Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BBW, ~BHM, ~SWG. A new Mrs. packs only bikinis for a three-week luxury cruise. Who will emerge the winner?
Here’s the thing about bikinis: they reveal everything. The vivid reality of that fact was driven home to me on my honeymoon, three weeks that would end up changing my life forever.
Josh and I were married on a Friday afternoon and caught a plane to Miami that evening. After a heavenly first night as husband and wife, and bubbling with excitement, we boarded the ship for twenty-one utterly sybaritic days.
Josh and I had been saving up hard for the year of our engagement, socking away a total of $200 a week, every week, without fail. That diligence had bought us an inclusive three-week luxury cruise to Sumatra, all food and drinks included (whee!). To say we were ready for this cruise would be an understatement.
And now here we were! I could hardly believe it.
“Josh,” I squealed. “It’s true what they say about the food – look!” We had just entered our stateroom to find a bottle of champagne and a basket of fruits, chocolates, and biscuits awaiting.
Josh looked sheepish. “I, um, arranged for that,” he mumbled.
“Darling man.” I drew him into a hug. Finishing a terrific kiss, he drew back, gazing at me with love shining in his eyes, his large hand stroking my short chestnut bob.
“Well,” he finally declared, “me for the pool.”
“Oh, ooh, me too.” I drew out one of three bikinis I had packed. This one was lemon yellow with black ruffled trim, what there was of it. It was a string bikini, very skimpy, and I was ready to show off my body. I worked out religiously and carried 130 pounds on a 5’5” frame. I was a B cup, but a nice full one, and had a frankly cute figure.
Josh was 5’11” and clocked in at 190. Big and strong, with broad shoulders, he got his exercise with a weight bench in his bedroom and Saturday pickup games with the guys. He pulled on his trunks and we were ready to go – but not before I just had to have a glass of the champagne, which was so absolutely delicious it called for another, and what goes better with champagne than chocolate-covered strawberries, and those cunning little biscuits, and was that really Godiva chocolate?
Eventually we made our way to the pool. We swam and played and splashed, then broiled on the lounge, quenching our thirst with drinks served in glasses with saucer-size rims, and swam and played and splashed some more, availing ourselves of those gorgeous shrimp cocktails.
By dinnertime, I was tipsy enough not to care about how many calories I might have consumed. Besides, swimming was surely exercise. I sifted through my dresses. I had packed several swirly, flowy numbers I thought appropriate for a cruise, and slipped one on.
Well. It’s true what they say about cruise food. After seeing some of our table mates order two entrees because they couldn’t decide, Josh and I followed suit. Everything was so good! Stuffed fish, a really delicious steak, homemade pasta, a fruit and cream dish, several kinds of vegetables, breads made from scratch, yummy butter to go with them, and a sinfully luscious dessert, all with good wines. Okay, two sinfully delicious desserts, since I couldn’t decide.
Surely this was a special deal for our first night out, right? I rationalized even as my tummy grew achingly full. I was really glad the dress was loose, because even as I savored one more bite and one more bite and one more bite I could feel my stomach stretching and groaning beneath the chiffon.
Finally we staggered from the table. I couldn’t help clutching my bulging belly, which the dress probably concealed, but which to me felt like it stuck out a foot. Beside me, Josh had his arm around my waist, and I could tell from the heaviness of his steps that he was a little lit his own self.
We achieved the stateroom and instantly stripped off our clothes.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, my hand over my mouth. I was looking down at my aching tummy. I’d been hoping it was my imagination, but my abdomen was actually bulging out! I poked it nervously. It was hard as a rock and warm to the touch. Like a little basketball – or a big food baby.
Josh drew me in, and I relaxed at the feel of our naked bodies pressed against each other and at the warm strength of his broad shoulders framing me. He slid his hand in between us, tracing a line down the front of me as he often did, and then his hand found my bloated and distended belly.
“Oh,” he said in wonderment. “Kelly has a full tummy.”
I belched into his chest – very sexy. “Josh,” I groaned. I was feeling not just tipsy but a little unsteady.
Josh scooped me up – with a grunt of effort – and laid me onto the bed, then climbed in beside me.
