Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, Eating, ~MWG - A nice girl finds love with nice guy by helping him become what he wants to be
Nicholas ought to have been bored, but a curious thought that had been hovering at the edge of his mind for months was becoming more demanding. He straightened up, making the futon creak, and mentally reviewed the situation.
His father had been dead for years; his mother, who had been insensible for the last decade, had died. His relatives were scattered about the country and he hardly knew them. He had received a decent inheritance. He could move anywhere in the country, take up residence, and then leisurely begin to look for work. He could … hence the thought that would not die … reinvent himself.
Nicholas got up and began to pace. He’d always been a cipher, a personality nonentity, basic-model looks, height and sociability. He could go anywhere and become anything! Flopping his atlas open to a map of the United States, he spun around six times and plunged a finger onto … Washington State. Fine, Nicholas thought, good as anywhere else.
That night in bed, however, the siren song of reinvention would not let him alone. He could not become taller or handsomer or more charismatic, but he could change his appearance in other ways. What if that sort of transformation ended up transforming who he was?
He closed his eyes. The few really fat guys he’d seen had such a commanding presence. Nicholas wasn’t complexly oriented enough to think about what went on in their inmost hearts, just to suss out that they seemed to really know who they were. Maybe he’d try that.
The next day, he ran two miles, as usual, but ended his run at the coffee shop in town. The pretty new waitress flirted mildly with him, raising her eyebrows at the size of his breakfast order. “Can you eat all that?” she teased.
“You bet honey,” Nicholas murmured, and she blushed.
The shop was busy, but the waitress kept finding excuses to glide by and check on his progress, giving what seemed to be a nod of approval when he cleaned his plate. He left a generous tip and stood heavily, his unexpectedly full belly weighing him down. The food was a blast of grease, sugar, simple carbs and fatty proteins, and combined with two cups of coffee, it was sloshing ominously around Nicholas’ full stomach.
“Whooo,” Nicholas thought. “Take it easy, champ.” Still, he did notice that the waitress winked at him as he left.
Needless to say, after an a.m. gorge like that, he did not jog back. Instead, he walked. That is, he plodded, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of being stuffed to bursting. His stomach sloshed with every step, churning and gurgling audibly. He felt the jolt of each step in his knees, juddering up through his thighs and creating a seismic vibration around his bloated belly. He was hazily full, somnolent, only dimly aware of his surroundings.
Through the fog of stupefaction, the temptation of reinvention rose. He would move gradually across the country, spending only a few weeks in each location, getting bigger at every stop. A cross-country vacation and expansion. Travel, after all, was said to be broadening. Heh.
At home, Nicholas took a postprandial snooze on the futon, then hopped on the Internet. He found a storage center outside Seattle and telephoned, arranging with the proprietor to store his belongings once he’d sent them. He gave the fellow his credit card information and hung up, whistling. Imbued with new energy, he packed his belongings.
He boxed up all but a small suitcase of clothes – he’d be outgrowing them soon – and hauled the clothes and most of his furnishings to Goodwill. All he shipped was a half-dozen boxes of books, mementos and assorted belongings that he thought worth keeping. He slept in his clothes on a sleeping bag that he planned to leave at the curb for garbage pickup the next morning, and when the sun rose so did he.
This time, he drove to the coffee shop for another gargantuan breakfast. Afterward, he plodded dopily out to the car and drove as far as a park a block away, where he napped on a park bench. At 10:08 precisely, he started his little Saturn and pulled away, headed westward.
Crossing Pennsylvania, he made it as far as Columbus, Ohio, the first day. He found a suite hotel with weekly rates and settled in. Easily amused, he soon developed a pattern. A two-mile run each morning, then breakfast, then back to the motel for a nap. Afternoons were spent in the library, coffee shops, museums, and the occasional movie. His meals were always big, and slowly – imperceptibly at first – he began to get big as well.
It took more than two weeks, but his jeans began to feel snug when just back from the coin laundry. Then they started pinching into his softening waistline, leaving a thin red welt that itched. Nicholas took to examining himself in profile in the mirror, the way newly pregnant women will to see if they’re showing yet.
