Polarisdreamerr
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- May 16, 2018
- Messages
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Description: An injured college athlete takes up beer pong to pass the time while healing and gains a belly, along with a new perspective. (SWG, stuffing, burping, teasing, exercise fails)
Authors Note: A one-off story made possible by support from my P*a*t*r*e*o*n. Enjoy!
“I can’t wait for the time when curves and a little belly fat will be sexy again.” My ditzy roommate absentmindedly pouted, as she continued meticulously inspecting the way her potbelly filled out her slutty Halloween costume.
Sofia was dressed up in a revealing red cocktail dress, with devil horns sprouting outward from her short curly blonde hair, and with red lipstick coating her full voluminous lips. She definitely filled out the dress, but not in the ways she probably hoped.
Looking at her now, I could see the contours of her navel pressing firmly against the fabric around her waist. The D-cup cleavage I had always envied and admired on her was fully on display, as was her ever shapely hourglass hips, but that alcoholic potbelly stole the show and ruined everything. She wore a tiny black belt right under the bust, probably to try and make her tits look bigger, but all it ended up doing was make her fat beer belly look even doughier.
“A little?” I skeptically replied, freeing my long dark and curly hair from its bun while my athletic 5’8 130-pound figure remained reclined in my bed. I was looking fabulous in a crop top and jean shorts combo that nobody would see or appreciate tonight, elevating my injured foot with two pillows and watching the ditzy sweetheart’s wardrobe struggles with more disapproval than I probably should have, but in my defense, it was a crying shame Sofia had let herself go. I had such a crush on her last year, I couldn’t help voicing my disapproval, “you’ve got a lot more than a little belly fat going on. You could pass for nine-months pregnant if your gut wasn’t so pudgy-looking.”
I’d watched her clothes steadily grow tighter around her tummy all freshman year, to make matters worse she hadn’t lost a single pound of belly fat over summer break and now as a sophomore her gut was blowing up in size all over again. At 5’9 and 190lbs, it was like someone had stuck a keg in her stomach. It was round and protruded outward across her midsection. Alcohol consumption was the main culprit although her drunken appetite certainly hadn’t done her figure any favors.
“Okay Lauren, you got me. I’m guilty of enjoying beer. I like my potato chips. Taco bell is on my agenda when I go to town. I eat when I’m stressed. I snack when I’m bored. I’m too lazy to go to the gym. I have a serious midnight mac & cheese habit and I’ve always found it hard not to have seconds at the cafeteria.” Sofia vented, as she ventured over to her bed across from me and plopped her thickened booty down upon her covers. In response, the bed creaked loudly under her enhanced weight; however, she didn’t let such an embarrassment distract her from making her point, “But do you know what? I’m having sooo much fun in college. Can you say the same?”
My life in college from Freshman year to now had revolved exclusively around academics and athletics. I never had time to date, party or drink, so I didn’t. In the classroom, I was always that well-grounded and hard-working teacher’s pet making people jealous of my ability to get sh*t done. On the track, I was my team’s best 800- and 1600-meter middle distance specialist. I was quick, I had stamina, with my rock-solid thighs, long legs, muscle butt, lean abs, and firm chest, I had no equal on the team.
My closest competition was Taylor. She was the hot redhead who showed up to practice every day with her makeup on and in a well thought out running outfit instead of a sports bra and running shorts like everyone else. I could never figure out who she thought she needed to impress, but Taylor was rich so maybe wearing all the most expensive brands came with the territory.
The entitled junior was always 15 seconds slower than me or more, probably thanks to her oversized breasts or the fact she was a good bit shorter than me. Either way, the simple fact was that I was just more talented than her, and she couldn’t stand it. Which was a shame, because I had a crush on Taylor too Freshman year until I learned how much of a lowkey bully she could be. Of everyone on my team, she actually looked happy when coach broke the news about my stress fracture during preseason for cross country. The way she’d cheerfully told me to: “Take it easy…” Still rubbed me the wrong way. She was happy I was hurt so she could move up the ranks on the team in my absence, I just knew it!