“I did my share of damage,” he admitted, plucking up my hand and resting it on his warm, hairy belly. Like mine, it was swollen and firm, full of a whole lot of really good food and drink.
Dazed, glutted, soothed by the gentle motion of the ship, we drifted to sleep.
The cruise was everything we’d hoped for. We took gentle strolls around the deck, frolicked in the pool, took dancing lessons, and devoted the balance of our time to either soaking in the sun or engaging in stateroom activities with the door firmly locked.
And we ate. Did we ever eat! I hadn’t quite realized just how much food is available on a cruise ship. There’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner, of course, but that’s just for starters. There were buffets to complement each meal, so if you decided you wanted a second breakfast, you could have it. Have you ever eaten waffles and fruit, washed down with Mimosas, at ten in the morning – an hour after a positively enormous proper breakfast?
And just in case one got to feeling peckish, there was always something cooking on deck. A pizza bar, a hotdog bar, a sushi bar, a swordfish skewer bar, a burger bar. Food eaten out of doors always tastes better.
After four or five days of this, I was lying on the lounge, toasting gently, when a drop of sunscreen trickled down my front and I went to brush it absently away.
Whoa. That was more tummy than I was expecting. I lifted my head and slid up my sunglasses – and discovered a visible softness to my midsection, a little cushion around my hips. My stomach was actually protruding over my bikini. A string bikini is merciless, I will grant you. However, I was so used to my cute figure that this really startled me. In between the scraps of top and the scrap of bottom was a … a belly!
“Josh,” I wailed, quietly, so as not to turn heads. Josh blinked awake and propped up on his elbows.
“Kellybabe.”
“Josh, look, I’m getting a tummy,” I announced, waving a hand at the offending, lightly tanned flesh.
Josh shrugged. “We’re on a cruise, Mrs. Starer,” he reminded me. He patted his middle. “I’m starting to pooch out a little – see?” There was a soft swell of belly above the line of his trunks. He placed his mouth against my ear.
“Besides,” he whispered, “I happen to think your tummy is adorable as hell.”
He rested a hand on it and then inched up toward the bikini top. We hastened to the room.
I was deeply surprised by what followed.
Instead of hopping into bed, Josh held me in his arms and slid his hands up and down my body. He stroked my shoulders, cradled my breasts – and then caressed my midriff. He held and cuddled my sides, stroked my tummy and – ohmygod – pinched it. He smushed it gently, drew me closer, ran his hand through my hair.
“You are a goddess,” he murmured. “Tanned … mmm… ripe …mmm… bursting with …mmm… sensuality.” He was punctuating this outrageous nonsense with kisses.
“But I’m getting f…f…”
“Shhh.” Josh stopped my mouth with another kiss. He drew back slightly so he could look me in the eye. “Kelly Wilson Starer,” he pronounced, “I happen to think you are incredibly sexy with a tummy like that. Now stop babbling and get into my bed, woman! I can’t wait much longer.”
As the cruise entered its second week, I drew on my string bikini one morning – and took it right back off. The strings had begun to dig into my hips, and I wasn’t crazy about the way my growing tummy stuck out above the bottom piece. I was starting to wish I’d packed something other than bikinis.
Remember me mentioning that bikinis reveal everything? I wasn’t kidding. I tried the second bikini. It was a red and white halter top and tight boyshorts, very sexy and very Forties, I thought. Josh whistled loudly when he saw it.
“Josh,” I pouted, “I’ve still got a tummy.”
“What have I told you?” he growled, and swept me into his arms. “C’mon, woman, you need a poolside drinkie or two to loosen you up. Midnight buffet, tonight, remember?”
The midnight buffet makes its appearance a couple of times during the length of a cruise, and is a chance for chefs to do their most extravagant showing off. I groaned, but some of my anxiety was losing steam. Josh and I were married, we were on the cruise of our dreams, and he said my tummy was sexy.
I halfway vowed to eat very very lightly that day in preparation, but of course I was led into temptation. By the time midnight arrived, I will say, it had been a whole three hours since I’d eaten anything, and I was hungry. I was wearing a silver gown, all shimmer and sparkle, with broad straps topped with bows and a Grecian look. It hugged my breasts and flowed sensuously to the floor, its fabric pooling when I stood and swirling around my shoes when I walked.