The straight line from sternum to belly button was beginning to be ever so slightly curved. It was time to move on. Before leaving, Nicholas forced his jeans closed, working the waistband and his belly back and forth to ease the now-noticeable compression, and headed to a mall. There he tried on pants in several sizes, discovering that his former size 32 waist was a lot more comfy in size 34s. Could two inches of breathing room make that much difference?
Sitting down in the car, he discovered that two inches certainly could, as his softening gut no longer flopped over his waistband. Yet. As the sun set, he pulled into Chicago. Chicago! City of the big shoulders … and big belly, he thought, grinning. Home to deep-fried pirogies, sausage dogs, Chicago-style pizza, ribs, dozens of famous restaurants. Where to start?
First, he found a place to stay, then threw a blazer over his polo shirt and new jeans and headed out. He found an anonymous restaurant in an anonymous shopping center, a locally owned buffet-style place. Sighing happily with anticipation, he dug in.
More than an hour later, he was, he dimly found, so full he could hardly move. His belly sagged heavily, seeming to push onto his thighs. Distended and sore, it stretched tautly outward, straining the fabric of his shirt. His pants button had vanished, squirming like a coward under the advancing gut. Eventually, he would have to get up. He closed his eyes and hoped no one noticed as, grunting with effort, he levered awkwardly to his feet.
Blushing, he tugged his shirt downward, but there was still a distinct breeze on his bloated abdomen as the shirt failed to meet up with the pants. Of course, that might be because the pants had slid south, conceding the idea of being able to gird his gut. He started to tug his blazer closed and almost laughed out loud. The thing failed to meet by several inches. Ponderously, he staggered out the door and to a sports bar a few yards away. There, he nursed a beer and sat in a corner, inconspicuous, until he had digested enough to move.
He stayed in Chicago a month, and it quickly dawned on him that if he wasn’t going to be fitting into his clothes for long at a time, secondhand was a lot smarter than new. Cruising thrift shops, he would find quite smart clothing to cover his expanding self, often stuff with tags still on and with designer labels.
And expanding he was. His midsection was getting doughier by the week. His pecs were soft to the touch and his backside was getting flabby. His thighs now met and his knees were beginning to dimple, as were his hands and elbows. He cut himself shaving several times, adjusting to the new real estate padding his face and chin. Soon to be chins.
He was beginning to enjoy taking up more space, commanding more of a presence while at the same time remaining happily anonymous. He went days without uttering a word, finding that he enjoyed the solitude. From Chicago, he went to Kansas City, Missouri, settling in to enjoy the area’s famed ribs and barbecue.
One day, strolling along a row of shops, he noticed an old penny scale. It had been upfitted to take quarters, of course, and with idle curiosity Nicholas stepped on. The needle whirred. Hmm. When he’d left Scranton, he had carried 190 pounds on his six-foot frame. Now two months later, he was somewhere around 205. He was sort of vaguely aiming to be close to 300 when he hit Seattle.
He’d have to slow his traveling pace a trifle. He answered an ad for a dishwasher in a barbecue joint and stayed two weeks before moving across the line to Kansas City, Kansas, staying there for three weeks. Between the two Kansas Cities, he packed on another 10 pounds. His waist size was up to a snug 36 and he had a good-sized pot belly now. It jiggled when he poked it, and grab-sized love handles stuck out from the sides of his overworked waistband. He switched to boxers to avoid chafing and kept up his daily two miles to stay mobile and get a little cardio in each day.
When he left, he broke up the drive a little, spending the night in Holcomb, Kansas, before driving on to Denver. In Denver he met Sallie.
He didn’t mean to get involved. But the food was so good at the restaurant where she worked that he kept coming back, making a crack in his shell of anonymity. Sallie was 24 and hungry for adventure. She was a tall young lady, almost five foot seven, with a glossy brown pageboy haircut skimming her shoulders and a trim figure in her blue polo shirt and khaki shorts.
She was bored with Denver, where she’d lived all her life, bored with waiting tables, and bored with living at home with her aging parents. Sallie had been, as she termed it, a “sunset surprise baby,” being born when her parents were already 57 and 45. They were now 81 and 69, and, understandably, their idea of a fun evening was very different from that of Sallie’s.