Sitting in my bed, I forced my brain back to the present and pondered Sofia’s sudden question, I was two months into my five-month recovery sentence and the truth was I was going crazy without having a sport in my life. Sure, I could throw on my pool-belt and aqua-jog every morning, do a full core circuit before eating lunch and train on a stationary bike every afternoon, but even though I was still in fantastic cardiovascular shape, I couldn’t compete. Not until my foot fully recovered.
I wasn’t having fun. How could I? I couldn’t do what I wanted to do. I needed competition, I needed a challenge, I needed a goal to work toward otherwise what was the point? What was my purpose?
“Well, can you?” Sofia hummed growing impatient with my silence.
I honestly couldn’t, but rather than give Sofia an inch, I chose to silently roll my eyes instead of admitting the truth.
Taking my non-response as a ‘no’, she abruptly sighed, rose to her feet and started loudly dragging my desk between our beds.
“What are you doing?” I wondered confused by the blonde-haired air-head’s actions.
“Helping you have some fun.” Sofia replied, as she jiggled her tubby gut toward her closet once she was done moving my desk and clearing off its contents. Moments later, she returned with a handful of red solo cups and a package of ping-pong balls, “You’re not going out for Halloween so how about we play a game of beer-pong and pre-game together.”
“We can’t play beer-pong! We’ll get written up!” I protested sounding every bit the teacher’s pet I was.
“Sounds like somebody’s afraid of losing.” Sofia teased innocently clearly amused by my reaction.
“Am not.” I countered not knowing how to back down.
“Then play me. One game.” Sofia smiled having backed me into a proverbial corner.
“Fine. One game.” I grunted foolishly accepting Sofia’s challenge.
I wasn’t sure where Sofia got the beer from, but she had plenty of it to fill up every cup she placed on my desk. As she set herself up across from where I was sitting on my bed, it occurred to me that I didn’t know the rules of this game I’d just agreed to play. Once I was able to reluctantly admit this, Sofia explained:
“Beer Pong is a drinking game! You throw ping-pong balls into cups of beer. You gotta drink the contents of any cup on your side of the table that a ball lands in. The game goes on until one of us accurately baskets all the cups or if someone’s unable to drink anymore.”
It sounded simple enough, Sofia even gave me a few practice shots before we got started. Of my five or so warmup throws, I only managed to land a ping-pong ball in a solo cup the final time I threw one. It felt just like sinking a bucket in basketball. The surge of dopamine was enough for me to overconfidently encourage Sofia to get our game started.
Since I was a new player Sofia let me start. She gave me two throws, both of which I missed, although one bounced off the rim of one of the cups. On Sofia’s turn, she threw twice and landed both!
“Ha! Drink!” Sofia laughed, as she grabbed the two cups she’d nailed and handed them to me, so I didn’t have to get off my bed.
My first sip was slow. In all honesty, I’d never drank beer before. It tasted horrible. Sofia laughed at the way I winced, but I didn’t let it deter me. Just like taking medicine, I forced my first cup down and then moved on to my second. The beer was extremely carbonated. For someone who never even drank soda, it was uncomfortable to force down, but after a few sips, I eventually did it. Afterward I could feel it fizzing its way down into my lean and defined stomach.
“Ugh… Beer is awful!” I spat shaking my head and preparing myself to throw again.
“It’s an acquired taste. It gets better the more you drink.” Sofia assured me, adding, “And it’s my turn still. I sunk both shots.”
“I didn’t know that was a rule.” I frowned handing over the pong balls and looking quite cheated.
“Sorry, I’m horrible at explaining things.” Sofia apologized, as she promptly rubbed her big potbelly, perhaps for luck or maybe subconsciously, and sunk two more shots.
I began to quickly realize I was out of my depth. Shot after shot, Sofia proved that her skill for this silly game far exceeded my own. I was getting spanked by this out of shape, potbellied, ditz, and it rubbed my competitive instincts the wrong way.
All in all, in my first game of beer-pong, I managed to sink one shot, while Sofia nailed all six of my cups. Severely buzzed after our first game, I stupidly challenged Sofia to a rematch. Declaring my loss, a fluke.
During our second game, I did even worse than I did the first time we played. ** for the first time off of what probably amounted to two or three beers, I felt bloated, embarrassed, and annoyed. I passed out in bed shortly after Sofia left to party and dreamed of one day beating her in a rematch.
