Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, ~BBW, Romance - A new job and a new romance, what next?
Ed stared a hole through the rag he was swiping back and forth across the bar.
“Wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Scott had said. “I keep crunching the numbers and I can’t make it work.”
He called it “laid off,” but the effect was the same. Ed had been canned.
He finished out his shift, serving the depressingly few customers, then plodded to the subway. At his stop, he impulsively dropped into the all-night pizzeria and ordered a pepperoni to take home, paying with some of the generous “severance” cash Scott had given him out of the drawer. The warmth and scent enticed him up the three flights of stairs. He flopped onto the futon and clicked on the television, whose 3 a.m. offerings were sparse.
He settled on the second half of “Beverly Hills Cop,” and by the time it was over was mildly shocked to see he had eaten the entire pizza. He stood and stretched. Ooooof. He was stuffed. His belly felt distended and sore. His sides pulled, stretched and tender, and his engorged gut felt warm and heavy, weighed down with pizza.
He lay down and clicked on an infomercial, letting background noise wash over him. He drowsily massaged his bloated and aching belly, lids growing heavy. His stomach hurt, but it also felt oddly good for it to be so sated, as if a primeval need had been satisfied. Finally falling asleep around dawn, he slept restlessly until early afternoon, awakened by the shrilling of a phone that turned out to be a wrong number. He collected the paper and spent a dispiriting afternoon circling want ads and wondering if he could stand being a bar back again after he’d moved up to tending. The next three weeks were desperately long, relieved only by having saved enough cash to pay his next month’s rent “in case.”
One icy evening his friend Chuck called. Chuck relieved the boredom of banking by still acting as though he were in the frat house and threw large, raucous parties to which he wisely invited neighbors.
“Super Bowl. Giants. Be there,” Chuck said.
“I dunno...”
“Why not? Dude. Chili, wings, nachos, beer, all the food groups. And some girls I know.”
“I’ve been canned. You know that.”
“Come on. It’ll cheer you up.” Ed let himself be talked into going. He even showed up on the appointed night wearing a blue and orange polo shirt and a pair of khakis and a somewhat forced smile that, by the time the game started, came more easily because of the couple of beers that had slid down Ed’s throat.
Many of the guests seemed to have surgically attached themselves to another guest, reinforcing Ed’s loneliness. He fought it off by hovering over the food, busying himself with wings, nachos, brownies, deviled eggs, chips, whatever was available, all washed down with beer. By halftime he was pleasantly drunk and, pausing for a bathroom break, realized how full his belly was. It recalled the night he'd been fired ... and eaten an entire pizza. Distended and aching, but also warm, heavy, as though he were storing up for the fallow period.
He found a spot on a chair with a limited view of the TV and therefore unoccupied and sank into it with a grunt.
Out of nowhere, a girl sat down on the arm of the chair.
“Hi there,” she said. “My name’s Paula.” She was maybe five six to Ed’s six feet and wore her hair in a shining chestnut bob that framed her heart-shaped face. She had an hourglass figure contained in jeans and a crop top that showed a gently rounded and very sexy tummy.
Ed looked up.
“Ed,” he said. They made small talk. Ed’s stomach, to his embarrassment, gurgled audibly.
“Ooh, I can fix that,” Paula said. Before Ed could say anything Paula had vanished, returning a minute later with a plate loaded with Crock-Pot meatballs, chips and guacamole, wings, and cheese dip. She carried a beer in her other hand. Ed was reluctant to refuse, so he started in, although he was already stuffed. His belly felt warm and taut, pressing against the waistband of his trousers, and he kind of wished he could let his belt out a notch. He gulped the beer.
“There, that’s better,” Paula said when Ed, astonishingly, had managed to empty his plate. His belly groaned with food, sagging and tender.
“Big handsome guy like you can’t go hungry.”
“Me?” Ed said blankly. “You must be thinking of two other guys.”
“Nope,” Paula said. “Big handsome guy like Ed ... Ed ...
“Fuller,” Ed supplied.