Nicholas took to coming in toward the end of her shift so she could sit, nurse a cup of tea, and rest her sore feet. He was reticent with his story at first, but over time, he found himself developing trust in Sallie, until one day, over pie and coffee (for him) and a cup of tea (for her), he finally fessed up. “You’re going to think this is the weirdest thing you ever heard,” he began, and told her what he had in mind.
Sallie listened quietly, interjecting an occasional question, her head cocked to one side. When he finished, she was silent for a good long minute. Then she met his gaze.
“You know,” she said indulgently, “most people want to lose weight. But you seem to be happy with what you want.” She raised her teacup in a toast. “More power to you.”
Nicholas, encouraged, took a deep breath. “Come with me,” he blurted.
Sallie’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she murmured.
When Nicholas left that evening, Sallie had extracted from him a promise to wait while she set things up with her parents. First she told them of a phone call from someone who knew someone she’d known in high school, telling them both of her need for roommates. Sallie’s high school buddy had declined, but Sallie was interested. “She waits tables and can get me a job at the restaurant.”
Then she’d given it time to sink in while quietly sorting and packing her belongings. Finally, she’d introduced Nicholas. “This is Nick. He’s going to Washington and he’ll give me a ride.”
Nick had charmed Sallie’s parents, reassuring them as to the safety of their daughter. And after all, she was 24, not 14. She didn’t actually need their permission.
A week later, the Saturn left Denver with Sallie on board. By then, Nicholas was up to 230. “I’m going to have to slow my pace or gain faster,” he told her. She knew he wanted to be in the 300 range when they hit Seattle. She looked over at him and grinned.
“What?”
”We’re stopping in Salt Lake City, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So … what comes after that?”
“I don’t know.”
Sallie waved the map at him. “Las Vegas, baby! Home of the massive buffet table and early bird special!”
Nicholas’ eyes widened. Las Vegas, of course. Den of anonymity. Perfect! They could stay as long as they wanted and feed him up.
Salt Lake City, thought attractive, was forgettable in the food department. They stayed only a few days before pushing onward, reaching Las Vegas around 9 in the evening. They chose a hotel, then found a Target-like store, at Sallie’s suggestion, to buy an inexpensive scale. Back in the room, Nicholas stepped on. The needle stopped at 235.
“It’s a good thing we’re not gamblers,” Sallie observed. “We may be here a while. Now,” she squeezed his arm, “Let’s find a buffet!”
Las Vegas is known almost as much for its vast arrays of free or nearly free buffets as it is for gambling and shows. Nicholas and Sallie found a casino, played one round of blackjack, and made for the casino buffet.
“You sit,” Sallie insisted. “I’ll bring the food. After all, I am a waitress.”
Nicholas sat, enjoying people-watching. In time, Sallie came back with two heaping platefuls – and put them both in front of him.
“Hey, aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’ll pick,” Sallie replied, grabbing a shrimp.
Nicholas began to eat, reflecting on his incredible good fortune on finding a woman who didn’t seem to have issues with anyone’s weight, hers or his, and who just seemed to enjoy being along for the ride.
They stayed at the table for more than two hours as Nicholas stuffed himself with abandon. His belly gradually but perceptibly swelled, his waistband tightening. He became vaguely aware that his stomach ached, but pressed on, enjoying the tautness of his distended gut, the tightening of his shirt, the press of his tummy against his pants. Food trickled into every crevice until he was full to bursting and thought he might pop if he tried to breathe too deeply.
Finally he flapped a hand limply in Sallie’s direction. “Nuff,” he grunted.
Sallie came around and helped him to his feet, a big job. He had overeaten so seriously that his center of gravity had shifted and he was tilting forward. At the same time, he couldn’t straighten up because he was too full. Murmuring encouragement, Sallie helped him to the elevator and to their room, then onto the bed.
Cautiously, he lowered himself onto his back, a beached whale, while Sallie managed to undo his pants. Naked, he felt somewhat relieved of his discomfort, but his abdomen was tautly distended and hard as a rock. Dimly, he realized that Sallie was massaging his aching tummy and it felt so good.