…
Never one to take losses well, I challenged Sofia to a game every night from there on out. Our drinking competitions gave me something to look forward to, and a goal to work toward. It provided structure to my life at a time I was desperate for it. We played on school nights, we played on weekends, Sofia was so thrilled I’d taken such an interest in her favorite pastime she never once complained about providing me with as much free beer as I wanted.
For me that equated to about three beers downed every night, approximately 21 drank per week, and thus roughly 84 consumed for the month of November. Sofia was right about beer; it was an acquired taste, and I quickly developed a liking for it. Not just the initial bread-like taste or the slight malty aroma that lingered on my nose, but the tipsy feeling of euphoria after consuming my first 12 to 24 ounces. When the alcohol hit my bloodstream, I got more talkative, more self-confident, suddenly instead of being a reserved and cautious do-gooder with a stick jammed up my butt, I turned into an honest to goodness risk taker. Granted the risks I was taking involved tagging along with Sofia to a party to drink some more now and then, but it was something. It was a start. I was beginning to see the fun in drinking and going out.
Aside from my fledgling social life and nightly drinking games with my increasingly squishy roommate, my routine largely remained the same. I’d wake up early to aqua jog in the pool, attend morning classes after a shower, do my core circuit before lunch, attend afternoon classes, head to the gym to stationary bike, eat some supper, do my homework, and then try to out play Sofia in beer pong. Over the course of November, I got better at the game, but still wasn’t anywhere close to Sofia’s skill level. I didn’t beat her all month, not even once.
I was so hyper-focused on my goal of beating Sofia, I didn’t stop to think of all the beer calories I was consuming. 84 beers per month was roughly 8,000 surplus calories I wasn’t consuming before. That’s about 24 cheeseburgers worth of calories. You gain a pound if you consume 3,500 more calories than you burn over a given period of time, so I guess I gained just above two pounds in November, but I didn’t notice.
In December, our nightly competitions briefly paused during finals week, but resumed with the beginning of the five-week winter session after the holidays. Sofia stayed on campus over winter break because she needed to retake some classes she’d withdrawn from freshman year. I stayed to take some bonus electives too, but mainly I hung around campus to continue having access to the University’s pool for my aqua jogging training and of course, so I could sharpen my beer pong skills with Sofia.
Without many people on campus, parties to go to, or other friends to hang out with, Sofia and I started drinking more. A lot more. Now we wouldn’t just drink two or three beers with beer pong, we’d drink four or five, plus we’d usually share a beer watching a movie together before playing, or afterward to wash down some food. I went from consuming two or three beers a day to drinking five or six over a longer span of hours and I still couldn’t beat Sofia at beer pong.
This extra influx of daily alcohol changed how I experienced beer. Instead of a tipsy euphoria, I started slipping into a zone of drunken excitement. After four or five beers, I was easily excitable, uninhibited, less coordinated, horny and hungry. Sofia often liked to claim after drinking so much that the body just wanted some food to soak up the alcohol. So, after we finished with our nightly games, we started regularly enjoying some late-night snacks to do just that. Whether it be macaroni and cheese, Oreos, or pizza, I didn’t care. Food tasted so much better when I was **. I figured the food wasn’t a problem because I never ate nearly as much as Sofia would.
I wasn’t worried about hurting my fitness or gaining weight, after all, I was cross-training three times a day, but the math did add up. In November I’d drank roughly 19 beers a week, in December and January that number rose to an average of 37. That equaled about 160 beers each month, maybe a little less in December and more in January, but still that was a surplus of at least 18,000 calories each month! Not including the boatload of calories I was consuming in my drunken snack binges! In total, I gained about five pounds in December, and eight pounds in January. Add those numbers to the two pounds I packed on in November and come the start of Spring semester, at the beginning of February, I was 15 pounds heavier than I was before I started drinking.
Did I notice the fact that I’d gained so much weight in a three-month period? Not really. How could I? I had nowhere to be and no one to impress. I was wearing loose hoodies and stretchy sweatpants day in and day out. And then there was the fact that Sofia was ballooning outward so noticeably.
