Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, Stuffing, Romance, ~MWG - A blind date turns out to hit all the right gastronomic buttons
Part One - An Idylic Evening
For a first date, Jake thought, things were going amazingly well. He’d been skeptical – a co-worker’s sister’s roommate – but Emma Cressman was turning out to be good company. He would have been surprised to learn that more than two hours had passed. Emma apparently had a habit of nursing both her drinks and her food, but Jake, entranced, had unthinkingly eaten rather a lot. Nearly all the appetizer, every scrap of his entrée, most of two complimentary loaves of bread, and was finishing an obscenely delicious apple crumble a la mode.
“Well, what shall we do now?” Emma asked.
“Um.” Jake had to think fast. He wasn’t ready for the evening to end, but the meal was clearly, unfortunately, over.
“Ah, maybe we could stroll along to the African Bean for some coffee.”
“Okay,” Emma said brightly.
Jake signed the debit card receipt, adding a healthy tip, and began to slide from the booth. Whoa. That didn’t feel like it usually did. He frowned as he felt his belly slosh heavily, laden with way too much food. He leaned on the table as he rose, a grunt of effort involuntarily slipping out. He didn’t want to look like a goof in front of Emma. He turned to take her arm and added a bow just for flourish.
Ooh, that was a mistake. He could scarcely bend. His waist was painfully stretched and tight as a drum. Carefully, carefully, he straightened up, feeling as though he might burst … or overflow. He didn’t want Emma to know that he’d overeaten.
They made it to the coffee shop, two doors down, and settled into comfortable chairs with a table between them. Sipping his latte, Jake leaned back to ease the discomfort on his swollen and aching belly. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this full, so stuffed that he didn’t want to eat for three days. As he reclined, his belly visibly protruded, the waistband straining. If only he could undo the button.
Emma tried not to stare too obviously. She’d taken as long as she could over dinner, hoping that Jake would eat steadily, downing a big meal. And he had. Though he had shown up with only a modest pot belly, she thought that he might possibly have potential as a BHM. She could picture him larger … much larger … mmm, she was getting aroused just thinking about it.
"Crap," Jake thought, Emma was stealing glances at his engorged gut. Clearly, his hope that he hadn’t eaten all that much was shot. He must look like a real pig.
Wow, Emma thought. Jake looked so handsome. She loved the sexy way his shirt tugged at his swollen belly, the way the taut waistline strained his belt, the way his bulging midriff shimmered with every move. Jake kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat, alternating between leaning forward and leaning back, trying to find a position that eased the fullness of his gorgeous tummy. And with every shift, his gut wobbled just a little, giving Emma a surge of arousal each time.
She kept up her end of the conversation distractedly, automatically, trying hard not to stare at his waistline, but every time she looked she was rewarded with that pleasing flutter. He must think she was a moron, eyes flicking everywhere, conversation banal. She took a deep swallow of coffee and tried to focus on Jake above the neck. Luckily, it seemed she put on the gaze and the smile just in time, because it seemed that Jake was asking for another date.
“Friday?” she repeated, a handy social trick of echoing the last word. It worked!
“Yes, Friday,” Jake said, smiling gently. “We could meet at Antonio’s at 7 if that works for you.”
She broadened her smile and tipped her head to one side. “Yeah … that works.”
Jake hailed a taxi for her, helped her into it, and handed the driver some money.
“Keep the change,” he said. As the cab glided through the light traffic, Emma sat with her hands fiddly in her lap, imagining Jake. With a start she realized that the conversation, as much as she had been tuned in for, had been enjoyable. Jake was well-spoken, with a dry wit she admired and a broad taste in books that many men didn’t have. Not once had he referenced television, hunting, car racing, or other hobbies that she found distasteful.
Back in his apartment, Jake undressed down to his T-undershirt and boxer shorts, poured himself a glass of water, and sat down in his favorite easy chair. He rubbed his aching stomach, which was not as drastically overloaded as it had been but was still well stuffed. What a pig he’d been! And Emma had been glancing at his fat belly all evening. No wonder. He was surprised she had agreed to a second date.