“Dorset,” Paula answered, solemnly offering her hand. “So what do you do, Ed Fuller?”
“I’m a bartender ... well, I was,” Ed said, his face flaming. “Place where I worked is running on rims, they had to ... let me go.”
“Oh hey,” Paula said, brightening. “I’m a hostess at a restaurant where they need a bar guy. Let me put in a good word for you.”
Ed and Paula continued to talk and flirt, and before they knew it the party was winding down. Paula happily left with Ed and professed to want some “real food,” so they went to an all-night diner where Paula had coffee and doughnuts and Ed had coffee and a large wedge of coconut cream pie.
“I shouldn’t,” Ed mumbled. “I’ve been packing it in tonight.”
Paula leaned over and fed him a bite of donut.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she chided.
Ed licked his fork and eyed his suddenly empty plate. He stifled a belch.
“Ate too much tonight,” he admitted.
Paula leaned across the booth and laid her fingers lightly on his arm. “You have no idea how sexy it is to see a big handsome guy enjoying his food.”
That was the third time tonight she had called him a big handsome guy. Ed was too sodden with food and beer to figure out what was going on, but he was alert enough to get Paula’s phone number and her promise to talk to the manager about a job.
Sure enough, three long days later, Ed was invited to serve a shift “on trial” at the restaurant where Paula worked. She looked elegant in a black halter-top dress with a deep vee neckline. They flirted as he worked, and Ed found himself showing off a little. At the end of the night, the manager, Chad, paid him in cash and offered him a job.
It was amazing what having a job and a girl did to Ed’s self-esteem. When they weren’t working, he took Paula to museums, the park, movies, out to eat, and suddenly life was good. More, though, there was a confidence to his stance and a spring in his step. Someone found him desirable. Someone thought, in fact, he hung the moon. Paula almost always agreed to whatever entertainment he proposed and always seemed to be enjoying herself.
Mainly, though, she seemed to enjoy watching Ed eat, which Ed thought was weird and said so.
“Oh,” Paula replied, blushing, “it’s like watching someone do a job of work. It’s ... satisfying.”
Since he was clearly satisfying her elsewhere, Ed let it drop. The relationship, though, seemed to be leaving its mark on Ed’s steadily thickening waistline. He’d always been a big guy, but of late he was developing a paunch that he couldn’t shake. The trip up the stairs to his apartment left him puffing for breath, and he began opting for slip-on shoes so he wouldn’t have to bend over. By Easter, when they went to brunch at her parents’ house in White Plains, Ed had had to buy a new suit to accommodate the twenty-five pounds he seemed to have packed on that spring.
Paula had not herself been immune to the many dining opportunities that dating provides. Ed had found himself enjoying watching her pert, high bottom broaden and soften, her breasts ripen into a C cup, her waistline blur and her little rounded tummy stretch and grow, becoming gravid and pear-shaped. She also had needed to buy a new outfit for Easter and was clad in a lavender linen-blend wrap dress that flattered her softening figure.
Ed was a little nervous about meeting the Fullers, but they were very friendly and the buffet was delicious. Ed ate far too much, but so did most everyone present, afterward sitting around on the deck groaning, drowsing, and watching the children chase each other and the dog.
Finally, on the drive home, Ed brought it up again. He said, gently but bluntly, “I’ve put on twenty-five pounds. I’m getting ... like ... huge.”
Paula reached over and patted his still-swollen belly, full of ham, potato salad, rolls, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, brownies, pound cake with ice cream, and at least a quart of iced tea. “You’re getting handsomer by the day.”
She blushed. “Truth? The bigger you get, the handsomer you get. You have no idea how much I’m dying to have you just take me there on the bar at work.”
She gently massaged his distended and aching tummy, poking gently at its tautness and patting it tenderly as if it were a pet dog.
“Handsomer, huh?” Ed said after a few miles.
“Handsomer.”
Another few miles passed. Ed sighed in something like satisfaction just as Paula said, “I have something to tell you.”
Ed’s ears perked up. This was serious.
“Mmm?”
“I’m ... uh ... pregnant.”