It was like the girl was destined to be fat. If I’d gained 15 pounds in three months, Sofia had gained 35! Every inch of her fattened up over the last three months. She couldn’t stop herself from binging on brews or stuffing her face during every waking hour of the day. Her big squishy belly had grown too large for any of her dresses to contain anymore. Her booty, already overly plump, had expanded to the point that all her underwear were stretching out to try and handle her ballooning butt. Her tits, once tight and perky, had swelled, expanded and widened to the point her bras could hardly contain them. However, even with her chest’s tremendous growth, the size of her enormous gut made them look small by comparison. And then there was Sofia’s face, previously spared freshman year when she started gaining weight, now it appeared her face was finally rounding out along with her chubbier thighs and upper arms.
In comparison, I was still rocking solid thighs, fit runner’s legs, a muscular butt, and a firm chest. I was decently skinny everywhere, except my tummy, I’d gotten a little thick across my midsection. I still had firm abs; they’d just been covered up by a round layer of soft fleshy… pudge. During January I’d had to expand my pool-belt a few notches to accommodate by growing beer gut, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. I’d blamed my tummy’s larger size on bloating, or my period, but I was in denial.
In truth, 15 pounds around my midsection was equal to carrying around three regular-sized concrete bricks in the depts of my softer stomach, or 15 blocks of salted butter or 30 cups of water. It was a significant change. It was as if all the extra calories I had consumed had all landed in that one vulnerable place. My blossoming beer gut was round, had little to no rolls, although it certainly consisted of flab, and produced a slight muffin top whenever I slipped into tighter pairs of pants.
I should have expected that downing beer after beer day in and day out would lead to me gaining a big potbelly and an expanding rear, but I wasn’t ready to face facts. Aside from making a few pairs of jeans harder to button, my extra tummy flab didn’t seem to affect me too much.
My denial wouldn’t be broken until I showed up at the first indoor-track practice of the Spring with my foot finally fully healed, my curly hair in its classic loose top knot bun, and my newly acquired beer belly sticking out just above the waistband of my mysteriously tighter running shorts. It was silly of me to only wear a sports bra up top, but I hadn’t thought about it.
Beer Belly Girl
Written By Polarisdreamer
Illustrated by PersonDudeManGuy
Written By Polarisdreamer
Illustrated by PersonDudeManGuy
Authors Note: A one-off story made possible by support from my P*a*t*r*e*o*n. Enjoy!
“I can’t wait for the time when curves and a little belly fat will be sexy again.” My ditzy roommate absentmindedly pouted, as she continued meticulously inspecting the way her potbelly filled out her slutty Halloween costume.
Sofia was dressed up in a revealing red cocktail dress, with devil horns sprouting outward from her short curly blonde hair, and with red lipstick coating her full voluminous lips. She definitely filled out the dress, but not in the ways she probably hoped.
Looking at her now, I could see the contours of her navel pressing firmly against the fabric around her waist. The D-cup cleavage I had always envied and admired on her was fully on display, as was her ever shapely hourglass hips, but that alcoholic potbelly stole the show and ruined everything. She wore a tiny black belt right under the bust, probably to try and make her tits look bigger, but all it ended up doing was make her fat beer belly look even doughier.
“A little?” I skeptically replied, freeing my long dark and curly hair from its bun while my athletic 5’8 130-pound figure remained reclined in my bed. I was looking fabulous in a crop top and jean shorts combo that nobody would see or appreciate tonight, elevating my injured foot with two pillows and watching the ditzy sweetheart’s wardrobe struggles with more disapproval than I probably should have, but in my defense, it was a crying shame Sofia had let herself go. I had such a crush on her last year, I couldn’t help voicing my disapproval, “you’ve got a lot more than a little belly fat going on. You could pass for nine-months pregnant if your gut wasn’t so pudgy-looking.”
I’d watched her clothes steadily grow tighter around her tummy all freshman year, to make matters worse she hadn’t lost a single pound of belly fat over summer break and now as a sophomore her gut was blowing up in size all over again. At 5’9 and 190lbs, it was like someone had stuck a keg in her stomach. It was round and protruded outward across her midsection. Alcohol consumption was the main culprit although her drunken appetite certainly hadn’t done her figure any favors.