Well.
Josh and I ate our way from one end of that buffet to the other and back again. It was after two o’clock by the time we waddled … rolled … galumphed back to our room. The second we were out of the dining room, Josh yanked off his cummerbund and bow tie.
“Ugh,” he grunted, rubbing his belly. It was swollen and firm, a gorged roundness pressed tautly against his shirt and straining at the waistband of his trousers. He belched crisply.
“Scuse me.” He paused, massaging his midsection some more, and belched again. He slung an arm heavily around my shoulders, the cummerbund brushing my bare arm. He was a little lit, was my husband.
Of course, so was I, and my high heels were treacherous. I concentrated so much on managing to walk that I almost forgot my bloated and aching tummy until we got to the room. We peeled off our clothes as if in a race, and sank onto the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, resplendent in our stuffed and sated state.
“Josh. Hic!” I slid my eyes over in the direction of Josh’s face.
“Mmmm?” Josh lifted his arm and dropped a hand gently onto my tummy, where it landed with a firm thunk. Tender and swollen, my belly was tight as a drum and stuffed to the absolute brim with rich, delicious, creamy, heavenly foods, and my head was swimming with crisp, costly wines. Three glasses? Four? Did champagne count?
“Do you love me?” I was getting maudlin, tears pooling in my eyes.
“Kelly. Shhh. Of course I do. Mrrp. Scuse me.” Josh patted his own bloated swell with his free hand. “Listen, Miss Nonsense – I have always thought you beautiful. And this tummy of yours?” He was now cradling it, his fingers spread across its circumference, spanning the full taut globe that stretched perilously to cover a mountain of midnight buffet.
“’S gorgeous. It’s soft, and rosy—urp—and very sexy and I think you look fabulous with a little tummy, I swear I do, and I love you to pieces.”
I tipped my head over so that it lay on his broad shoulder, and he drew me in and put his arm around me and slid his hand up and down my arm, warming me against the air conditioned chill that was just now hitting my senses, and his other hand was gently, so gently, massaging my sore and swollen tummy, easing the ache, softening the flesh.
We docked in Sumatra. I was dismayed at how snugly my khaki shorts clasped around my tummy and clung to my bottom, but Josh, walking behind me as we entered the town, pronounced himself “knocked sideways” by the view. We hiked, we shopped, and we eagerly sampled the local cuisine, which was so spicy that I found myself drinking rather a lot. Gado-gado with bumbu kacang, which turned out to be a very fiery peanut sace. Sate. Lots and lots of sate, those skewer things. Rice, chicken, and some foods I positively did not recognize but tried enthusiastically.
I told myself that all that hiking and walking was burning off those stubborn little calories.
But once we’d left Sumatra, the first morning out I tried on the halter and boyshorts bikini.
My belly pooched unmistakably forward, stretching the shorts’ fabric and spilling over their sides.
Biting my lip, I peeled it off and tried on the third bikini, a floral print bandeau top with more substantial a bottom than that poor string puppy.
It covered my top – with some minor, allowable spillage – but my middle pushed puffily out over the waistband of the bottom. I tied a sarong around it and went up on deck.
Josh was already there, swimming around.
“Kellybabe! There you are. C’mon in!”
I threw aside the sarong and jumped in as quickly as I could manage.
“Hey.” Josh greeted me with a smacking kiss. He looked more closely at the little storm cloud hanging over me. “What’s the matter?”
“My tummy’s sticking out. Really out. This is my third bikini, and I’m spilling out of it."
Josh climbed out of the water and flagged down a waiter for drinks. Then he took his time inspecting me – wet, tanned, newly married, and with a swell of tummy on display.
“Kelly,” he said, his tone serious. He cleared his throat. “I keep telling you – I don’t know why you won’t believe me. I think you look outstandingly sexy and beautiful with a tummy. I think it’s attractive, it turns me on, I like how it looks, I like how it feels – what else can I say?”
I lay back on the lounge and pondered. Josh seemed sincere, and in truth, I liked the feel of my softening body. It felt ripe and sensual, and not like the enemy. I was married and I was tired of being at war with myself. Just at the moment, I felt utterly warm, soft, lusciously ripe. It was a pretty terrific feeling.