Continued in post 5 of this thread.
Raising the Bar
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Ed stared a hole through the rag he was swiping back and forth across the bar.
“Wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Scott had said. “I keep crunching the numbers and I can’t make it work.”
He called it “laid off,” but the effect was the same. Ed had been canned.
He finished out his shift, serving the depressingly few customers, then plodded to the subway. At his stop, he impulsively dropped into the all-night pizzeria and ordered a pepperoni to take home, paying with some of the generous “severance” cash Scott had given him out of the drawer. The warmth and scent enticed him up the three flights of stairs. He flopped onto the futon and clicked on the television, whose 3 a.m. offerings were sparse.
He settled on the second half of “Beverly Hills Cop,” and by the time it was over was mildly shocked to see he had eaten the entire pizza. He stood and stretched. Ooooof. He was stuffed. His belly felt distended and sore. His sides pulled, stretched and tender, and his engorged gut felt warm and heavy, weighed down with pizza.
He lay down and clicked on an infomercial, letting background noise wash over him. He drowsily massaged his bloated and aching belly, lids growing heavy. His stomach hurt, but it also felt oddly good for it to be so sated, as if a primeval need had been satisfied. Finally falling asleep around dawn, he slept restlessly until early afternoon, awakened by the shrilling of a phone that turned out to be a wrong number. He collected the paper and spent a dispiriting afternoon circling want ads and wondering if he could stand being a bar back again after he’d moved up to tending. The next three weeks were desperately long, relieved only by having saved enough cash to pay his next month’s rent “in case.”
One icy evening his friend Chuck called. Chuck relieved the boredom of banking by still acting as though he were in the frat house and threw large, raucous parties to which he wisely invited neighbors.
“Super Bowl. Giants. Be there,” Chuck said.
“I dunno...”
“Why not? Dude. Chili, wings, nachos, beer, all the food groups. And some girls I know.”
“I’ve been canned. You know that.”
“Come on. It’ll cheer you up.” Ed let himself be talked into going. He even showed up on the appointed night wearing a blue and orange polo shirt and a pair of khakis and a somewhat forced smile that, by the time the game started, came more easily because of the couple of beers that had slid down Ed’s throat.
Many of the guests seemed to have surgically attached themselves to another guest, reinforcing Ed’s loneliness. He fought it off by hovering over the food, busying himself with wings, nachos, brownies, deviled eggs, chips, whatever was available, all washed down with beer. By halftime he was pleasantly drunk and, pausing for a bathroom break, realized how full his belly was. It recalled the night he'd been fired ... and eaten an entire pizza. Distended and aching, but also warm, heavy, as though he were storing up for the fallow period.
He found a spot on a chair with a limited view of the TV and therefore unoccupied and sank into it with a grunt.
Out of nowhere, a girl sat down on the arm of the chair.
“Hi there,” she said. “My name’s Paula.” She was maybe five six to Ed’s six feet and wore her hair in a shining chestnut bob that framed her heart-shaped face. She had an hourglass figure contained in jeans and a crop top that showed a gently rounded and very sexy tummy.
Ed looked up.
“Ed,” he said. They made small talk. Ed’s stomach, to his embarrassment, gurgled audibly.
“Ooh, I can fix that,” Paula said. Before Ed could say anything Paula had vanished, returning a minute later with a plate loaded with Crock-Pot meatballs, chips and guacamole, wings, and cheese dip. She carried a beer in her other hand. Ed was reluctant to refuse, so he started in, although he was already stuffed. His belly felt warm and taut, pressing against the waistband of his trousers, and he kind of wished he could let his belt out a notch. He gulped the beer.
“There, that’s better,” Paula said when Ed, astonishingly, had managed to empty his plate. His belly groaned with food, sagging and tender.
“Big handsome guy like you can’t go hungry.”
“Me?” Ed said blankly. “You must be thinking of two other guys.”
“Nope,” Paula said. “Big handsome guy like Ed ... Ed ...
“Fuller,” Ed supplied.
“Dorset,” Paula answered, solemnly offering her hand. “So what do you do, Ed Fuller?”
