she hadnt meant to, either, but on the night before her flight home for Christmas, she declined dessert again and Cory blurted, You never eat dessert. Are you anti-chocolate or something?

Tiffany looked down. 

No, she mumbled. Ive put on a lot of weight this year.

Cory cupped her chin, bringing her gaze level with his. I think you look positively beautiful. Id say you could stand to put on a few more pounds.

Tiffanys eyes widened. This was countercultural talk!

Women should have a goodly amount of curves, Cory continued. If I wanted a stick, Id chase Kate Moss. Id date celery.

Tiffany laughed. She couldnt help it. But my mom and dad

Cory winked. You are an adult. Let them have their say, then let it roll off your back. You dont need them to approve of your every move, right?

Hed driven her to the airport and seen her off. On the flight home, she kept replaying his words in her mind. If the subject came up, she decided, she would meet it head-on. It might not be pretty, but it would put an end to it. 

Maybe. 

Of course, it did come up. 

That first evening, Tiffany happened to be alone with her mother in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. Her mother gently patted Tiffanys bottom. I notice youve put on a few pounds.

Tiffany drew a deep breath. I suppose I have.

You might want to take care of it before it gets out of hand, her mother continued.

Tiffany felt her back stiffen. Mom, I run three miles every day. I make healthy choices. I dont mind that Im a little  bigger  she paused and swallowed hard. 

I wish you and Dad wouldnt bring it up to me, okay? Its my concern, and if I choose to be this way, then so be it. She was gazing hard at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry.

Tiffanys mother slid a hand up and down Tiffanys back. All right, dear.

That was the end of the discussion, at least for the moment, but Tiffany wasnt sure how thoroughly theyd put a lid on it. Her mother must have said something to her dad, though, because Dad kept it zipped.

Siblings being siblings, of course, Tiffanys brother and sister had no such restraints.

When Tiffany heaped her plate with seconds at Christmas dinner, her sister, Jamie, made oinking noises.

Shut up, Tiffany mumbled as Jamie giggled. Jamie, of course, was naturally skinny. One of these days, Tiffany thought with some satisfaction, her metabolism was going to smack her in the butt.

Tiffanys all grown up now, her brother, Charlie, added. Getting to be a big girl. He emphasized big girl and pantomimed a pregnant belly. His fiancée, Elaine, popped him on the shoulder. 

That was the extent of it, for now, since it was Christmas dinner and they were all socking it away. Tiffany felt herself becoming uncomfortably stuffed as she neared the end of her second heaping plateful, but it was all so good that, full as she was, she kept wanting one more bite. Her belly bulged tautly below her shirt, which was tugging at the seams, and the waistband of her skirt felt as though it was going to pop every time she drew breath. Her stomach churned and grumbled, overloaded with rich food, and she could feel her midriff swelling, fighting the restraint of that waistband. 

Slowly, reluctantly, she downed a large slice of pumpkin pie. Oof. She was going to pop, right there. Stuffed to bursting, her belly achingly distended, she was too full to move. With an audible grunt of effort she hauled herself up. Her stretched stomach weighed her down as she wobbled in an awkward crouch to the bedroom. 

She perspired with effort as she pulled off her blouse and undid her bra. Grunting, she managed to undo her skirt, which flew open with an embarrassing amount of relief but did not slide to the floor, hung up on her hips, which seemed to have grown. She tugged and jiggled the thing down past her hips to the floor, then peeled off her underpants.

She expected that undressing would give her swollen and aching belly some relief, but she was so stuffed that no relief was in sight. She thudded to the bathroom to relieve herself; afterward, she studied herself in the mirror. Her softening belly was now pulled taut with food, hard as a drum, the skin stretched tightly over the swell of her midriff. She looked unmistakably pregnant. 

