I skipped down the steps of the moving escalator towards the food court, unwilling to spend one minute of my very short half-hour lunch break just standing around. If I hurried, I'd have time after eating for a little shopping, maybe pick up the new Springsteen album. I jumped the last five steps in one light-footed leap.
The food court was pretty empty this time of day. The main lunch crowd had already cleared out, leaving a smattering of stragglers, staff, and people like me, who don't really want to have to fight a mob for their lunches. I was able to order my low-rent teryaki and find a clean, out-of-the way table in no time flat.
My eyes drifted over the other people in the court as I munched disinterestedly on some noodles. I recognized most of them, either as mall workers or customers of the bookstore I worked at across the street. My eyes settled on a guy sitting in the back corner under the high bank of windows.
He sat reclined in his chair with one boot on the table next to him, fiddling with a smartphone with one hand and eating with the other. What made me look twice, though, was the heap of trays and empty paper plates next to him. With this whole place empty, why on earth would he choose to sit at the table they were obviously using to clean up? He shifted in his chair and scratched his belly with his smartphone and then it dawned on me. Holy shit. Those were his. Arrayed on the table in front of him were two more trays packed with fresh, hot dishes from the restaurants around us - the stack was just the stuff he had already been through.
I assumed that was the case, anyway, because his belly was big. And I don't mean in a usual fat-guy kind of way - in fact, the guy was really quite hot, now that I was looking: tall, muscular, fine-featured and sporting a scruffy mess of dirty-blonde hair with that perfect-on-purpose-but-not-bedhead style. No, I mean just his gut - it formed a gentle hill rising from just under his ribcage and descending somewhere underneath the table, tight against a black tshirt which seemed otherwise to fit him just fine. But if that bothered this dude, he wasn't letting on. He just kept shovelling pasta into his mouth at a leisurely pace, and pecking at his phone.
I was staring. I knew I was staring. But I couldn't look away. The whole display fascinated me in a way I couldn't explain. My whole body felt tense, ready for something. I was suddenly utterly uninterested in my own lunch.
Then he looked up and our eyes met. I am sure I turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and I tried to slowly look away, as if I'd just been scanning the room. I forced myself to take a bite of my noodles and then snuck another glimpse at the guy. He was still looking at me. He had dark brown eyes and the corners of his lips were flickering into the mildest trace of a grin. Then he took another bite, ran his hand over the bulge of his belly, and went back to his phone.
I suddenly felt so weird that I couldn't sit there one more minute. I crammed whatever I was feeling into the deepest, darkest dungeon of my mind and scrambled to get out of my chair. I dumped my uneaten lunch in the compost and practically ran back to the store.
An hour later I was sitting at my desk, paying more attention to the French Literature inventory numbers than I have ever paid in my whole life. Memories of the lunchtime stranger kept threatening to creep out of the dark place I'd sent them. I wished I'd been sitting closer. No, I wished I'd never looked. I wished I could see him again. I wished I had access to mental bleach.
Half of my frenzied wishes were simultaneously fulfilled. His belly proceeded him by a half-foot, tucked away and concealed under the zippered sheath of a very nice leather jacket. The trick might have worked to hide the bulging thing if he hadn't been standing so straight, or stroking it so contentedly. He turned away from me at first, studying the books on the front display table, giving me a minute to slide down in my chair and try to hide behind the monitor of my computer. He glanced over his shoulder in my direction and I hazarded a polite nod. He broke into a huge grin.
"Hey!" He greeted me as if we were old friends, which was mortifying since obviously he recognized and remembered me from the food court. He walked over to the order counter near my desk and leaned casually against it. "I was hoping you could help me find a book." Or maybe he didn't recognize me?
"Oh, of course, sure!" I sputtered. I tucked a lock of my raven hair behind one ear and pushed my dark-rimmed glasses up on my nose, determined to play cheerful-but-helpful librarian. "What are you looking for?"
"No idea." he admitted, "Something long and involved. Historical fiction, with a lot of action and adventure. But literary." I whistled.
"That's very specific." I admitted, and smiled. "But you've come to the right place. I know a few contenders." I stood up and led him into the store, so that I couldn't look at him. Even just pushing past him, noting he was a full head taller than my 5'6" and feeling the heat off his body made me feel weird. Weird like I wish I'd brushed against his belly on my way past. Ugh, stop it!
"War and Peace?" I suggested. "Doctor Zhivago? The Count of Monte Cristo? The Once and Future King?" My mystery man smiled and vetoed my best efforts.
"Read them. But you're on the right track. Something just like those. Something I can tuck in to for the rest of the afternoon."
"Sounds heavenly," I found myself saying.
"It is." I heard the man unzip his jacket behind me and I had to steady myself with a bookcase to keep from turning around and looking. I moved to a different shelf and hefted a big, dusty volume out with both hands.
"Here," I reluctantly turned towards him and handed him the tome. "Quo Vadis. Have you...?" The man took the book and his eyes lit up.
"No, but this looks perfect. Romans, nice." he tucked the big book under one arm and put his hands in his pockets. I couldn't avoid it any more. His belly was thrust out between us, straining against the fabric of his tshirt. And worse, he noticed me staring again. He put his free hand on his stomach and patted it a few times. "Suffice to say I'm looking forward to getting home and lying down." he looked a little sheepish. "Feeling a little, uh, suffonsified. Don't think I'll be up to much more than lazing around with a good book."
"That still sounds heavenly." I blurted. I turned away and forced a march back to the front desk before he could see me turn bright red again. I needed this encounter to be over, like, ten minutes ago.
He looked like he wanted to say something else as I rang him through the cash, but I refused to make eye contact again. Or eye-belly contact. I studied the cash register and debit machine as if they were very complicated works of cutting-edge technology. I'd made quite enough of a freak of myself for one day.