“Okay Lauren, you got me. I’m guilty of enjoying beer. I like my potato chips. Taco bell is on my agenda when I go to town. I eat when I’m stressed. I snack when I’m bored. I’m too lazy to go to the gym. I have a serious midnight mac & cheese habit and I’ve always found it hard not to have seconds at the cafeteria.” Sofia vented, as she ventured over to her bed across from me and plopped her thickened booty down upon her covers. In response, the bed creaked loudly under her enhanced weight; however, she didn’t let such an embarrassment distract her from making her point, “But do you know what? I’m having sooo much fun in college. Can you say the same?”
My life in college from Freshman year to now had revolved exclusively around academics and athletics. I never had time to date, party or drink, so I didn’t. In the classroom, I was always that well-grounded and hard-working teacher’s pet making people jealous of my ability to get sh*t done. On the track, I was my team’s best 800- and 1600-meter middle distance specialist. I was quick, I had stamina, with my rock-solid thighs, long legs, muscle butt, lean abs, and firm chest, I had no equal on the team.
My closest competition was Taylor. She was the hot redhead who showed up to practice every day with her makeup on and in a well thought out running outfit instead of a sports bra and running shorts like everyone else. I could never figure out who she thought she needed to impress, but Taylor was rich so maybe wearing all the most expensive brands came with the territory.
The entitled junior was always 15 seconds slower than me or more, probably thanks to her oversized breasts or the fact she was a good bit shorter than me. Either way, the simple fact was that I was just more talented than her, and she couldn’t stand it. Which was a shame, because I had a crush on Taylor too Freshman year until I learned how much of a lowkey bully she could be. Of everyone on my team, she actually looked happy when coach broke the news about my stress fracture during preseason for cross country. The way she’d cheerfully told me to: “Take it easy…” Still rubbed me the wrong way. She was happy I was hurt so she could move up the ranks on the team in my absence, I just knew it!
Sitting in my bed, I forced my brain back to the present and pondered Sofia’s sudden question, I was two months into my five-month recovery sentence and the truth was I was going crazy without having a sport in my life. Sure, I could throw on my pool-belt and aqua-jog every morning, do a full core circuit before eating lunch and train on a stationary bike every afternoon, but even though I was still in fantastic cardiovascular shape, I couldn’t compete. Not until my foot fully recovered.
I wasn’t having fun. How could I? I couldn’t do what I wanted to do. I needed competition, I needed a challenge, I needed a goal to work toward otherwise what was the point? What was my purpose?
“Well, can you?” Sofia hummed growing impatient with my silence.
I honestly couldn’t, but rather than give Sofia an inch, I chose to silently roll my eyes instead of admitting the truth.
Taking my non-response as a ‘no’, she abruptly sighed, rose to her feet and started loudly dragging my desk between our beds.
“What are you doing?” I wondered confused by the blonde-haired air-head’s actions.
“Helping you have some fun.” Sofia replied, as she jiggled her tubby gut toward her closet once she was done moving my desk and clearing off its contents. Moments later, she returned with a handful of red solo cups and a package of ping-pong balls, “You’re not going out for Halloween so how about we play a game of beer-pong and pre-game together.”
“We can’t play beer-pong! We’ll get written up!” I protested sounding every bit the teacher’s pet I was.
“Sounds like somebody’s afraid of losing.” Sofia teased innocently clearly amused by my reaction.
“Am not.” I countered not knowing how to back down.
“Then play me. One game.” Sofia smiled having backed me into a proverbial corner.
“Fine. One game.” I grunted foolishly accepting Sofia’s challenge.
I wasn’t sure where Sofia got the beer from, but she had plenty of it to fill up every cup she placed on my desk. As she set herself up across from where I was sitting on my bed, it occurred to me that I didn’t know the rules of this game I’d just agreed to play. Once I was able to reluctantly admit this, Sofia explained:
“Beer Pong is a drinking game! You throw ping-pong balls into cups of beer. You gotta drink the contents of any cup on your side of the table that a ball lands in. The game goes on until one of us accurately baskets all the cups or if someone’s unable to drink anymore.”