I sat up. “Here’s what I can say,” I announced. I drained the rest of my drink. “I say, bring me something from the burger bar.” Josh’s face lit up like a tropical sunset as we kissed.
When we docked, I was wearing my loosest dress, a floral patterned swing dress that nevertheless pinched around the arms and clung gently to my newly acquired fifteen pounds. Josh insisted on carrying me across the threshold, though I squealed that he would break his back, and before we unpacked we got down to business.
A year later, we were celebrating our anniversary with a cruise – not quite as lavish, but very nice indeed. We achieved our room and I unzipped my suitcase.
“Me for the pool,” I announced, and peeled off my dress. I wriggled into my new bathing suit. I thought it showcased my body very well. My breasts just fit into the 38D bandeau top, and the French-cut bottom gave free play to my smoothly rounded tummy and well-cushioned hips. I was rocking the two hundred pounds I carried, and I planned to eat my way to Alaska and back.
Josh swept me into his arms and growled. “Very sexy.” I slid my hand in between us and pressed against his round hairy belly, a gorgeous bear of a gut that I could never resist. My husband now carried around two hundred forty pounds, and I was dying to see what he looked like at the two-five-oh mark – which I expected he would make easily this week.
Then his hand was squeezing the soft flesh of my middle, pinching it into rolls and finding my navel, and his other hand was hunting up under the bikini top, and my free hand was working its way into his trunks …
The pool would have to wait.
The Tale of the Bikini
Here’s the thing about bikinis: they reveal everything. The vivid reality of that fact was driven home to me on my honeymoon, three weeks that would end up changing my life forever.
Josh and I were married on a Friday afternoon and caught a plane to Miami that evening. After a heavenly first night as husband and wife, and bubbling with excitement, we boarded the ship for twenty-one utterly sybaritic days.
Josh and I had been saving up hard for the year of our engagement, socking away a total of $200 a week, every week, without fail. That diligence had bought us an inclusive three-week luxury cruise to Sumatra, all food and drinks included (whee!). To say we were ready for this cruise would be an understatement.
And now here we were! I could hardly believe it.
“Josh,” I squealed. “It’s true what they say about the food – look!” We had just entered our stateroom to find a bottle of champagne and a basket of fruits, chocolates, and biscuits awaiting.
Josh looked sheepish. “I, um, arranged for that,” he mumbled.
“Darling man.” I drew him into a hug. Finishing a terrific kiss, he drew back, gazing at me with love shining in his eyes, his large hand stroking my short chestnut bob.
“Well,” he finally declared, “me for the pool.”
“Oh, ooh, me too.” I drew out one of three bikinis I had packed. This one was lemon yellow with black ruffled trim, what there was of it. It was a string bikini, very skimpy, and I was ready to show off my body. I worked out religiously and carried 130 pounds on a 5’5” frame. I was a B cup, but a nice full one, and had a frankly cute figure.
Josh was 5’11” and clocked in at 190. Big and strong, with broad shoulders, he got his exercise with a weight bench in his bedroom and Saturday pickup games with the guys. He pulled on his trunks and we were ready to go – but not before I just had to have a glass of the champagne, which was so absolutely delicious it called for another, and what goes better with champagne than chocolate-covered strawberries, and those cunning little biscuits, and was that really Godiva chocolate?
Eventually we made our way to the pool. We swam and played and splashed, then broiled on the lounge, quenching our thirst with drinks served in glasses with saucer-size rims, and swam and played and splashed some more, availing ourselves of those gorgeous shrimp cocktails.
By dinnertime, I was tipsy enough not to care about how many calories I might have consumed. Besides, swimming was surely exercise. I sifted through my dresses. I had packed several swirly, flowy numbers I thought appropriate for a cruise, and slipped one on.
Well. It’s true what they say about cruise food. After seeing some of our table mates order two entrees because they couldn’t decide, Josh and I followed suit. Everything was so good! Stuffed fish, a really delicious steak, homemade pasta, a fruit and cream dish, several kinds of vegetables, breads made from scratch, yummy butter to go with them, and a sinfully luscious dessert, all with good wines. Okay, two sinfully delicious desserts, since I couldn’t decide.