"Well, thanks again." he said a little awkwardly as he left. I smiled at my shoes and waved a little in his direction.
"Have a nice day." I muttered. Then I sat down and spent the rest of the day willing myself to die of embarrassment.
A smart girl would have gone somewhere else for lunch the next day. A smart girl would have brown-bagged it. A smart girl would not have gone back to the exact same place at the exact same time the very next day. But I am not, apparently, a smart girl.
I opted for soup, turned and scanned the seating area. Not only was Mystery Man there just where I had seen him the previous day, but he was already looking at me and grinning. I couldn't avoid him now. I raised a hand in a polite wave and moved towards his table.
By the looks of things, he had already finished his lunch. Five plastic trays were neatly stacked two tables over from where he sat, piled high with empty containers and wrappings consolidated to look like fewer than they were. Mystery Man sat reclined with his hands folded over his even-more-round-than-yesterday tummy, and Quo Vadis on the table in front of him. I put my lunch down across from him, since it seemed rude to go sit somewhere else in the otherwise empty court.
"You made good headway!" I nodded towards the book, which sported a bookmark a few chapters from the end. "Did you like it?" I sat down, deliberately looking at the man's eyes and not his more... prominent *features.
"Absolutely!" he gushed. "I mean, we don't share views, he and I, but it was still one hell of an epic story. You really hit the nail on the head." *I smiled genuinely this time. I loved the book too. "I was going to come in to the shop today and see what else you could hook me up with. I have another long, sedentary afternoon ahead of me, it looks like." He drummed his fingers on his taut belly and gave me a teasing look. I felt the blood rise all the way to my eyebrows. What was he doing? What was I doing? Was there any way to construe this as a normal conversation?
"I see that." I opted. If he wasn't going to be embarrassed about it, then neither was I. I glanced over at the stack of empty trays and raised an eyebrow at him. "That's pretty epic too."
To my great relief, he laughed.
"That," he pointed at the trays, "Is heroic, but not quite epic." he winked at me. "Look, I'm Eric, by the way." he leaned over with a bit of effort and offered his hand for shaking.
"Frankie." I introduced myself. "I mean, Frances. But really, Frankie." He sat back again, looking relieved. "Were you just headed over to the store? I'll be back there in twenty minutes, but Stella can help you if you're in a hurry..."
"I'm not going anywhere right away," Eric grinned and gave his belly an absent-minded rub. "Need a few minutes." I felt a pang of heat shoot through my belly and chest. Why did he keep talking about it? I was having trouble staying focused on normal conversation. I took a few mouthfuls of my soup but found I wasn't hungry anymore. I couldn't take my mind off of his "heroic" act of lunch and its effects. As if being faced with a hot, smart guy isn't intimidating enough - I needed to get neurotic about his eating habits too? What was wrong with me?
I retreated the only way I knew how, and started babbling about books. Lucky for me, Eric could give as good as he got. It was devilishly easy to talk to him: he was well-read, enthusiastic, charming and relaxed. We could not have had more similar tastes in books if we'd grown up in the same house. Soon enough I'd forgotten about obsessing over why or how he'd packed away all that food and was wrapped up in happy, relaxed conversation in territory I knew. I even finished my soup. Yay me.
"I need to get back." I glanced at the time on my phone and started to stand. "Will I see you at the store?"
"Here, I'll come with you." Eric sat up a little reluctantly and heaved himself with some effort to a stand. "Whoof." he put one hand on his huge belly and grabbed his jacket. "I might have overdone it a bit today."
"Oh? I thought this was merely 'heroic'?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could think about them. He was so easy to talk to, but here I was teasing him about something that might have been really embarrassing. Nice, Frankie. But he shot me a crooked grin.
"I'll save 'epic" for someplace closer to home, when I don't need to do any shopping." He moved around the table to my side. "You should come with me. Tomorrow, maybe?"
My heart skipped a beat. Was he asking me on a date? Tomorrow was Saturday, and I had the day off. I could go. But was he really going to eat like that on a date? The prospect made me deeply uncomfortable... and was completely alluring.
"Yes, I should." I answered. "Tomorrow." We arranged a place and time.
I had to admit, it was a far nicer setting than a food court. The restaurant Eric took me to was an upscale sushi joint with - and I should have known this would be the case - an all-you-can-eat option. I met Eric at the door and almost didn't recognize him, which was a testament to how much I'd obsessed over his belly for the last two days. The rounded bulge I was used to seeing had all but vanished. His stomach wasn't washboard-flat, but he looked like a regular, buff guy with just a little muffintop rolling over the waist of his jeans. He gave me the happiest smile when he saw me and I knew I should have felt like the luckiest girl on the street that afternoon, but part of me was strangely disappointed.
Then I remembered why we were there.
He ordered the all-you-can-eat, of course. I ordered some Dragon rolls, knowing the former option would be money well-wasted on me. Eric was as giddy as a kid at Christmas.
"It's not like a buffet," he was explaining to me, "they will bring you anything you want- but you have to eat it. They charge you for what you don't eat, instead of what you do. Needless to say," he added in a mock-boastful tone, "they have yet to catch me in that trap." I had to laugh. I was starting to love hearing him talk about eating. It was only awkward if I thought he might be embarrassed. But he was so into eating, and so enthusiastic, that it was impossible not to share his enthusiasm. Not to mention, it was making me feel electric. I couldn't explain it, but the more he went on about how much he was going to eat, the more light-headed I felt. It was like being buzzed in the most pleasant way possible. I wanted him to say more.
No, I wanted him to get going. I wanted to see the deed done.
I didn't have to wait long. As requested, they'd brought him an order of lobster canyon rolls, spicy salmon rolls, and a plate of toro sashimi to start. It was enough to feed three people like me, but he annihilated it in a matter of minutes. He devoured each piece with a single bite, hurrying through it as if it was a formality to attend to before the real meal began. He rushed to order seconds.