It sounded simple enough, Sofia even gave me a few practice shots before we got started. Of my five or so warmup throws, I only managed to land a ping-pong ball in a solo cup the final time I threw one. It felt just like sinking a bucket in basketball. The surge of dopamine was enough for me to overconfidently encourage Sofia to get our game started.
Since I was a new player Sofia let me start. She gave me two throws, both of which I missed, although one bounced off the rim of one of the cups. On Sofia’s turn, she threw twice and landed both!
“Ha! Drink!” Sofia laughed, as she grabbed the two cups she’d nailed and handed them to me, so I didn’t have to get off my bed.
My first sip was slow. In all honesty, I’d never drank beer before. It tasted horrible. Sofia laughed at the way I winced, but I didn’t let it deter me. Just like taking medicine, I forced my first cup down and then moved on to my second. The beer was extremely carbonated. For someone who never even drank soda, it was uncomfortable to force down, but after a few sips, I eventually did it. Afterward I could feel it fizzing its way down into my lean and defined stomach.
“Ugh… Beer is awful!” I spat shaking my head and preparing myself to throw again.
“It’s an acquired taste. It gets better the more you drink.” Sofia assured me, adding, “And it’s my turn still. I sunk both shots.”
“I didn’t know that was a rule.” I frowned handing over the pong balls and looking quite cheated.
“Sorry, I’m horrible at explaining things.” Sofia apologized, as she promptly rubbed her big potbelly, perhaps for luck or maybe subconsciously, and sunk two more shots.
I began to quickly realize I was out of my depth. Shot after shot, Sofia proved that her skill for this silly game far exceeded my own. I was getting spanked by this out of shape, potbellied, ditz, and it rubbed my competitive instincts the wrong way.
All in all, in my first game of beer-pong, I managed to sink one shot, while Sofia nailed all six of my cups. Severely buzzed after our first game, I stupidly challenged Sofia to a rematch. Declaring my loss, a fluke.
During our second game, I did even worse than I did the first time we played. ** for the first time off of what probably amounted to two or three beers, I felt bloated, embarrassed, and annoyed. I passed out in bed shortly after Sofia left to party and dreamed of one day beating her in a rematch.
…
Never one to take losses well, I challenged Sofia to a game every night from there on out. Our drinking competitions gave me something to look forward to, and a goal to work toward. It provided structure to my life at a time I was desperate for it. We played on school nights, we played on weekends, Sofia was so thrilled I’d taken such an interest in her favorite pastime she never once complained about providing me with as much free beer as I wanted.
For me that equated to about three beers downed every night, approximately 21 drank per week, and thus roughly 84 consumed for the month of November. Sofia was right about beer; it was an acquired taste, and I quickly developed a liking for it. Not just the initial bread-like taste or the slight malty aroma that lingered on my nose, but the tipsy feeling of euphoria after consuming my first 12 to 24 ounces. When the alcohol hit my bloodstream, I got more talkative, more self-confident, suddenly instead of being a reserved and cautious do-gooder with a stick jammed up my butt, I turned into an honest to goodness risk taker. Granted the risks I was taking involved tagging along with Sofia to a party to drink some more now and then, but it was something. It was a start. I was beginning to see the fun in drinking and going out.
Aside from my fledgling social life and nightly drinking games with my increasingly squishy roommate, my routine largely remained the same. I’d wake up early to aqua jog in the pool, attend morning classes after a shower, do my core circuit before lunch, attend afternoon classes, head to the gym to stationary bike, eat some supper, do my homework, and then try to out play Sofia in beer pong. Over the course of November, I got better at the game, but still wasn’t anywhere close to Sofia’s skill level. I didn’t beat her all month, not even once.
I was so hyper-focused on my goal of beating Sofia, I didn’t stop to think of all the beer calories I was consuming. 84 beers per month was roughly 8,000 surplus calories I wasn’t consuming before. That’s about 24 cheeseburgers worth of calories. You gain a pound if you consume 3,500 more calories than you burn over a given period of time, so I guess I gained just above two pounds in November, but I didn’t notice.