Surely this was a special deal for our first night out, right? I rationalized even as my tummy grew achingly full. I was really glad the dress was loose, because even as I savored one more bite and one more bite and one more bite I could feel my stomach stretching and groaning beneath the chiffon.
Finally we staggered from the table. I couldn’t help clutching my bulging belly, which the dress probably concealed, but which to me felt like it stuck out a foot. Beside me, Josh had his arm around my waist, and I could tell from the heaviness of his steps that he was a little lit his own self.
We achieved the stateroom and instantly stripped off our clothes.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, my hand over my mouth. I was looking down at my aching tummy. I’d been hoping it was my imagination, but my abdomen was actually bulging out! I poked it nervously. It was hard as a rock and warm to the touch. Like a little basketball – or a big food baby.
Josh drew me in, and I relaxed at the feel of our naked bodies pressed against each other and at the warm strength of his broad shoulders framing me. He slid his hand in between us, tracing a line down the front of me as he often did, and then his hand found my bloated and distended belly.
“Oh,” he said in wonderment. “Kelly has a full tummy.”
I belched into his chest – very sexy. “Josh,” I groaned. I was feeling not just tipsy but a little unsteady.
Josh scooped me up – with a grunt of effort – and laid me onto the bed, then climbed in beside me.
“I did my share of damage,” he admitted, plucking up my hand and resting it on his warm, hairy belly. Like mine, it was swollen and firm, full of a whole lot of really good food and drink.
Dazed, glutted, soothed by the gentle motion of the ship, we drifted to sleep.
The cruise was everything we’d hoped for. We took gentle strolls around the deck, frolicked in the pool, took dancing lessons, and devoted the balance of our time to either soaking in the sun or engaging in stateroom activities with the door firmly locked.
And we ate. Did we ever eat! I hadn’t quite realized just how much food is available on a cruise ship. There’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner, of course, but that’s just for starters. There were buffets to complement each meal, so if you decided you wanted a second breakfast, you could have it. Have you ever eaten waffles and fruit, washed down with Mimosas, at ten in the morning – an hour after a positively enormous proper breakfast?
And just in case one got to feeling peckish, there was always something cooking on deck. A pizza bar, a hotdog bar, a sushi bar, a swordfish skewer bar, a burger bar. Food eaten out of doors always tastes better.
After four or five days of this, I was lying on the lounge, toasting gently, when a drop of sunscreen trickled down my front and I went to brush it absently away.
Whoa. That was more tummy than I was expecting. I lifted my head and slid up my sunglasses – and discovered a visible softness to my midsection, a little cushion around my hips. My stomach was actually protruding over my bikini. A string bikini is merciless, I will grant you. However, I was so used to my cute figure that this really startled me. In between the scraps of top and the scrap of bottom was a … a belly!
“Josh,” I wailed, quietly, so as not to turn heads. Josh blinked awake and propped up on his elbows.
“Kellybabe.”
“Josh, look, I’m getting a tummy,” I announced, waving a hand at the offending, lightly tanned flesh.
Josh shrugged. “We’re on a cruise, Mrs. Starer,” he reminded me. He patted his middle. “I’m starting to pooch out a little – see?” There was a soft swell of belly above the line of his trunks. He placed his mouth against my ear.
“Besides,” he whispered, “I happen to think your tummy is adorable as hell.”
He rested a hand on it and then inched up toward the bikini top. We hastened to the room.
I was deeply surprised by what followed.
Instead of hopping into bed, Josh held me in his arms and slid his hands up and down my body. He stroked my shoulders, cradled my breasts – and then caressed my midriff. He held and cuddled my sides, stroked my tummy and – ohmygod – pinched it. He smushed it gently, drew me closer, ran his hand through my hair.
“You are a goddess,” he murmured. “Tanned … mmm… ripe …mmm… bursting with …mmm… sensuality.” He was punctuating this outrageous nonsense with kisses.
“But I’m getting f…f…”
“Shhh.” Josh stopped my mouth with another kiss. He drew back slightly so he could look me in the eye. “Kelly Wilson Starer,” he pronounced, “I happen to think you are incredibly sexy with a tummy like that. Now stop babbling and get into my bed, woman! I can’t wait much longer.”