"Just a warm up." he winked at me. I glanced at his belly. He looked the same as ever. God, where did he put it all?
The second round was similar to the first. Barbecue salmon rolls, some tempura rolls, more sashimi, and a beer. He ate more slowly this time, slowed, maybe, by the conversation we were having. He had asked me twenty questions about my own past, and I stuttered through the information. It wasn't that I wasn't enjoying his company, I just couldn't think. He ate with such gusto. He sat a little straighter now, not leaning over his plate quite as much as before, and I could finally see why. The effects of his indulgences were starting to show. He finished the last piece of sashimi and drank his pint in a few deep draughts. I could almost see his belly push the fabric of his shirt out as the drink poured into him. This was starting to get good.
He burped and put his glass down. "Excuse me." He placed his hand on his now-visible belly. Then he gestured the waiter over and ordered another round.
"You're like a machine, Eric." I couldn't keep to neutral topics any more. I needed to engage this. "A fine-tuned eating machine."
"Is that a compliment?" he grinned. "I have a lot of practice."
"It is a compliment," I admitted. "I'm amazed. In awe of your super-powers. But..."
"But?" Eric asked, moving aside to let the waiter place the latest courses of his meal. He fixed me with a questioning stare, part anxiety and part hesitation. I rushed to reassure him.
"No! No, 'but' wasn't what I meant. There's no caveat. I'm just - I mean, this isn't exactly every man's favourite sport. You have to admit, it's kind of... a unique super-power."
Eric's smile flickered and he let his chopsticks drop for a minute.
"Yes..." he began cautiously. "I guess it's kind of weird. I don't - I mean, I wouldn't normally share, but..." I could see he was getting embarrassed for the first time since I'd met him. I regretted bringing it up.
"Wait, no, that came out wrong." I fixed him with an apologetic look. "I'm just trying to understand my own - ugh, god, why am I such a spazz?" Eric cracked an almost imperceptible grin again. I bulled ahead before I bungled the conversation some more. "Okay, so it's weird. But don't be embarrassed, please! It's also ridiculously hot."
Eric actually laughed out loud. He dug into his sushi again with gusto.
"I knew it. I could tell from the moment I saw you."
"What? Knew what?" My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I couldn't believe I'd just said eating was hot. Even though it was.
"That look you gave me in the mall. I thought, why would the hottest girl in a five hundred mile radius be looking at me like that right now? Then when I ran into you in the bookstore - I just knew. I knew you'd get it." He stuffed another roll in his mouth and smiled conspiratorially at me.
"How can you get it when I don't even get it?" I grumbled. Hottest girl in a five hundred mile radius? Really?
"Because I have been at this for a long time." Eric sat back in his chair and rubbed the top of his stomach a bit with his thumb. It was starting to really bulge. Something inside me started to tingle in response. "Because I know how this makes me feel, and it's the kind of feeling you want to share with someone. I've been waiting a lot time for a girl who..." he looked a little embarrassed again, but took another bite, closed his eyes, and looked calm once more, "...who would look at me like that-" he pointed at me, "when I'm feeling like this." he pointed at the belly in front of him.
I didn't say anything right away, but I knew suddenly deep in my bones that he was right. I was looking at him like that, like a hungry lioness. And the feeling became unavoidable when he was doing that - exactly what he was doing now. Eating - and eating and eating and eating - and showing off his belly like that. Even thinking about it gave me shivers.
"You've got me all figured out," I finally chuckled, taking a bite of my own food and fixing him with a defiant, so-what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it look.
"Not at all," he admitted between bites. "Now I need to learn everything else about you." I did blush at that, but in a more familiar way. He was sweet, this one.
I indulged him, and he indulged himself. We talked about everything - our educations, professions, favourite movies and albums, politics we hated and loved. And the whole time he just kept shovelling food into his mouth, until he came to the point that I was at least a little familiar with.
He now sat reclined with one hand on his belly. It had become a creature unto itself, it seemed to me: a sloping, round, watermelon-sized expanse barely contained beneath a shirt which had become untucked. He nursed his third beer while he waited for his fifth - or sixth? - course, lazily telling me a story to which I wasn't listening. Something in me had clicked and rotated ninety degrees the moment he'd shifted and his shirt had pulled up, revealing a sliver of flesh. Something deep under my hip-bones ached. My lower back felt like it was on fire. My whole body tingled and shivered and all I could think about was what would come next. Could he really eat more?
Eric must have noticed that I was coming apart. I expected him to grin at me, to tease me a little. Instead he just stopped talking and stroked the length of his belly, looking for the first time mildly uncomfortable.
"What do you think?" he asked. For a guy who had been stuffing himself recreationally for what I took to be a very long time, he seemed awfully concerned all of a sudden about what I thought of it. I swallowed heavily.
"I think... I think..." I looked around to make sure nobody was listening, but the restaurant was practically empty. I guess we'd been there longer than I thought. "Are we at 'heroic' or 'epic'? Because I'm not sure I'm going to make it to 'epic'." Eric closed his eyes for a moment and put both hands on his belly, pushing gently. He let out a deep breath.
"Heroic." when he opened his eyes, he wore his usual lop-sided grin again. "But a bit past the stage where I'm likely to get up and dance." He looked critically at the mound of belly under his hands. "I've seen worse."
"Or better." I heard myself purr. I licked my lips. I really wasn't sure I could take much more of this feeling. I felt like I was going to have a stroke. But the next round of edibles arrived then, and Eric looked as delighted with it as he had with the first round.