In December, our nightly competitions briefly paused during finals week, but resumed with the beginning of the five-week winter session after the holidays. Sofia stayed on campus over winter break because she needed to retake some classes she’d withdrawn from freshman year. I stayed to take some bonus electives too, but mainly I hung around campus to continue having access to the University’s pool for my aqua jogging training and of course, so I could sharpen my beer pong skills with Sofia.
Without many people on campus, parties to go to, or other friends to hang out with, Sofia and I started drinking more. A lot more. Now we wouldn’t just drink two or three beers with beer pong, we’d drink four or five, plus we’d usually share a beer watching a movie together before playing, or afterward to wash down some food. I went from consuming two or three beers a day to drinking five or six over a longer span of hours and I still couldn’t beat Sofia at beer pong.
This extra influx of daily alcohol changed how I experienced beer. Instead of a tipsy euphoria, I started slipping into a zone of drunken excitement. After four or five beers, I was easily excitable, uninhibited, less coordinated, horny and hungry. Sofia often liked to claim after drinking so much that the body just wanted some food to soak up the alcohol. So, after we finished with our nightly games, we started regularly enjoying some late-night snacks to do just that. Whether it be macaroni and cheese, Oreos, or pizza, I didn’t care. Food tasted so much better when I was **. I figured the food wasn’t a problem because I never ate nearly as much as Sofia would.
I wasn’t worried about hurting my fitness or gaining weight, after all, I was cross-training three times a day, but the math did add up. In November I’d drank roughly 19 beers a week, in December and January that number rose to an average of 37. That equaled about 160 beers each month, maybe a little less in December and more in January, but still that was a surplus of at least 18,000 calories each month! Not including the boatload of calories I was consuming in my drunken snack binges! In total, I gained about five pounds in December, and eight pounds in January. Add those numbers to the two pounds I packed on in November and come the start of Spring semester, at the beginning of February, I was 15 pounds heavier than I was before I started drinking.
Did I notice the fact that I’d gained so much weight in a three-month period? Not really. How could I? I had nowhere to be and no one to impress. I was wearing loose hoodies and stretchy sweatpants day in and day out. And then there was the fact that Sofia was ballooning outward so noticeably.
It was like the girl was destined to be fat. If I’d gained 15 pounds in three months, Sofia had gained 35! Every inch of her fattened up over the last three months. She couldn’t stop herself from binging on brews or stuffing her face during every waking hour of the day. Her big squishy belly had grown too large for any of her dresses to contain anymore. Her booty, already overly plump, had expanded to the point that all her underwear were stretching out to try and handle her ballooning butt. Her tits, once tight and perky, had swelled, expanded and widened to the point her bras could hardly contain them. However, even with her chest’s tremendous growth, the size of her enormous gut made them look small by comparison. And then there was Sofia’s face, previously spared freshman year when she started gaining weight, now it appeared her face was finally rounding out along with her chubbier thighs and upper arms.
In comparison, I was still rocking solid thighs, fit runner’s legs, a muscular butt, and a firm chest. I was decently skinny everywhere, except my tummy, I’d gotten a little thick across my midsection. I still had firm abs; they’d just been covered up by a round layer of soft fleshy… pudge. During January I’d had to expand my pool-belt a few notches to accommodate by growing beer gut, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. I’d blamed my tummy’s larger size on bloating, or my period, but I was in denial.
In truth, 15 pounds around my midsection was equal to carrying around three regular-sized concrete bricks in the depts of my softer stomach, or 15 blocks of salted butter or 30 cups of water. It was a significant change. It was as if all the extra calories I had consumed had all landed in that one vulnerable place. My blossoming beer gut was round, had little to no rolls, although it certainly consisted of flab, and produced a slight muffin top whenever I slipped into tighter pairs of pants.
I should have expected that downing beer after beer day in and day out would lead to me gaining a big potbelly and an expanding rear, but I wasn’t ready to face facts. Aside from making a few pairs of jeans harder to button, my extra tummy flab didn’t seem to affect me too much.
My denial wouldn’t be broken until I showed up at the first indoor-track practice of the Spring with my foot finally fully healed, my curly hair in its classic loose top knot bun, and my newly acquired beer belly sticking out just above the waistband of my mysteriously tighter running shorts. It was silly of me to only wear a sports bra up top, but I hadn’t thought about it.