He’d certainly enjoyed the evening, but had she? Moreover, he was paying for his enjoyment of the meal with his sore tummy, stretched taut and hard beneath his undershirt, straining the fabric. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Abstractedly he massaged his swollen midsection. Ah, that felt good. Never would he stuff himself like that again.
On Friday, determined not to repeat his gaucherie, Jake employed a trick he’d read about somewhere and ate supper before going out for his “public” meal. He watched Sports Center while scooping down a bowl of canned chili and a stack of crackers with a tall glass of tea. Half an hour later, he left his apartment, his belly pleasantly full. He arrived at Antonio’s at 7 on the dot, just in time to see Emma stroll up. They exchanged light kisses on the cheek and he escorted her in.
They were scarcely seated when his willpower crumbled. The server laid a basket of assorted rolls in front of them and the warm, yeasty scent was nearly overpowering.
"YOU ARE NOT HUNGRY," Jake thought as he picked up a roll.
"NOT HUNGRY" as he broke it and nearly went dizzy with the steam.
"NOT HUNGRY" as he dipped his knife into the butter.
"NOT HUNGRY" as he crunched down on the first bite oh my oh my ohmyohmyohmy.
"Definitively.
"Positively.
Mmmmm.
"Not…. hmpf…. hungry."
Jake watched himself eat what would have been a hearty meal even on an empty stomach: a crisp, cool salad, a huge bowl of linguini with clams, topped off with a deceptively thin slice of very rich cheesecake and a cup of strong coffee. And the bread, of course. The amazing bottomless bread basket that kept getting refilled.
Only, of course, his stomach hadn’t been empty at all when he sat down, and he was abstractly aware that he was ladling all that food into a container with limited capacity. And he was making a pig of himself again in front of Emma. Crap!
He managed to keep up his end of the conversation while mentally berating himself. His trick had not worked; just the opposite. He’d eaten as much as ever and was now painfully overstuffed, the huge meal he had consumed resting uncomfortably atop the smaller one. He could feel the strain of his gut against his breathtakingly snug waistband, could feel (and hear) the grumble and groan of his engorged stomach struggling to digest, surely the whole restaurant could hear this symphony of digestion.
He dimly heard Emma suggest that they stroll across the street to the park, sit on a bench and people-watch. With a grunt of effort he could not suppress, he huffed out of the booth.
Oof. His belly was so laden that straightening up became painful. Still, he could hardly remain hunched over like this. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright – ow ow ow – and presented his arm, which Emma took. They moved very slowly across the street and to a bench along a path. This presented a new problem.
So full was Jake that he doubted, having achieved verticality, that he could stand to sit again. If he did, that pesky waistband would slice him in half. Awkwardly he phoomped onto the bench, hoping it didn’t shake too much with the impact, and struggled to find a position that would ease his discomfort, to no avail.
At least Emma seemed at ease – no doubt too polite to mention his gluttony. And she had no idea that he’d chowed before their meeting. She snuggled up next to him quite casually, seemingly pleased that his arm was draped along the bench back, and they people-watched. Emma proved to have a wit as quick and dry as his, and they enjoyed each other’s snappy comments on the passing scene.
Jake employed only part of his mind for the chat, however; a part was efficiently and steadily agonizing.
“How,” he thought, “could I eat so much – again? Where’s my willpower, why am I such a pig, and moreover, why does it only happen around Emma? I don’t pig like this otherwise. Heaven help us, I just can’t seem to restrain myself. Does she let off some sort of vibe? No, stop it, stop it! It’s my own fault, I’m such a pig, oof, am I ever stuffed to bursting, if only I could take off my clothes and lie down and rub my stomach, it aches so much, oh dear, oh dear.”
So his thoughts ran.
Emma, meanwhile, had a different train of thoughts chuffing through her brain. “Ah, my, what a delight that meal was! So pleasurable to see him eat like that, what a man he is, most men these days are as skittish as women about food. If only I’d been able to have a better view of that darling tummy as it filled up! I mustn’t look at it too much now, or he’ll grow suspicious. But every time I do I get that lovely electric surge down below, and oh my goodness, it certainly is bigger than it was when we sat down. It’s so fabulously sensuous to see that swell of midriff, the snugging of the shirt, the pressure of the growing waistline against those trousers.”