"The only thing I don't understand about this," he was saying, "Is why everyone on the planet doesn't have the same response. I mean, we all like to eat, right? We enjoy it. We even all overindulge on occasion. Is it really so different that I derive massive pleasure from this state? Why doesn't everyone?" he looked genuinely puzzled. "There can't be many things on this earth better than lying, fat and warm and heavy, on a comfy couch or plushy bed, stroking the tight, over-sensitive nerves of an overfull tummy." I saw spots, explosions of red at the periphery of my vision. I bit my lip and devoured him with my eyes. His eyes went wide when he looked at me. I guess I wasn't hiding my interest very well. "Okay, maybe a couple of things would be better." He swallowed his latest bite and let his eyes rove over my body.
He leaned a little further back then, and shifted around in his chair, obviously trying to find the most comfortable position to sit in. He inched his legs further apart and arched his back a little, causing a sudden outward thrust of his belly that took my breath away. He whoofed and looked at me apologetically, massaging the sides of his gut as if hoping to move something aside.
"Don't push too hard for my sake," I said faintly. I didn't want him to actually hurt himself trying to impress me. I was already beside myself with being impressed. Impressed wasn't even the word for it. Eric chuckled as if I had just said something deeply amusing.
"I don't have to push, Frankie." his voice was lower now, more intimate. "I just have to keep on going. I've been bigger and fuller than this." He mimed a preposterously large curve of his belly and I wasn't sure I believed him. He winked at me. "I can't stop now. Honest to god, it feels... so... good."
He ate the rest of a serving of maki and gulped down the rest of his beer in one go. Putting the glass down, he hiccuped, then put his hand on the shelf of his distended belly. The second hiccup shook his body and I heard a tight pop. The top button of his jeans exploded under the pressure and his fly tore open to expose an expanse of creased, swollen belly. He moaned a little, in pain or pleasure or I don't know what, and cupped the newly swollen region with both hands. I couldn't take it. I felt a little explosion of my own deep between my legs, followed by a flood of heat.
My body lurched involuntarily and a short cry escaped my lips. I immediately clamped a hand over my mouth. Oh my god - did I just come? Eric looked at me with a wide-eyed stare and seemed as shocked as I felt.
"Excuse me," I stuttered, clambering out of my seat. I muttered something about going to the bathroom.
I ran for the women's room, mortified. It was a small mercy that the fancy restaurant boasted walk-in unisex washrooms that afforded lots of privacy. I couldn't face another human just then. I was still hot, bothered, confused and now silky and wet. What. The. Hell.
I'd reached out to let myself in to a vacant room when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whirled around to find Eric there, his bloated belly close enough to brush the bottom of my breasts. He looked concerned and confused and shocked all at once.
"Frankie, I'm sorry. I-" I didn't let him finish. I surged into him, grabbed him by his shirt's neckline and kissed him full on the mouth. He responded without a moment's hesitation and we tumbled backward together into the washroom, slamming the door behind us.
He was so much bigger than me. Taller, wider, heavier. I dragged him back to the sink, hopped up onto the countertop and wrapped my legs around his waist, just under the bulge of his gut. He leaned in to me, kissing me ferociously and tugging up my shirt. I ground my crotch into his, holding him close in the vice of my thighs. I revelled in the heavy feeling of his huge gut pressing into my naked stomach, and lying on my thighs. I pulled his shirt off to feel the heat of skin-on-skin. He kissed me again and I leaned back, bumping the mirror with the back of my head.
"Sorr-" he started.
"Shut up." I breathed. I pushed him back for a second so I could tug off my panties and my skirt, then pulled him into me again with my legs. I ran my hands up and down the naked sides of his swollen belly, slipping his ruined-anyway pants down on a downstroke.
He gasped as I cupped his balls and guided his very hard and very ready member into the hot, wet mess that was between my legs. I barely let him get a second breath in before taking his lips and tongue into my mouth again, gripping the back of his head. I squeezed, ground and thrust my hips against his. I wanted to feel every inch of my flesh covered with his. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tight, almost crushing me with his belly as he matched my rhythm and set his own, harder and faster. I could feel his cock bumping the walls of my body's corridors, deep under my belly button. I twisted and writhed, pulling him even deeper. He hugged me ever closer, not allowing a hair's breadth between us.
I spared about one second's thought for the poor owners of this establishment just before I gave myself over to moaning and letting out excited cries. I had never felt so good. Just when I'd think my muscles were tiring, I'd throw my head back, arch my back and get a glimpse of his fat, naked, muscular torso flexing and glistening with sweat, and I'd feel a surge of lust and ecstasy jolt my muscles and sinews into action again. I came again, yelping in wordless happiness, and almost missed his own climax.
We clung to each other, shuddering with aftershocks, as certain key muscles stopped working and we had to brace ourselves against the walls and counters to keep from falling over. Fluid seeped down the inside of my thighs - as to whose, who cares? I panted heavily into Eric's throat, nibbling at his collarbone to calm me.
"I need to clean up." I whispered reluctantly, realizing I couldn't stay attached to him forever, as much as I might want to.
"You take the next stall. I'll clean up here." he wheezed back, but he didn't let me go right away. He kissed me again, gently this time, and pressed his forehead into mine. "I think-" I put my finger to his lips.
"Let me clean up. We'll talk later." I slipped my shirt and skirt back on and palmed my panties. I slipped out the door and into the next cell.
It was some time before we returned to the table hand-in-hand. Eric fumbled through his jacket pocket for his wallet and dropped a wad of bills on the table. Then he bent over with effort and fished something out from under the table.
"What is it?" I asked, looking about.
"My lucky button." Eric flipped the button of his jeans, no longer attached, up in the air and caught it. I had been holding his pants up by the belt loop with my arm around his waist. "I'm going to keep this for the rest of my life."
I pulled him around to face me, curling around his gigantic tummy and kissing him slowly and thoughtfully.
"Not attached, though." I tugged the edges of his jeans to show how they didn't come together any longer.