In the privacy of the bathroom, she unashamedly allowed a large belch to escape, then patted her bloated belly, producing a hollow thud. 
Gingerly she pulled on the sweatpants and T-shirt she wore as pajamas and shuffled back out to the living room. Her family were not churchgoers, preferring to watch a televised service from some famous church airing their Christmas Eve shenanigans. 

Tiffany reclaimed her place on the sofa. The others had also dressed down. Cautiously she leaned back, cradling her sagging gut. Ohh, did she ever have a stomach ache. Not that she would admit it.

Charlie belched. Eileen tapped him on the shoulder. Gross.

Thank you, thank you, Charlie said, inclining his head graciously. Ate too much, he admitted.

Oh, theres a shock, Eileen replied.

Im pretty stuffed, Jamie said, but that was all she would admit to. 

Tiffany said nothing, but Charlie just had to poke the snake.

Of course, it takes more than it used to for Tiffany to be stuffed, eh?

Tiffany glared at him. Meaning?

Charlie tilted his chin, indicating Tiffanys bulging belly. Sis brought home a little excess baggage from Seattle, no?

Its not that hard to stay thin, Jamie added self-righteously. She who never once had to suck in to button her jeans.

Tiffany made a face. She called to mind Corys words. Then she said, Yeah, so what. Leave me alone, okay? 

A weak answer, perhaps. She braced for the next round. Surprisingly, there wasnt one. She suspected that Jamie would begin to refer to her, in conversations with friends, as, my sister, that fat cow, but the thought stung her surprisingly little. Moving halfway across the country was helping her cast off some of the more claustrophobic aspects of family life.

Still, it was a relief to step off the plane in Seattle, and an even bigger relief that Cory was there to meet her. He must have gotten some new clothes, because nothing tugged at anything anymore. She hugged him, enjoying the cushion of his chest and pot belly. 

He held her at arms length. I have a little surprise for you.

Oh, what?

I booked us space at a New Years Eve party downtown. He led the way to baggage claim, explaining that it was at a hotel and hed gotten them a room. A free brunch the next morning was included in the price.

Cory! Thats really sweet!

Sweets for my sweetheart, he said, giving her tush a squeeze. Mm, a good handful back there, he thought.

The New Years Eve party was wonderful, as was the night in the hotel room. When she got back to her apartment, though, she knew she had to face the music. She stripped and stepped on the scale, watching as the needle quivered and came to an inexorable stop at 160.

Holy moley! One-sixty was a big jump from 130. She sat down on the edge of the tub. Shed gained THIRTY POUNDS. Ugh. Yuck. She looked down at her belly, which was folded into two rolls, and squeezed them. She stood up for a long appraisal in the mirror. Her chin was softer, beginning to double, and her face was noticeably fuller. 

Her hands, she noticed, were plumper, and her breasts were unmistakably larger. Her belly protruded. She turned profile, running a hand along it. It stuck out, there was no other way to describe it. She felt her behind. It was broader and softer, and her thighs were muscular but with a top layer of fat that didnt used to be there.

I resolve, she said aloud, to lose weight this year.

Then she went out running. 

Jo made an increasingly rare appearance at the apartment to announce her wedding date, which Tiffany greeted with squeals and hugs. It wasnt until later that it dawned on her that she would soon be stuck with an apartment she couldnt afford on her own. 

That afternoon, while she and Cory were strolling around the lake in the park, she said, I may have to find a new apartment. With Jo really really being gone, I cant afford the whole place by myself.

Cory squeezed her hand. I know a place.

Really, where? Tiffany said unthinkingly.

Mine.

Tiffany stopped. She turned and looked at him. She felt herself blushing. Um 

Cory sensed her hesitation, and he also sensed, correctly, where it was coming from. Of course  it would be more  proper  if we were married first. 

He dropped to one knee. Tiffany, will you be my wife?

Tiffany gulped. Oh. Oh my. Oh. Oh yes. She started to cry. Cory held her close. Then he pulled back, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Wanna elope?