By the end of the first week in Las Vegas, Nicholas was up to 240, five pounds in a week. He still ran every morning, and took to swimming in the hotel pool as well, enjoying the sight of Sallie in a swimsuit.
Time passed and the scale numbers mounted: 250, 260, 270. Both Sallie and Nicholas enjoyed his expanding figure. His pecs now flopped onto his convex gut, which lapped into a couple of folds and good-sized love handles. His backside was "cushy," as Sallie put it, and his thighs soft cylinders. His face was softer and cuddlier, the second chin peeping out almost shyly.
Nicholas liked what he saw in the mirror -- he seemed to be developing a new identity, exactly what he wanted. And certainly Sallie liked what she saw.
The thirty-pound gain had taken almost six months. Even in Las Vegas, anonymity melts away over time. It was time to move on.
They were packed up and had everything in the car before it dawned on Nicholas. For dumb! There was something he had to do before they left. Over dinner that night – not in a buffet but in an upscale restaurant over fillet mignon and braised asparagus, Nicholas proposed.
Sallie, eyes sparkling, agreed immediately. They hastily finished their dinner and sped off to get a license. Grinning like fools, they found a dress for her and a rented tux for him, although the latter took a bit of doing. They found a wedding chapel and tied the knot, both with tears of happiness in their eyes.
“Now,” said Nicholas to his wife, starting the car, “A honeymoon through Northern California.”
Wine, of course, is caloric. And Northern California is known for its cuisine as well. By the time they crossed the state line into Oregon, the newlywed Nicholas tipped that cheap scale at 285. They dawdled through Oregon and into Seattle, where the faithful little scale told the faithful little tale. On his first day in Seattle, Nicholas clocked in at 300 on the dot.
The rest, dear reader, takes little time to tell. Sallie telephoned her parents with the news. They were predictably shocked, but got over it when, six months later, she telephoned them to tell them that she was pregnant.
Nicholas, after taking his time, found a job he thoroughly enjoyed and bought a house on Mercer Island. Three hundred pounds seemed to be just where he wanted to be, because although his weight would fluctuate a bit, it usually settled in that range.
And they lived … well … happily ever after. Sometimes it really does happen.
MANIFEST DESTINY
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Nicholas ought to have been bored, but a curious thought that had been hovering at the edge of his mind for months was becoming more demanding. He straightened up, making the futon creak, and mentally reviewed the situation.
His father had been dead for years; his mother, who had been insensible for the last decade, had died. His relatives were scattered about the country and he hardly knew them. He had received a decent inheritance. He could move anywhere in the country, take up residence, and then leisurely begin to look for work. He could … hence the thought that would not die … reinvent himself.
Nicholas got up and began to pace. He’d always been a cipher, a personality nonentity, basic-model looks, height and sociability. He could go anywhere and become anything! Flopping his atlas open to a map of the United States, he spun around six times and plunged a finger onto … Washington State. Fine, Nicholas thought, good as anywhere else.
That night in bed, however, the siren song of reinvention would not let him alone. He could not become taller or handsomer or more charismatic, but he could change his appearance in other ways. What if that sort of transformation ended up transforming who he was?
He closed his eyes. The few really fat guys he’d seen had such a commanding presence. Nicholas wasn’t complexly oriented enough to think about what went on in their inmost hearts, just to suss out that they seemed to really know who they were. Maybe he’d try that.
The next day, he ran two miles, as usual, but ended his run at the coffee shop in town. The pretty new waitress flirted mildly with him, raising her eyebrows at the size of his breakfast order. “Can you eat all that?” she teased.
“You bet honey,” Nicholas murmured, and she blushed.
The shop was busy, but the waitress kept finding excuses to glide by and check on his progress, giving what seemed to be a nod of approval when he cleaned his plate. He left a generous tip and stood heavily, his unexpectedly full belly weighing him down. The food was a blast of grease, sugar, simple carbs and fatty proteins, and combined with two cups of coffee, it was sloshing ominously around Nicholas’ full stomach.
“Whooo,” Nicholas thought. “Take it easy, champ.” Still, he did notice that the waitress winked at him as he left.