"No, probably not attached." Eric laughed.
In wordless agreement, we left the restaurant and started the sort walk back to his apartment.
The food court was pretty empty this time of day. The main lunch crowd had already cleared out, leaving a smattering of stragglers, staff, and people like me, who don't really want to have to fight a mob for their lunches. I was able to order my low-rent teryaki and find a clean, out-of-the way table in no time flat.
My eyes drifted over the other people in the court as I munched disinterestedly on some noodles. I recognized most of them, either as mall workers or customers of the bookstore I worked at across the street. My eyes settled on a guy sitting in the back corner under the high bank of windows.
He sat reclined in his chair with one boot on the table next to him, fiddling with a smartphone with one hand and eating with the other. What made me look twice, though, was the heap of trays and empty paper plates next to him. With this whole place empty, why on earth would he choose to sit at the table they were obviously using to clean up? He shifted in his chair and scratched his belly with his smartphone and then it dawned on me. Holy shit. Those were his. Arrayed on the table in front of him were two more trays packed with fresh, hot dishes from the restaurants around us - the stack was just the stuff he had already been through.
I assumed that was the case, anyway, because his belly was big. And I don't mean in a usual fat-guy kind of way - in fact, the guy was really quite hot, now that I was looking: tall, muscular, fine-featured and sporting a scruffy mess of dirty-blonde hair with that perfect-on-purpose-but-not-bedhead style. No, I mean just his gut - it formed a gentle hill rising from just under his ribcage and descending somewhere underneath the table, tight against a black tshirt which seemed otherwise to fit him just fine. But if that bothered this dude, he wasn't letting on. He just kept shovelling pasta into his mouth at a leisurely pace, and pecking at his phone.
I was staring. I knew I was staring. But I couldn't look away. The whole display fascinated me in a way I couldn't explain. My whole body felt tense, ready for something. I was suddenly utterly uninterested in my own lunch.
Then he looked up and our eyes met. I am sure I turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and I tried to slowly look away, as if I'd just been scanning the room. I forced myself to take a bite of my noodles and then snuck another glimpse at the guy. He was still looking at me. He had dark brown eyes and the corners of his lips were flickering into the mildest trace of a grin. Then he took another bite, ran his hand over the bulge of his belly, and went back to his phone.
I suddenly felt so weird that I couldn't sit there one more minute. I crammed whatever I was feeling into the deepest, darkest dungeon of my mind and scrambled to get out of my chair. I dumped my uneaten lunch in the compost and practically ran back to the store.
An hour later I was sitting at my desk, paying more attention to the French Literature inventory numbers than I have ever paid in my whole life. Memories of the lunchtime stranger kept threatening to creep out of the dark place I'd sent them. I wished I'd been sitting closer. No, I wished I'd never looked. I wished I could see him again. I wished I had access to mental bleach.
Half of my frenzied wishes were simultaneously fulfilled. His belly proceeded him by a half-foot, tucked away and concealed under the zippered sheath of a very nice leather jacket. The trick might have worked to hide the bulging thing if he hadn't been standing so straight, or stroking it so contentedly. He turned away from me at first, studying the books on the front display table, giving me a minute to slide down in my chair and try to hide behind the monitor of my computer. He glanced over his shoulder in my direction and I hazarded a polite nod. He broke into a huge grin.
"Hey!" He greeted me as if we were old friends, which was mortifying since obviously he recognized and remembered me from the food court. He walked over to the order counter near my desk and leaned casually against it. "I was hoping you could help me find a book." Or maybe he didn't recognize me?
"Oh, of course, sure!" I sputtered. I tucked a lock of my raven hair behind one ear and pushed my dark-rimmed glasses up on my nose, determined to play cheerful-but-helpful librarian. "What are you looking for?"
"No idea." he admitted, "Something long and involved. Historical fiction, with a lot of action and adventure. But literary." I whistled.
"That's very specific." I admitted, and smiled. "But you've come to the right place. I know a few contenders." I stood up and led him into the store, so that I couldn't look at him. Even just pushing past him, noting he was a full head taller than my 5'6" and feeling the heat off his body made me feel weird. Weird like I wish I'd brushed against his belly on my way past. Ugh, stop it!
"War and Peace?" I suggested. "Doctor Zhivago? The Count of Monte Cristo? The Once and Future King?" My mystery man smiled and vetoed my best efforts.
"Read them. But you're on the right track. Something just like those. Something I can tuck in to for the rest of the afternoon."
"Sounds heavenly," I found myself saying.
"It is." I heard the man unzip his jacket behind me and I had to steady myself with a bookcase to keep from turning around and looking. I moved to a different shelf and hefted a big, dusty volume out with both hands.
"Here," I reluctantly turned towards him and handed him the tome. "Quo Vadis. Have you...?" The man took the book and his eyes lit up.
"No, but this looks perfect. Romans, nice." he tucked the big book under one arm and put his hands in his pockets. I couldn't avoid it any more. His belly was thrust out between us, straining against the fabric of his tshirt. And worse, he noticed me staring again. He put his free hand on his stomach and patted it a few times. "Suffice to say I'm looking forward to getting home and lying down." he looked a little sheepish. "Feeling a little, uh, suffonsified. Don't think I'll be up to much more than lazing around with a good book."
"That still sounds heavenly." I blurted. I turned away and forced a march back to the front desk before he could see me turn bright red again. I needed this encounter to be over, like, ten minutes ago.
He looked like he wanted to say something else as I rang him through the cash, but I refused to make eye contact again. Or eye-belly contact. I studied the cash register and debit machine as if they were very complicated works of cutting-edge technology. I'd made quite enough of a freak of myself for one day.
"Well, thanks again." he said a little awkwardly as he left. I smiled at my shoes and waved a little in his direction.