She thought he was joking. But as they resumed strolling, she thought about the fuss her mom would make over a traditional wedding, the bother of finding a dress, the back and forth to Ohio, and suddenly she just wanted to have it over with. 

Mom will blow a gasket, she said with some relish. Lets do it.

That Friday afternoon, they were squeezed into commuter flight seats on their way to Las Vegas. I dont believe this, Tiffany kept repeating. Cory kept squeezing her hand.

They collected their baggage, rented a car, and grabbed a handout map with directions to the Clark County Marriage License Bureau. From there, license in hand, they drove aimlessly through the area until they found a chapel that appealed to them. The price included wedding outfits from a rack. Tiffany was sure nothing would fit her, but the clerk was sanguine. Honey, theres something for everyone.

Finally she found a tea-length dress with a handkerchief hem, V waist, square neck and silk sash that fit her like a dream. A cap and veil, a bouquet of silk roses, and she was ready. Cory had also found a suit that fit him  if he didnt button the jacket.

Within three hours of landing in Las Vegas, they were married. Mr. and Mrs. Cory Tomlinson, Cory said to the desk clerk. 

Congratulations, sir, maam, the desk clerk said, sliding the register and key cards across the counter.

At the doorway, Cory insisted on carrying her across.

Cory no, Im too big, youll break your back! Tiffany shrieked, but by then she was across the threshold and deposited gently on the bed.

As they rode the elevator down to the casino, he squeezed her tush.

Dont. She brushed his hand away.

Why not, whats wrong?

She looked up at him. 

Cory, Im fat. Having said the hateful word, she could feel tears well up in her eyes. She blinked them away. Ive gained 30 pounds since I moved out to Seattle. It just keeps piling on. Look at my tummy. 

She gave the folds a vicious squeeze. 

And my chin! My chins, she corrected herself. 

And my bottom. And my thighs. The tears were streaming now, wetting her face. She tried to mop them up, but they ran down her plump cheeks faster than she could dam the flow. 

Incredibly, Cory had a handkerchief. He always carried one, or nearly always. He mopped her up, then cradled his wife to his soft chest, making soothing noises. As she snurfled herself back into composure, he spoke, his chin on her head, and she could feel his throat vibrate with the words.

I love you. You are beautiful. I couldnt care less what size your pants are. 

She giggled damply. 

I think you would be beautiful at any size  bigger would be nice  I love your tummy  I love your tushy  I love your face and your (ahem) breasts and your sides and your hips. 

He pulled back to give her a kiss. The elevator doors opened, and they broke apart. As they strolled into the casino, he gave her bottom an unmistakable squeeze. Tiffany sighed happily. She loved Cory with all her heart.

They happily gambled for a couple of hours, Tiffany stopping first, when shed used up the money she had set aside. Cory stopped shortly thereafter, but he wasnt out of money; in fact, he was up three hundred. He was hungry, however, a fact that his stomach stated for him, making his bride giggle.

They headed for the complimentary buffet.

Tiffany, still a little glum about the numbers on the scale, put a modest amount on her plate.

No you dont, her husband ordered. My wife is not going to spend the rest of her life feeling guilty about every bite she puts in her mouth! Here. 

He took the plate away and left her standing, slightly awed, as he went down the line heaping her plate. He returned the plate to her and took his own back, piling it high. Then he led her to a booth.

To Mrs. Tomlinson, he said, toasting her.

To Mr. Tomlinson, she returned.

Now, Cory commanded, Lets eat.

Eat they did. It had been an amazing, exhausting, exciting, unbelievable day, and a long day to booth. Neither of them had had a bite to eat for hours. They gulped their ice water, then attacked their plates like stray dogs, gulping their food hungrily.

Finished, Tiffany leaned back. Ahhhh.

Cory set his empty plate aside. Im going back for round two. Cmon.

Tiffany hesitated only a moment. Then she slid out of the booth.