Thinking thus, she unconsciously snuggled close against him, quite enjoying the soft warmth of contact with his expanded belly, which seemed to quite radiate coziness. She shivered happily as he draped his arm across the bench back.
“Wow,” she thought. “I wonder if we keep dating, will he get bigger? He’s already got a cute little starter belly. Will it just keep getting rounder and softer and sexier?”
Immersed in their own private thoughts, quite enjoying each other’s company, they passed the evening together. As the darkness drew in, Jake, more able to maneuver though still quite stuffed, hailed a cab for Emma. As he handed her in, he suggested a tennis date the next morning.
“I took a chance,” he admitted, “and reserved a court for 11.”
Emma blushed appealingly. “I’d like that,” she said. “Meet you there?”
Both proved to be about evenly matched – not very good, in other words – so their game was leisurely paced, and they batted the ball back and forth for an hour, getting exercise, working up a decent sweat anyway, and desultorily keeping score. When they’d completed a couple of sets, they headed for lunch at the clubhouse.
Determined to behave, Jake ordered a chicken salad sandwich. It came with a haystack of fries, however, which Jake systematically demolished. Emma didn’t want hers, and insisted that Jake would be doing her a favor.
As he stood, he quite unconsciously rubbed his belly, gently rounded and pleasantly full. He’d chugged down three tall glasses of iced tea along with the sandwich and a double helping of fries.
It was time for Emma to take it up a notch.
"Bam, "she thought. She came around to his side and slid her left arm around his waist. Having established her position, she gently and deliberately rested her right hand against that swell of midriff, so pleasantly pillowy. She felt that pleasant jolt of arousal.
To his surprise, Jake felt it too. His tummy was full, warm and round; his girlfriend was snuggling, and when she laid her hand on his satisfied stomach, he felt a surge, an unmistakable throb of pleasure. A crazy idea flitted through his head. "Who decided that a big belly was bad?"
Clearly, Emma had no such thoughts. She had begun to gently massage the roundness, pausing to slide a hand down the front of his pants – very, very discreetly – and thus relieve the slight pressure. On his waistline, at least. The pressure elsewhere, however, was increasing.
And it felt wonderful.
Good Company
Parts 1-9
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Parts 1-9
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Part One - An Idylic Evening
For a first date, Jake thought, things were going amazingly well. He’d been skeptical – a co-worker’s sister’s roommate – but Emma Cressman was turning out to be good company. He would have been surprised to learn that more than two hours had passed. Emma apparently had a habit of nursing both her drinks and her food, but Jake, entranced, had unthinkingly eaten rather a lot. Nearly all the appetizer, every scrap of his entrée, most of two complimentary loaves of bread, and was finishing an obscenely delicious apple crumble a la mode.
“Well, what shall we do now?” Emma asked.
“Um.” Jake had to think fast. He wasn’t ready for the evening to end, but the meal was clearly, unfortunately, over.
“Ah, maybe we could stroll along to the African Bean for some coffee.”
“Okay,” Emma said brightly.
Jake signed the debit card receipt, adding a healthy tip, and began to slide from the booth. Whoa. That didn’t feel like it usually did. He frowned as he felt his belly slosh heavily, laden with way too much food. He leaned on the table as he rose, a grunt of effort involuntarily slipping out. He didn’t want to look like a goof in front of Emma. He turned to take her arm and added a bow just for flourish.
Ooh, that was a mistake. He could scarcely bend. His waist was painfully stretched and tight as a drum. Carefully, carefully, he straightened up, feeling as though he might burst … or overflow. He didn’t want Emma to know that he’d overeaten.
They made it to the coffee shop, two doors down, and settled into comfortable chairs with a table between them. Sipping his latte, Jake leaned back to ease the discomfort on his swollen and aching belly. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this full, so stuffed that he didn’t want to eat for three days. As he reclined, his belly visibly protruded, the waistband straining. If only he could undo the button.
Emma tried not to stare too obviously. She’d taken as long as she could over dinner, hoping that Jake would eat steadily, downing a big meal. And he had. Though he had shown up with only a modest pot belly, she thought that he might possibly have potential as a BHM. She could picture him larger … much larger … mmm, she was getting aroused just thinking about it.