"Have a nice day." I muttered. Then I sat down and spent the rest of the day willing myself to die of embarrassment.
A smart girl would have gone somewhere else for lunch the next day. A smart girl would have brown-bagged it. A smart girl would not have gone back to the exact same place at the exact same time the very next day. But I am not, apparently, a smart girl.
I opted for soup, turned and scanned the seating area. Not only was Mystery Man there just where I had seen him the previous day, but he was already looking at me and grinning. I couldn't avoid him now. I raised a hand in a polite wave and moved towards his table.
By the looks of things, he had already finished his lunch. Five plastic trays were neatly stacked two tables over from where he sat, piled high with empty containers and wrappings consolidated to look like fewer than they were. Mystery Man sat reclined with his hands folded over his even-more-round-than-yesterday tummy, and Quo Vadis on the table in front of him. I put my lunch down across from him, since it seemed rude to go sit somewhere else in the otherwise empty court.
"You made good headway!" I nodded towards the book, which sported a bookmark a few chapters from the end. "Did you like it?" I sat down, deliberately looking at the man's eyes and not his more... prominent *features.
"Absolutely!" he gushed. "I mean, we don't share views, he and I, but it was still one hell of an epic story. You really hit the nail on the head." *I smiled genuinely this time. I loved the book too. "I was going to come in to the shop today and see what else you could hook me up with. I have another long, sedentary afternoon ahead of me, it looks like." He drummed his fingers on his taut belly and gave me a teasing look. I felt the blood rise all the way to my eyebrows. What was he doing? What was I doing? Was there any way to construe this as a normal conversation?
"I see that." I opted. If he wasn't going to be embarrassed about it, then neither was I. I glanced over at the stack of empty trays and raised an eyebrow at him. "That's pretty epic too."
To my great relief, he laughed.
"That," he pointed at the trays, "Is heroic, but not quite epic." he winked at me. "Look, I'm Eric, by the way." he leaned over with a bit of effort and offered his hand for shaking.
"Frankie." I introduced myself. "I mean, Frances. But really, Frankie." He sat back again, looking relieved. "Were you just headed over to the store? I'll be back there in twenty minutes, but Stella can help you if you're in a hurry..."
"I'm not going anywhere right away," Eric grinned and gave his belly an absent-minded rub. "Need a few minutes." I felt a pang of heat shoot through my belly and chest. Why did he keep talking about it? I was having trouble staying focused on normal conversation. I took a few mouthfuls of my soup but found I wasn't hungry anymore. I couldn't take my mind off of his "heroic" act of lunch and its effects. As if being faced with a hot, smart guy isn't intimidating enough - I needed to get neurotic about his eating habits too? What was wrong with me?
I retreated the only way I knew how, and started babbling about books. Lucky for me, Eric could give as good as he got. It was devilishly easy to talk to him: he was well-read, enthusiastic, charming and relaxed. We could not have had more similar tastes in books if we'd grown up in the same house. Soon enough I'd forgotten about obsessing over why or how he'd packed away all that food and was wrapped up in happy, relaxed conversation in territory I knew. I even finished my soup. Yay me.
"I need to get back." I glanced at the time on my phone and started to stand. "Will I see you at the store?"
"Here, I'll come with you." Eric sat up a little reluctantly and heaved himself with some effort to a stand. "Whoof." he put one hand on his huge belly and grabbed his jacket. "I might have overdone it a bit today."
"Oh? I thought this was merely 'heroic'?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could think about them. He was so easy to talk to, but here I was teasing him about something that might have been really embarrassing. Nice, Frankie. But he shot me a crooked grin.
"I'll save 'epic" for someplace closer to home, when I don't need to do any shopping." He moved around the table to my side. "You should come with me. Tomorrow, maybe?"
My heart skipped a beat. Was he asking me on a date? Tomorrow was Saturday, and I had the day off. I could go. But was he really going to eat like that on a date? The prospect made me deeply uncomfortable... and was completely alluring.
"Yes, I should." I answered. "Tomorrow." We arranged a place and time.
I had to admit, it was a far nicer setting than a food court. The restaurant Eric took me to was an upscale sushi joint with - and I should have known this would be the case - an all-you-can-eat option. I met Eric at the door and almost didn't recognize him, which was a testament to how much I'd obsessed over his belly for the last two days. The rounded bulge I was used to seeing had all but vanished. His stomach wasn't washboard-flat, but he looked like a regular, buff guy with just a little muffintop rolling over the waist of his jeans. He gave me the happiest smile when he saw me and I knew I should have felt like the luckiest girl on the street that afternoon, but part of me was strangely disappointed.
Then I remembered why we were there.
He ordered the all-you-can-eat, of course. I ordered some Dragon rolls, knowing the former option would be money well-wasted on me. Eric was as giddy as a kid at Christmas.
"It's not like a buffet," he was explaining to me, "they will bring you anything you want- but you have to eat it. They charge you for what you don't eat, instead of what you do. Needless to say," he added in a mock-boastful tone, "they have yet to catch me in that trap." I had to laugh. I was starting to love hearing him talk about eating. It was only awkward if I thought he might be embarrassed. But he was so into eating, and so enthusiastic, that it was impossible not to share his enthusiasm. Not to mention, it was making me feel electric. I couldn't explain it, but the more he went on about how much he was going to eat, the more light-headed I felt. It was like being buzzed in the most pleasant way possible. I wanted him to say more.
No, I wanted him to get going. I wanted to see the deed done.
I didn't have to wait long. As requested, they'd brought him an order of lobster canyon rolls, spicy salmon rolls, and a plate of toro sashimi to start. It was enough to feed three people like me, but he annihilated it in a matter of minutes. He devoured each piece with a single bite, hurrying through it as if it was a formality to attend to before the real meal began. He rushed to order seconds.
