Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, Romance - A workplace romance blooms along with his waistline.
Alan Roederer sat at his desk in a daze. Idly he moved the computer mouse back and forth. From time to time he closed his eyes briefly as if to sort out what Jeannine had just said.
It hadn’t been all that earthshaking.
It was the fact that she’d spoken to him at all.
He was an editor. She worked in marketing. There was no reason for her to kiss up to him, and as far as he knew, until this morning, he had had to (discreetly) stare at the backs of her knees and her tanned, curvaceous calves in the elevator each morning and merely fantasize.
Until today.
The beginnings of a headache reminded him of his undrunk coffee. He popped the lid off and glugged it down quickly, hoping to ramp up the effects of the double shot he’d had added to his mochaccino, or whatever the hell it was.
“Hi,” Jeannine had said. Well ... purred. And followed it with slipping a Post-it note into his hand.
I’d like to get to know you better. Coffee after work?
Alan had worked for the publishers for eight months. Never so much as a glance from Jeannine until now.
He decided against e-mail. That left a trail. He picked up the phone and punched in Jeannine’s extension.
“Jeannine Tolley.”
“Hi. Hrm. Um, this is Alan Roederer. You, ah, want to get some coffee after work?”
“That’d be great.” Jeannine sounded perked up all of a sudden.
Hanging up, Alan suppressed a large coffee-inspired belch. That reminded him unpleasantly of something he’d managed to forget for the moment.
One of the side effects of a desk job combined with a Chinese-takeout habit had given Alan a gut he hadn’t used to have. Once decently toned, he still had definition in his arms, legs, and chest, but his midriff had softened and was beginning to roll over his belt. He sucked in. A little better. He’d skip lunch. That would make him look thinner, definitely.
The day dragged. Finally, finally, he was able to phone Jeannine. They met in the lobby and headed for a local java joint. She began plying him with first-date-type questions (did they have an index in those women’s magazines?), but Alan still felt awkward. During a silence, his stomach growled loudly.
He blushed. Jeannine giggled.
“Can’t have that,” she said brightly. “What about Outback? My treat.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” he mumbled, flushing. “Gettin’ a little spare tire.”
Jeannine had stood and was tugging him to his feet.
“Needs air,” she said critically, sliding her arm round his waist and giving it a little pinch that was oddly pleasant-feeling.
Of course they ordered a Bloomin’ Onion. Of course Jeannine had to go powder her nose, which gave Alan plenty of time alone with the appetizer. Then there were those delicious loaves of dark bread that got replenished as needed, the coconut shrimp, the loaded baked potato ... by the time they finally declared themselves finished, Alan was disgracefully full. He longed to get back to his apartment and loosen his belt already. His distended belly, aching and tender, strained against the waistband of his khakis and seemed to be begging for air. He struggled out of the booth – had it shrunk? – and there was Jeannine sliding her arm round his waist again, even if the waist had ballooned over the past two hours.
Alan walked – okay, waddled – Jeannine home, then, once he was alone in the elevator, hastily let out his belt a couple of notches and unthinkingly put a hand to his cheek where she’d kissed him.
He floated home.
Reality returned when he thumped onto the bed and kicked off his shoes. He stood again and got rid of the belt, then, with difficulty, unhooked and unzipped his khakis. Tugged them down, underwear at the same time, and was dismayed to find that his bloated gut was not as relieved as he’d expected. The bottom of the shirt was straining at the seams and buttons. He shucked off his shirt and yanked away his tie, and flopped back onto the bed.
Oof. He grimaced as his engorged midsection sloshed heavily, following up with a long groaning gurgle. He got a pillow under his head and lay, naked and faintly sweating, on the bed. Idly he stroked his distended abdomen. He was sated, both with food and with infatuation. Why had Jeannine waited until now to suddenly find him hot?
Damn. He would have to lose weight and fast to keep her interest ... hold the phone ... The little pinch of the love handle. The joke about the spare tire. The way she had outright fondled his flab on the way home.
Alan was stupefied with food and sleep hit him like a brick between the eyes. He dreamed of Bloomin’ Onions.