Needless to say, after an a.m. gorge like that, he did not jog back. Instead, he walked. That is, he plodded, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of being stuffed to bursting. His stomach sloshed with every step, churning and gurgling audibly. He felt the jolt of each step in his knees, juddering up through his thighs and creating a seismic vibration around his bloated belly. He was hazily full, somnolent, only dimly aware of his surroundings.
Through the fog of stupefaction, the temptation of reinvention rose. He would move gradually across the country, spending only a few weeks in each location, getting bigger at every stop. A cross-country vacation and expansion. Travel, after all, was said to be broadening. Heh.
At home, Nicholas took a postprandial snooze on the futon, then hopped on the Internet. He found a storage center outside Seattle and telephoned, arranging with the proprietor to store his belongings once he’d sent them. He gave the fellow his credit card information and hung up, whistling. Imbued with new energy, he packed his belongings.
He boxed up all but a small suitcase of clothes – he’d be outgrowing them soon – and hauled the clothes and most of his furnishings to Goodwill. All he shipped was a half-dozen boxes of books, mementos and assorted belongings that he thought worth keeping. He slept in his clothes on a sleeping bag that he planned to leave at the curb for garbage pickup the next morning, and when the sun rose so did he.
This time, he drove to the coffee shop for another gargantuan breakfast. Afterward, he plodded dopily out to the car and drove as far as a park a block away, where he napped on a park bench. At 10:08 precisely, he started his little Saturn and pulled away, headed westward.
Crossing Pennsylvania, he made it as far as Columbus, Ohio, the first day. He found a suite hotel with weekly rates and settled in. Easily amused, he soon developed a pattern. A two-mile run each morning, then breakfast, then back to the motel for a nap. Afternoons were spent in the library, coffee shops, museums, and the occasional movie. His meals were always big, and slowly – imperceptibly at first – he began to get big as well.
It took more than two weeks, but his jeans began to feel snug when just back from the coin laundry. Then they started pinching into his softening waistline, leaving a thin red welt that itched. Nicholas took to examining himself in profile in the mirror, the way newly pregnant women will to see if they’re showing yet.
The straight line from sternum to belly button was beginning to be ever so slightly curved. It was time to move on. Before leaving, Nicholas forced his jeans closed, working the waistband and his belly back and forth to ease the now-noticeable compression, and headed to a mall. There he tried on pants in several sizes, discovering that his former size 32 waist was a lot more comfy in size 34s. Could two inches of breathing room make that much difference?
Sitting down in the car, he discovered that two inches certainly could, as his softening gut no longer flopped over his waistband. Yet. As the sun set, he pulled into Chicago. Chicago! City of the big shoulders … and big belly, he thought, grinning. Home to deep-fried pirogies, sausage dogs, Chicago-style pizza, ribs, dozens of famous restaurants. Where to start?
First, he found a place to stay, then threw a blazer over his polo shirt and new jeans and headed out. He found an anonymous restaurant in an anonymous shopping center, a locally owned buffet-style place. Sighing happily with anticipation, he dug in.
More than an hour later, he was, he dimly found, so full he could hardly move. His belly sagged heavily, seeming to push onto his thighs. Distended and sore, it stretched tautly outward, straining the fabric of his shirt. His pants button had vanished, squirming like a coward under the advancing gut. Eventually, he would have to get up. He closed his eyes and hoped no one noticed as, grunting with effort, he levered awkwardly to his feet.
Blushing, he tugged his shirt downward, but there was still a distinct breeze on his bloated abdomen as the shirt failed to meet up with the pants. Of course, that might be because the pants had slid south, conceding the idea of being able to gird his gut. He started to tug his blazer closed and almost laughed out loud. The thing failed to meet by several inches. Ponderously, he staggered out the door and to a sports bar a few yards away. There, he nursed a beer and sat in a corner, inconspicuous, until he had digested enough to move.
He stayed in Chicago a month, and it quickly dawned on him that if he wasn’t going to be fitting into his clothes for long at a time, secondhand was a lot smarter than new. Cruising thrift shops, he would find quite smart clothing to cover his expanding self, often stuff with tags still on and with designer labels.