“I’m a bartender ... well, I was,” Ed said, his face flaming. “Place where I worked is running on rims, they had to ... let me go.”
“Oh hey,” Paula said, brightening. “I’m a hostess at a restaurant where they need a bar guy. Let me put in a good word for you.”
Ed and Paula continued to talk and flirt, and before they knew it the party was winding down. Paula happily left with Ed and professed to want some “real food,” so they went to an all-night diner where Paula had coffee and doughnuts and Ed had coffee and a large wedge of coconut cream pie.
“I shouldn’t,” Ed mumbled. “I’ve been packing it in tonight.”
Paula leaned over and fed him a bite of donut.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she chided.
Ed licked his fork and eyed his suddenly empty plate. He stifled a belch.
“Ate too much tonight,” he admitted.
Paula leaned across the booth and laid her fingers lightly on his arm. “You have no idea how sexy it is to see a big handsome guy enjoying his food.”
That was the third time tonight she had called him a big handsome guy. Ed was too sodden with food and beer to figure out what was going on, but he was alert enough to get Paula’s phone number and her promise to talk to the manager about a job.
Sure enough, three long days later, Ed was invited to serve a shift “on trial” at the restaurant where Paula worked. She looked elegant in a black halter-top dress with a deep vee neckline. They flirted as he worked, and Ed found himself showing off a little. At the end of the night, the manager, Chad, paid him in cash and offered him a job.
It was amazing what having a job and a girl did to Ed’s self-esteem. When they weren’t working, he took Paula to museums, the park, movies, out to eat, and suddenly life was good. More, though, there was a confidence to his stance and a spring in his step. Someone found him desirable. Someone thought, in fact, he hung the moon. Paula almost always agreed to whatever entertainment he proposed and always seemed to be enjoying herself.
Mainly, though, she seemed to enjoy watching Ed eat, which Ed thought was weird and said so.
“Oh,” Paula replied, blushing, “it’s like watching someone do a job of work. It’s ... satisfying.”
Since he was clearly satisfying her elsewhere, Ed let it drop. The relationship, though, seemed to be leaving its mark on Ed’s steadily thickening waistline. He’d always been a big guy, but of late he was developing a paunch that he couldn’t shake. The trip up the stairs to his apartment left him puffing for breath, and he began opting for slip-on shoes so he wouldn’t have to bend over. By Easter, when they went to brunch at her parents’ house in White Plains, Ed had had to buy a new suit to accommodate the twenty-five pounds he seemed to have packed on that spring.
Paula had not herself been immune to the many dining opportunities that dating provides. Ed had found himself enjoying watching her pert, high bottom broaden and soften, her breasts ripen into a C cup, her waistline blur and her little rounded tummy stretch and grow, becoming gravid and pear-shaped. She also had needed to buy a new outfit for Easter and was clad in a lavender linen-blend wrap dress that flattered her softening figure.
Ed was a little nervous about meeting the Fullers, but they were very friendly and the buffet was delicious. Ed ate far too much, but so did most everyone present, afterward sitting around on the deck groaning, drowsing, and watching the children chase each other and the dog.
Finally, on the drive home, Ed brought it up again. He said, gently but bluntly, “I’ve put on twenty-five pounds. I’m getting ... like ... huge.”
Paula reached over and patted his still-swollen belly, full of ham, potato salad, rolls, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, brownies, pound cake with ice cream, and at least a quart of iced tea. “You’re getting handsomer by the day.”
She blushed. “Truth? The bigger you get, the handsomer you get. You have no idea how much I’m dying to have you just take me there on the bar at work.”
She gently massaged his distended and aching tummy, poking gently at its tautness and patting it tenderly as if it were a pet dog.
“Handsomer, huh?” Ed said after a few miles.
“Handsomer.”
Another few miles passed. Ed sighed in something like satisfaction just as Paula said, “I have something to tell you.”
Ed’s ears perked up. This was serious.
“Mmm?”
“I’m ... uh ... pregnant.”
Continued in post 5 of this thread.