"Just a warm up." he winked at me. I glanced at his belly. He looked the same as ever. God, where did he put it all?
The second round was similar to the first. Barbecue salmon rolls, some tempura rolls, more sashimi, and a beer. He ate more slowly this time, slowed, maybe, by the conversation we were having. He had asked me twenty questions about my own past, and I stuttered through the information. It wasn't that I wasn't enjoying his company, I just couldn't think. He ate with such gusto. He sat a little straighter now, not leaning over his plate quite as much as before, and I could finally see why. The effects of his indulgences were starting to show. He finished the last piece of sashimi and drank his pint in a few deep draughts. I could almost see his belly push the fabric of his shirt out as the drink poured into him. This was starting to get good.
He burped and put his glass down. "Excuse me." He placed his hand on his now-visible belly. Then he gestured the waiter over and ordered another round.
"You're like a machine, Eric." I couldn't keep to neutral topics any more. I needed to engage this. "A fine-tuned eating machine."
"Is that a compliment?" he grinned. "I have a lot of practice."
"It is a compliment," I admitted. "I'm amazed. In awe of your super-powers. But..."
"But?" Eric asked, moving aside to let the waiter place the latest courses of his meal. He fixed me with a questioning stare, part anxiety and part hesitation. I rushed to reassure him.
"No! No, 'but' wasn't what I meant. There's no caveat. I'm just - I mean, this isn't exactly every man's favourite sport. You have to admit, it's kind of... a unique super-power."
Eric's smile flickered and he let his chopsticks drop for a minute.
"Yes..." he began cautiously. "I guess it's kind of weird. I don't - I mean, I wouldn't normally share, but..." I could see he was getting embarrassed for the first time since I'd met him. I regretted bringing it up.
"Wait, no, that came out wrong." I fixed him with an apologetic look. "I'm just trying to understand my own - ugh, god, why am I such a spazz?" Eric cracked an almost imperceptible grin again. I bulled ahead before I bungled the conversation some more. "Okay, so it's weird. But don't be embarrassed, please! It's also ridiculously hot."
Eric actually laughed out loud. He dug into his sushi again with gusto.
"I knew it. I could tell from the moment I saw you."
"What? Knew what?" My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I couldn't believe I'd just said eating was hot. Even though it was.
"That look you gave me in the mall. I thought, why would the hottest girl in a five hundred mile radius be looking at me like that right now? Then when I ran into you in the bookstore - I just knew. I knew you'd get it." He stuffed another roll in his mouth and smiled conspiratorially at me.
"How can you get it when I don't even get it?" I grumbled. Hottest girl in a five hundred mile radius? Really?
"Because I have been at this for a long time." Eric sat back in his chair and rubbed the top of his stomach a bit with his thumb. It was starting to really bulge. Something inside me started to tingle in response. "Because I know how this makes me feel, and it's the kind of feeling you want to share with someone. I've been waiting a lot time for a girl who..." he looked a little embarrassed again, but took another bite, closed his eyes, and looked calm once more, "...who would look at me like that-" he pointed at me, "when I'm feeling like this." he pointed at the belly in front of him.
I didn't say anything right away, but I knew suddenly deep in my bones that he was right. I was looking at him like that, like a hungry lioness. And the feeling became unavoidable when he was doing that - exactly what he was doing now. Eating - and eating and eating and eating - and showing off his belly like that. Even thinking about it gave me shivers.
"You've got me all figured out," I finally chuckled, taking a bite of my own food and fixing him with a defiant, so-what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it look.
"Not at all," he admitted between bites. "Now I need to learn everything else about you." I did blush at that, but in a more familiar way. He was sweet, this one.
I indulged him, and he indulged himself. We talked about everything - our educations, professions, favourite movies and albums, politics we hated and loved. And the whole time he just kept shovelling food into his mouth, until he came to the point that I was at least a little familiar with.
He now sat reclined with one hand on his belly. It had become a creature unto itself, it seemed to me: a sloping, round, watermelon-sized expanse barely contained beneath a shirt which had become untucked. He nursed his third beer while he waited for his fifth - or sixth? - course, lazily telling me a story to which I wasn't listening. Something in me had clicked and rotated ninety degrees the moment he'd shifted and his shirt had pulled up, revealing a sliver of flesh. Something deep under my hip-bones ached. My lower back felt like it was on fire. My whole body tingled and shivered and all I could think about was what would come next. Could he really eat more?
Eric must have noticed that I was coming apart. I expected him to grin at me, to tease me a little. Instead he just stopped talking and stroked the length of his belly, looking for the first time mildly uncomfortable.
"What do you think?" he asked. For a guy who had been stuffing himself recreationally for what I took to be a very long time, he seemed awfully concerned all of a sudden about what I thought of it. I swallowed heavily.
"I think... I think..." I looked around to make sure nobody was listening, but the restaurant was practically empty. I guess we'd been there longer than I thought. "Are we at 'heroic' or 'epic'? Because I'm not sure I'm going to make it to 'epic'." Eric closed his eyes for a moment and put both hands on his belly, pushing gently. He let out a deep breath.
"Heroic." when he opened his eyes, he wore his usual lop-sided grin again. "But a bit past the stage where I'm likely to get up and dance." He looked critically at the mound of belly under his hands. "I've seen worse."
"Or better." I heard myself purr. I licked my lips. I really wasn't sure I could take much more of this feeling. I felt like I was going to have a stroke. But the next round of edibles arrived then, and Eric looked as delighted with it as he had with the first round.