"Crap," Jake thought, Emma was stealing glances at his engorged gut. Clearly, his hope that he hadn’t eaten all that much was shot. He must look like a real pig.
Wow, Emma thought. Jake looked so handsome. She loved the sexy way his shirt tugged at his swollen belly, the way the taut waistline strained his belt, the way his bulging midriff shimmered with every move. Jake kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat, alternating between leaning forward and leaning back, trying to find a position that eased the fullness of his gorgeous tummy. And with every shift, his gut wobbled just a little, giving Emma a surge of arousal each time.
She kept up her end of the conversation distractedly, automatically, trying hard not to stare at his waistline, but every time she looked she was rewarded with that pleasing flutter. He must think she was a moron, eyes flicking everywhere, conversation banal. She took a deep swallow of coffee and tried to focus on Jake above the neck. Luckily, it seemed she put on the gaze and the smile just in time, because it seemed that Jake was asking for another date.
“Friday?” she repeated, a handy social trick of echoing the last word. It worked!
“Yes, Friday,” Jake said, smiling gently. “We could meet at Antonio’s at 7 if that works for you.”
She broadened her smile and tipped her head to one side. “Yeah … that works.”
Jake hailed a taxi for her, helped her into it, and handed the driver some money.
“Keep the change,” he said. As the cab glided through the light traffic, Emma sat with her hands fiddly in her lap, imagining Jake. With a start she realized that the conversation, as much as she had been tuned in for, had been enjoyable. Jake was well-spoken, with a dry wit she admired and a broad taste in books that many men didn’t have. Not once had he referenced television, hunting, car racing, or other hobbies that she found distasteful.
Back in his apartment, Jake undressed down to his T-undershirt and boxer shorts, poured himself a glass of water, and sat down in his favorite easy chair. He rubbed his aching stomach, which was not as drastically overloaded as it had been but was still well stuffed. What a pig he’d been! And Emma had been glancing at his fat belly all evening. No wonder. He was surprised she had agreed to a second date.
He’d certainly enjoyed the evening, but had she? Moreover, he was paying for his enjoyment of the meal with his sore tummy, stretched taut and hard beneath his undershirt, straining the fabric. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Abstractedly he massaged his swollen midsection. Ah, that felt good. Never would he stuff himself like that again.
On Friday, determined not to repeat his gaucherie, Jake employed a trick he’d read about somewhere and ate supper before going out for his “public” meal. He watched Sports Center while scooping down a bowl of canned chili and a stack of crackers with a tall glass of tea. Half an hour later, he left his apartment, his belly pleasantly full. He arrived at Antonio’s at 7 on the dot, just in time to see Emma stroll up. They exchanged light kisses on the cheek and he escorted her in.
They were scarcely seated when his willpower crumbled. The server laid a basket of assorted rolls in front of them and the warm, yeasty scent was nearly overpowering.
"YOU ARE NOT HUNGRY," Jake thought as he picked up a roll.
"NOT HUNGRY" as he broke it and nearly went dizzy with the steam.
"NOT HUNGRY" as he dipped his knife into the butter.
"NOT HUNGRY" as he crunched down on the first bite oh my oh my ohmyohmyohmy.
"Definitively.
"Positively.
Mmmmm.
"Not…. hmpf…. hungry."
Jake watched himself eat what would have been a hearty meal even on an empty stomach: a crisp, cool salad, a huge bowl of linguini with clams, topped off with a deceptively thin slice of very rich cheesecake and a cup of strong coffee. And the bread, of course. The amazing bottomless bread basket that kept getting refilled.
Only, of course, his stomach hadn’t been empty at all when he sat down, and he was abstractly aware that he was ladling all that food into a container with limited capacity. And he was making a pig of himself again in front of Emma. Crap!
He managed to keep up his end of the conversation while mentally berating himself. His trick had not worked; just the opposite. He’d eaten as much as ever and was now painfully overstuffed, the huge meal he had consumed resting uncomfortably atop the smaller one. He could feel the strain of his gut against his breathtakingly snug waistband, could feel (and hear) the grumble and groan of his engorged stomach struggling to digest, surely the whole restaurant could hear this symphony of digestion.