And expanding he was. His midsection was getting doughier by the week. His pecs were soft to the touch and his backside was getting flabby. His thighs now met and his knees were beginning to dimple, as were his hands and elbows. He cut himself shaving several times, adjusting to the new real estate padding his face and chin. Soon to be chins.
He was beginning to enjoy taking up more space, commanding more of a presence while at the same time remaining happily anonymous. He went days without uttering a word, finding that he enjoyed the solitude. From Chicago, he went to Kansas City, Missouri, settling in to enjoy the area’s famed ribs and barbecue.
One day, strolling along a row of shops, he noticed an old penny scale. It had been upfitted to take quarters, of course, and with idle curiosity Nicholas stepped on. The needle whirred. Hmm. When he’d left Scranton, he had carried 190 pounds on his six-foot frame. Now two months later, he was somewhere around 205. He was sort of vaguely aiming to be close to 300 when he hit Seattle.
He’d have to slow his traveling pace a trifle. He answered an ad for a dishwasher in a barbecue joint and stayed two weeks before moving across the line to Kansas City, Kansas, staying there for three weeks. Between the two Kansas Cities, he packed on another 10 pounds. His waist size was up to a snug 36 and he had a good-sized pot belly now. It jiggled when he poked it, and grab-sized love handles stuck out from the sides of his overworked waistband. He switched to boxers to avoid chafing and kept up his daily two miles to stay mobile and get a little cardio in each day.
When he left, he broke up the drive a little, spending the night in Holcomb, Kansas, before driving on to Denver. In Denver he met Sallie.
He didn’t mean to get involved. But the food was so good at the restaurant where she worked that he kept coming back, making a crack in his shell of anonymity. Sallie was 24 and hungry for adventure. She was a tall young lady, almost five foot seven, with a glossy brown pageboy haircut skimming her shoulders and a trim figure in her blue polo shirt and khaki shorts.
She was bored with Denver, where she’d lived all her life, bored with waiting tables, and bored with living at home with her aging parents. Sallie had been, as she termed it, a “sunset surprise baby,” being born when her parents were already 57 and 45. They were now 81 and 69, and, understandably, their idea of a fun evening was very different from that of Sallie’s.
Nicholas took to coming in toward the end of her shift so she could sit, nurse a cup of tea, and rest her sore feet. He was reticent with his story at first, but over time, he found himself developing trust in Sallie, until one day, over pie and coffee (for him) and a cup of tea (for her), he finally fessed up. “You’re going to think this is the weirdest thing you ever heard,” he began, and told her what he had in mind.
Sallie listened quietly, interjecting an occasional question, her head cocked to one side. When he finished, she was silent for a good long minute. Then she met his gaze.
“You know,” she said indulgently, “most people want to lose weight. But you seem to be happy with what you want.” She raised her teacup in a toast. “More power to you.”
Nicholas, encouraged, took a deep breath. “Come with me,” he blurted.
Sallie’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she murmured.
When Nicholas left that evening, Sallie had extracted from him a promise to wait while she set things up with her parents. First she told them of a phone call from someone who knew someone she’d known in high school, telling them both of her need for roommates. Sallie’s high school buddy had declined, but Sallie was interested. “She waits tables and can get me a job at the restaurant.”
Then she’d given it time to sink in while quietly sorting and packing her belongings. Finally, she’d introduced Nicholas. “This is Nick. He’s going to Washington and he’ll give me a ride.”
Nick had charmed Sallie’s parents, reassuring them as to the safety of their daughter. And after all, she was 24, not 14. She didn’t actually need their permission.
A week later, the Saturn left Denver with Sallie on board. By then, Nicholas was up to 230. “I’m going to have to slow my pace or gain faster,” he told her. She knew he wanted to be in the 300 range when they hit Seattle. She looked over at him and grinned.
“What?”
”We’re stopping in Salt Lake City, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So … what comes after that?”
“I don’t know.”
Sallie waved the map at him. “Las Vegas, baby! Home of the massive buffet table and early bird special!”
Nicholas’ eyes widened. Las Vegas, of course. Den of anonymity. Perfect! They could stay as long as they wanted and feed him up.