Love in Bloom
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Alan Roederer sat at his desk in a daze. Idly he moved the computer mouse back and forth. From time to time he closed his eyes briefly as if to sort out what Jeannine had just said.
It hadn’t been all that earthshaking.
It was the fact that she’d spoken to him at all.
He was an editor. She worked in marketing. There was no reason for her to kiss up to him, and as far as he knew, until this morning, he had had to (discreetly) stare at the backs of her knees and her tanned, curvaceous calves in the elevator each morning and merely fantasize.
Until today.
The beginnings of a headache reminded him of his undrunk coffee. He popped the lid off and glugged it down quickly, hoping to ramp up the effects of the double shot he’d had added to his mochaccino, or whatever the hell it was.
“Hi,” Jeannine had said. Well ... purred. And followed it with slipping a Post-it note into his hand.
I’d like to get to know you better. Coffee after work?
Alan had worked for the publishers for eight months. Never so much as a glance from Jeannine until now.
He decided against e-mail. That left a trail. He picked up the phone and punched in Jeannine’s extension.
“Jeannine Tolley.”
“Hi. Hrm. Um, this is Alan Roederer. You, ah, want to get some coffee after work?”
“That’d be great.” Jeannine sounded perked up all of a sudden.
Hanging up, Alan suppressed a large coffee-inspired belch. That reminded him unpleasantly of something he’d managed to forget for the moment.
One of the side effects of a desk job combined with a Chinese-takeout habit had given Alan a gut he hadn’t used to have. Once decently toned, he still had definition in his arms, legs, and chest, but his midriff had softened and was beginning to roll over his belt. He sucked in. A little better. He’d skip lunch. That would make him look thinner, definitely.
The day dragged. Finally, finally, he was able to phone Jeannine. They met in the lobby and headed for a local java joint. She began plying him with first-date-type questions (did they have an index in those women’s magazines?), but Alan still felt awkward. During a silence, his stomach growled loudly.
He blushed. Jeannine giggled.
“Can’t have that,” she said brightly. “What about Outback? My treat.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” he mumbled, flushing. “Gettin’ a little spare tire.”
Jeannine had stood and was tugging him to his feet.
“Needs air,” she said critically, sliding her arm round his waist and giving it a little pinch that was oddly pleasant-feeling.
Of course they ordered a Bloomin’ Onion. Of course Jeannine had to go powder her nose, which gave Alan plenty of time alone with the appetizer. Then there were those delicious loaves of dark bread that got replenished as needed, the coconut shrimp, the loaded baked potato ... by the time they finally declared themselves finished, Alan was disgracefully full. He longed to get back to his apartment and loosen his belt already. His distended belly, aching and tender, strained against the waistband of his khakis and seemed to be begging for air. He struggled out of the booth – had it shrunk? – and there was Jeannine sliding her arm round his waist again, even if the waist had ballooned over the past two hours.
Alan walked – okay, waddled – Jeannine home, then, once he was alone in the elevator, hastily let out his belt a couple of notches and unthinkingly put a hand to his cheek where she’d kissed him.
He floated home.
Reality returned when he thumped onto the bed and kicked off his shoes. He stood again and got rid of the belt, then, with difficulty, unhooked and unzipped his khakis. Tugged them down, underwear at the same time, and was dismayed to find that his bloated gut was not as relieved as he’d expected. The bottom of the shirt was straining at the seams and buttons. He shucked off his shirt and yanked away his tie, and flopped back onto the bed.
Oof. He grimaced as his engorged midsection sloshed heavily, following up with a long groaning gurgle. He got a pillow under his head and lay, naked and faintly sweating, on the bed. Idly he stroked his distended abdomen. He was sated, both with food and with infatuation. Why had Jeannine waited until now to suddenly find him hot?
Damn. He would have to lose weight and fast to keep her interest ... hold the phone ... The little pinch of the love handle. The joke about the spare tire. The way she had outright fondled his flab on the way home.
Alan was stupefied with food and sleep hit him like a brick between the eyes. He dreamed of Bloomin’ Onions.