He dimly heard Emma suggest that they stroll across the street to the park, sit on a bench and people-watch. With a grunt of effort he could not suppress, he huffed out of the booth.
Oof. His belly was so laden that straightening up became painful. Still, he could hardly remain hunched over like this. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright – ow ow ow – and presented his arm, which Emma took. They moved very slowly across the street and to a bench along a path. This presented a new problem.
So full was Jake that he doubted, having achieved verticality, that he could stand to sit again. If he did, that pesky waistband would slice him in half. Awkwardly he phoomped onto the bench, hoping it didn’t shake too much with the impact, and struggled to find a position that would ease his discomfort, to no avail.
At least Emma seemed at ease – no doubt too polite to mention his gluttony. And she had no idea that he’d chowed before their meeting. She snuggled up next to him quite casually, seemingly pleased that his arm was draped along the bench back, and they people-watched. Emma proved to have a wit as quick and dry as his, and they enjoyed each other’s snappy comments on the passing scene.
Jake employed only part of his mind for the chat, however; a part was efficiently and steadily agonizing.
“How,” he thought, “could I eat so much – again? Where’s my willpower, why am I such a pig, and moreover, why does it only happen around Emma? I don’t pig like this otherwise. Heaven help us, I just can’t seem to restrain myself. Does she let off some sort of vibe? No, stop it, stop it! It’s my own fault, I’m such a pig, oof, am I ever stuffed to bursting, if only I could take off my clothes and lie down and rub my stomach, it aches so much, oh dear, oh dear.”
So his thoughts ran.
Emma, meanwhile, had a different train of thoughts chuffing through her brain. “Ah, my, what a delight that meal was! So pleasurable to see him eat like that, what a man he is, most men these days are as skittish as women about food. If only I’d been able to have a better view of that darling tummy as it filled up! I mustn’t look at it too much now, or he’ll grow suspicious. But every time I do I get that lovely electric surge down below, and oh my goodness, it certainly is bigger than it was when we sat down. It’s so fabulously sensuous to see that swell of midriff, the snugging of the shirt, the pressure of the growing waistline against those trousers.”
Thinking thus, she unconsciously snuggled close against him, quite enjoying the soft warmth of contact with his expanded belly, which seemed to quite radiate coziness. She shivered happily as he draped his arm across the bench back.
“Wow,” she thought. “I wonder if we keep dating, will he get bigger? He’s already got a cute little starter belly. Will it just keep getting rounder and softer and sexier?”
Immersed in their own private thoughts, quite enjoying each other’s company, they passed the evening together. As the darkness drew in, Jake, more able to maneuver though still quite stuffed, hailed a cab for Emma. As he handed her in, he suggested a tennis date the next morning.
“I took a chance,” he admitted, “and reserved a court for 11.”
Emma blushed appealingly. “I’d like that,” she said. “Meet you there?”
Both proved to be about evenly matched – not very good, in other words – so their game was leisurely paced, and they batted the ball back and forth for an hour, getting exercise, working up a decent sweat anyway, and desultorily keeping score. When they’d completed a couple of sets, they headed for lunch at the clubhouse.
Determined to behave, Jake ordered a chicken salad sandwich. It came with a haystack of fries, however, which Jake systematically demolished. Emma didn’t want hers, and insisted that Jake would be doing her a favor.
As he stood, he quite unconsciously rubbed his belly, gently rounded and pleasantly full. He’d chugged down three tall glasses of iced tea along with the sandwich and a double helping of fries.
It was time for Emma to take it up a notch.
"Bam, "she thought. She came around to his side and slid her left arm around his waist. Having established her position, she gently and deliberately rested her right hand against that swell of midriff, so pleasantly pillowy. She felt that pleasant jolt of arousal.
To his surprise, Jake felt it too. His tummy was full, warm and round; his girlfriend was snuggling, and when she laid her hand on his satisfied stomach, he felt a surge, an unmistakable throb of pleasure. A crazy idea flitted through his head. "Who decided that a big belly was bad?"
Clearly, Emma had no such thoughts. She had begun to gently massage the roundness, pausing to slide a hand down the front of his pants – very, very discreetly – and thus relieve the slight pressure. On his waistline, at least. The pressure elsewhere, however, was increasing.
And it felt wonderful.