It took four platefuls to fill Cory up. Tiffany couldnt match him bite for bite; she stopped after three, quite willing to admit defeat. She leaned back as best she could in the snug space of the booth and sipped coffee, resting a hand on her stuffed belly. Her stomach was pleasantly aching, and she could feel her bloated midriff protruding over her waistband, straining the fabric of her shirt. 

She stifled a belch. Ooh, she was full almost to bursting.
Cory was slowing down. He gulped some water. Finally, slowly, he managed the last bites. He belched rather loudly. 

Oops, he said, sheepishly. Whew. Stuffed. He pressed a hand to his bulging belly.

Me too, Tiffany admitted. Grunting, they slid heavily out of the booth and wobbled to their feet. Arms around each other, they stumbled to the elevator, rode up in silence, and made it into their room.

Cory quickly unbuttoned his pants and tugged off his jeans and underwear. He stood rubbing his liberated belly, distended under his shirt, then slowly moved to unbutton his shirt and take it off.

Tiffany likewise hastened to unbutton her jeans. It was a struggle, but she got them and her panties off, then her shirt, which seemed to have shrunk, and her bra. Ahh, that was better. 

Naked, they lowered themselves onto side-by-side armchairs and sat, massaging their bloated tummies, holding hands.

Finally Cory spoke. We should probably tell our folks.

You first.

Coward. Grunting with effort, he rose, sat down on the bed, swung his feet up and, propped up, opened his cell phone.

His parents, understandably, were shocked and a little dismayed, in part because they didnt even know this person. Cory promised a visit soon and they calmed down slightly.

Itll take them time to get used to the idea.

Well, sure, Tiffany agreed. Its an awfully big idea.

He handed her the phone. Come on.

Reluctantly, she reclined on the bed next to him. He held her hand while she punched in the number.

Shock.

Outrage.

Tears (her mother).

Threats (Dad).

Betrayal.

Tiffany kept the conversation moving, knowing that after the initial shock, things might calm down a bit.

Well, her father said grumpily, When do we get to meet this boy?

My husband, Tiffany said stiffly, and I will come out at Easter.

Her father sighed. Look, kitten, its a shock, you know? It will take us some time. Promise you havent done anything foolish now.

It took Tiffany all her energy to say calmly, I havent. Love you. Bye.

Now, Cory said, to business. He stood and turned back the covers on his side. Tiffany did the same on her side, and they climbed awkwardly into bed. There was some grunting and groaning as they turned toward each other, their full bellies sloshing audibly.

They took their sweet time, cuddling, exploring (and digesting). Finally, he entered her slick damp vagina, a box of secrets just for him, a velvet cave. He propped himself up, keeping his weight off her as best he could, but there was something undeniably sexy about the way their bulging midriffs bumped and brushed and pushed against each other. 

As Cory rode her, he could feel his stuffed stomach rolling and grumbling, and hers under him doing the same.

Tiffany lay on her back, hands resting on the pillows, and adjusted her rhythm to his, feeling her distended abdomen sliding heavily up and down, slopping and churning, his bulging tummy pressing against hers, their hips meeting, her pleasure button quivering. 

He came before she did, but kept pumping until he saw that she was flushed, damp, her breath coming in pants and moans, her eyes half-closed and her gaze distant.

Ohh.

Ohh.

Carefully he rolled off her and off the bed, hastening toward the bathroom. He cleaned her up with a warm washcloth before tending to himself.
Then he got back into the rumpled bed and took his wife to his chest, laughing as their full bellies groaned simultaneously.

I love every inch of you, he mumbled. 

I love every inch of you, she countered.

Promise me, he mumbled into her hair.

Anything.

I want us to enjoy life. Lets eat, and exercise, and not worry about how big we are.

Tiffany stiffened, then relaxed. With Cory by her side, anything was possible. 

Okay.


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## Koldun (May 26, 2007)

....I liked it.  Very nice.


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## zonker (Jun 4, 2007)

How prolific you are! And such good writing! Again, thanks for sharing your talents....


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