"The only thing I don't understand about this," he was saying, "Is why everyone on the planet doesn't have the same response. I mean, we all like to eat, right? We enjoy it. We even all overindulge on occasion. Is it really so different that I derive massive pleasure from this state? Why doesn't everyone?" he looked genuinely puzzled. "There can't be many things on this earth better than lying, fat and warm and heavy, on a comfy couch or plushy bed, stroking the tight, over-sensitive nerves of an overfull tummy." I saw spots, explosions of red at the periphery of my vision. I bit my lip and devoured him with my eyes. His eyes went wide when he looked at me. I guess I wasn't hiding my interest very well. "Okay, maybe a couple of things would be better." He swallowed his latest bite and let his eyes rove over my body.
He leaned a little further back then, and shifted around in his chair, obviously trying to find the most comfortable position to sit in. He inched his legs further apart and arched his back a little, causing a sudden outward thrust of his belly that took my breath away. He whoofed and looked at me apologetically, massaging the sides of his gut as if hoping to move something aside.
"Don't push too hard for my sake," I said faintly. I didn't want him to actually hurt himself trying to impress me. I was already beside myself with being impressed. Impressed wasn't even the word for it. Eric chuckled as if I had just said something deeply amusing.
"I don't have to push, Frankie." his voice was lower now, more intimate. "I just have to keep on going. I've been bigger and fuller than this." He mimed a preposterously large curve of his belly and I wasn't sure I believed him. He winked at me. "I can't stop now. Honest to god, it feels... so... good."
He ate the rest of a serving of maki and gulped down the rest of his beer in one go. Putting the glass down, he hiccuped, then put his hand on the shelf of his distended belly. The second hiccup shook his body and I heard a tight pop. The top button of his jeans exploded under the pressure and his fly tore open to expose an expanse of creased, swollen belly. He moaned a little, in pain or pleasure or I don't know what, and cupped the newly swollen region with both hands. I couldn't take it. I felt a little explosion of my own deep between my legs, followed by a flood of heat.
My body lurched involuntarily and a short cry escaped my lips. I immediately clamped a hand over my mouth. Oh my god - did I just come? Eric looked at me with a wide-eyed stare and seemed as shocked as I felt.
"Excuse me," I stuttered, clambering out of my seat. I muttered something about going to the bathroom.
I ran for the women's room, mortified. It was a small mercy that the fancy restaurant boasted walk-in unisex washrooms that afforded lots of privacy. I couldn't face another human just then. I was still hot, bothered, confused and now silky and wet. What. The. Hell.
I'd reached out to let myself in to a vacant room when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whirled around to find Eric there, his bloated belly close enough to brush the bottom of my breasts. He looked concerned and confused and shocked all at once.
"Frankie, I'm sorry. I-" I didn't let him finish. I surged into him, grabbed him by his shirt's neckline and kissed him full on the mouth. He responded without a moment's hesitation and we tumbled backward together into the washroom, slamming the door behind us.
He was so much bigger than me. Taller, wider, heavier. I dragged him back to the sink, hopped up onto the countertop and wrapped my legs around his waist, just under the bulge of his gut. He leaned in to me, kissing me ferociously and tugging up my shirt. I ground my crotch into his, holding him close in the vice of my thighs. I revelled in the heavy feeling of his huge gut pressing into my naked stomach, and lying on my thighs. I pulled his shirt off to feel the heat of skin-on-skin. He kissed me again and I leaned back, bumping the mirror with the back of my head.
"Sorr-" he started.
"Shut up." I breathed. I pushed him back for a second so I could tug off my panties and my skirt, then pulled him into me again with my legs. I ran my hands up and down the naked sides of his swollen belly, slipping his ruined-anyway pants down on a downstroke.
He gasped as I cupped his balls and guided his very hard and very ready member into the hot, wet mess that was between my legs. I barely let him get a second breath in before taking his lips and tongue into my mouth again, gripping the back of his head. I squeezed, ground and thrust my hips against his. I wanted to feel every inch of my flesh covered with his. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tight, almost crushing me with his belly as he matched my rhythm and set his own, harder and faster. I could feel his cock bumping the walls of my body's corridors, deep under my belly button. I twisted and writhed, pulling him even deeper. He hugged me ever closer, not allowing a hair's breadth between us.
I spared about one second's thought for the poor owners of this establishment just before I gave myself over to moaning and letting out excited cries. I had never felt so good. Just when I'd think my muscles were tiring, I'd throw my head back, arch my back and get a glimpse of his fat, naked, muscular torso flexing and glistening with sweat, and I'd feel a surge of lust and ecstasy jolt my muscles and sinews into action again. I came again, yelping in wordless happiness, and almost missed his own climax.
We clung to each other, shuddering with aftershocks, as certain key muscles stopped working and we had to brace ourselves against the walls and counters to keep from falling over. Fluid seeped down the inside of my thighs - as to whose, who cares? I panted heavily into Eric's throat, nibbling at his collarbone to calm me.
"I need to clean up." I whispered reluctantly, realizing I couldn't stay attached to him forever, as much as I might want to.
"You take the next stall. I'll clean up here." he wheezed back, but he didn't let me go right away. He kissed me again, gently this time, and pressed his forehead into mine. "I think-" I put my finger to his lips.
"Let me clean up. We'll talk later." I slipped my shirt and skirt back on and palmed my panties. I slipped out the door and into the next cell.
It was some time before we returned to the table hand-in-hand. Eric fumbled through his jacket pocket for his wallet and dropped a wad of bills on the table. Then he bent over with effort and fished something out from under the table.
"What is it?" I asked, looking about.
"My lucky button." Eric flipped the button of his jeans, no longer attached, up in the air and caught it. I had been holding his pants up by the belt loop with my arm around his waist. "I'm going to keep this for the rest of my life."
I pulled him around to face me, curling around his gigantic tummy and kissing him slowly and thoughtfully.
"Not attached, though." I tugged the edges of his jeans to show how they didn't come together any longer.
"No, probably not attached." Eric laughed.
In wordless agreement, we left the restaurant and started the sort walk back to his apartment.