Salt Lake City, thought attractive, was forgettable in the food department. They stayed only a few days before pushing onward, reaching Las Vegas around 9 in the evening. They chose a hotel, then found a Target-like store, at Sallie’s suggestion, to buy an inexpensive scale. Back in the room, Nicholas stepped on. The needle stopped at 235.
“It’s a good thing we’re not gamblers,” Sallie observed. “We may be here a while. Now,” she squeezed his arm, “Let’s find a buffet!”
Las Vegas is known almost as much for its vast arrays of free or nearly free buffets as it is for gambling and shows. Nicholas and Sallie found a casino, played one round of blackjack, and made for the casino buffet.
“You sit,” Sallie insisted. “I’ll bring the food. After all, I am a waitress.”
Nicholas sat, enjoying people-watching. In time, Sallie came back with two heaping platefuls – and put them both in front of him.
“Hey, aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’ll pick,” Sallie replied, grabbing a shrimp.
Nicholas began to eat, reflecting on his incredible good fortune on finding a woman who didn’t seem to have issues with anyone’s weight, hers or his, and who just seemed to enjoy being along for the ride.
They stayed at the table for more than two hours as Nicholas stuffed himself with abandon. His belly gradually but perceptibly swelled, his waistband tightening. He became vaguely aware that his stomach ached, but pressed on, enjoying the tautness of his distended gut, the tightening of his shirt, the press of his tummy against his pants. Food trickled into every crevice until he was full to bursting and thought he might pop if he tried to breathe too deeply.
Finally he flapped a hand limply in Sallie’s direction. “Nuff,” he grunted.
Sallie came around and helped him to his feet, a big job. He had overeaten so seriously that his center of gravity had shifted and he was tilting forward. At the same time, he couldn’t straighten up because he was too full. Murmuring encouragement, Sallie helped him to the elevator and to their room, then onto the bed.
Cautiously, he lowered himself onto his back, a beached whale, while Sallie managed to undo his pants. Naked, he felt somewhat relieved of his discomfort, but his abdomen was tautly distended and hard as a rock. Dimly, he realized that Sallie was massaging his aching tummy and it felt so good.
By the end of the first week in Las Vegas, Nicholas was up to 240, five pounds in a week. He still ran every morning, and took to swimming in the hotel pool as well, enjoying the sight of Sallie in a swimsuit.
Time passed and the scale numbers mounted: 250, 260, 270. Both Sallie and Nicholas enjoyed his expanding figure. His pecs now flopped onto his convex gut, which lapped into a couple of folds and good-sized love handles. His backside was "cushy," as Sallie put it, and his thighs soft cylinders. His face was softer and cuddlier, the second chin peeping out almost shyly.
Nicholas liked what he saw in the mirror -- he seemed to be developing a new identity, exactly what he wanted. And certainly Sallie liked what she saw.
The thirty-pound gain had taken almost six months. Even in Las Vegas, anonymity melts away over time. It was time to move on.
They were packed up and had everything in the car before it dawned on Nicholas. For dumb! There was something he had to do before they left. Over dinner that night – not in a buffet but in an upscale restaurant over fillet mignon and braised asparagus, Nicholas proposed.
Sallie, eyes sparkling, agreed immediately. They hastily finished their dinner and sped off to get a license. Grinning like fools, they found a dress for her and a rented tux for him, although the latter took a bit of doing. They found a wedding chapel and tied the knot, both with tears of happiness in their eyes.
“Now,” said Nicholas to his wife, starting the car, “A honeymoon through Northern California.”
Wine, of course, is caloric. And Northern California is known for its cuisine as well. By the time they crossed the state line into Oregon, the newlywed Nicholas tipped that cheap scale at 285. They dawdled through Oregon and into Seattle, where the faithful little scale told the faithful little tale. On his first day in Seattle, Nicholas clocked in at 300 on the dot.
The rest, dear reader, takes little time to tell. Sallie telephoned her parents with the news. They were predictably shocked, but got over it when, six months later, she telephoned them to tell them that she was pregnant.
Nicholas, after taking his time, found a job he thoroughly enjoyed and bought a house on Mercer Island. Three hundred pounds seemed to be just where he wanted to be, because although his weight would fluctuate a bit, it usually settled in that range.
And they lived … well … happily ever after. Sometimes it really does happen.