As the cruise entered its second week, I drew on my string bikini one morning – and took it right back off. The strings had begun to dig into my hips, and I wasn’t crazy about the way my growing tummy stuck out above the bottom piece. I was starting to wish I’d packed something other than bikinis.
Remember me mentioning that bikinis reveal everything? I wasn’t kidding. I tried the second bikini. It was a red and white halter top and tight boyshorts, very sexy and very Forties, I thought. Josh whistled loudly when he saw it.
“Josh,” I pouted, “I’ve still got a tummy.”
“What have I told you?” he growled, and swept me into his arms. “C’mon, woman, you need a poolside drinkie or two to loosen you up. Midnight buffet, tonight, remember?”
The midnight buffet makes its appearance a couple of times during the length of a cruise, and is a chance for chefs to do their most extravagant showing off. I groaned, but some of my anxiety was losing steam. Josh and I were married, we were on the cruise of our dreams, and he said my tummy was sexy.
I halfway vowed to eat very very lightly that day in preparation, but of course I was led into temptation. By the time midnight arrived, I will say, it had been a whole three hours since I’d eaten anything, and I was hungry. I was wearing a silver gown, all shimmer and sparkle, with broad straps topped with bows and a Grecian look. It hugged my breasts and flowed sensuously to the floor, its fabric pooling when I stood and swirling around my shoes when I walked.
Well.
Josh and I ate our way from one end of that buffet to the other and back again. It was after two o’clock by the time we waddled … rolled … galumphed back to our room. The second we were out of the dining room, Josh yanked off his cummerbund and bow tie.
“Ugh,” he grunted, rubbing his belly. It was swollen and firm, a gorged roundness pressed tautly against his shirt and straining at the waistband of his trousers. He belched crisply.
“Scuse me.” He paused, massaging his midsection some more, and belched again. He slung an arm heavily around my shoulders, the cummerbund brushing my bare arm. He was a little lit, was my husband.
Of course, so was I, and my high heels were treacherous. I concentrated so much on managing to walk that I almost forgot my bloated and aching tummy until we got to the room. We peeled off our clothes as if in a race, and sank onto the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, resplendent in our stuffed and sated state.
“Josh. Hic!” I slid my eyes over in the direction of Josh’s face.
“Mmmm?” Josh lifted his arm and dropped a hand gently onto my tummy, where it landed with a firm thunk. Tender and swollen, my belly was tight as a drum and stuffed to the absolute brim with rich, delicious, creamy, heavenly foods, and my head was swimming with crisp, costly wines. Three glasses? Four? Did champagne count?
“Do you love me?” I was getting maudlin, tears pooling in my eyes.
“Kelly. Shhh. Of course I do. Mrrp. Scuse me.” Josh patted his own bloated swell with his free hand. “Listen, Miss Nonsense – I have always thought you beautiful. And this tummy of yours?” He was now cradling it, his fingers spread across its circumference, spanning the full taut globe that stretched perilously to cover a mountain of midnight buffet.
“’S gorgeous. It’s soft, and rosy—urp—and very sexy and I think you look fabulous with a little tummy, I swear I do, and I love you to pieces.”
I tipped my head over so that it lay on his broad shoulder, and he drew me in and put his arm around me and slid his hand up and down my arm, warming me against the air conditioned chill that was just now hitting my senses, and his other hand was gently, so gently, massaging my sore and swollen tummy, easing the ache, softening the flesh.
We docked in Sumatra. I was dismayed at how snugly my khaki shorts clasped around my tummy and clung to my bottom, but Josh, walking behind me as we entered the town, pronounced himself “knocked sideways” by the view. We hiked, we shopped, and we eagerly sampled the local cuisine, which was so spicy that I found myself drinking rather a lot. Gado-gado with bumbu kacang, which turned out to be a very fiery peanut sace. Sate. Lots and lots of sate, those skewer things. Rice, chicken, and some foods I positively did not recognize but tried enthusiastically.
I told myself that all that hiking and walking was burning off those stubborn little calories.
But once we’d left Sumatra, the first morning out I tried on the halter and boyshorts bikini.
My belly pooched unmistakably forward, stretching the shorts’ fabric and spilling over their sides.
Biting my lip, I peeled it off and tried on the third bikini, a floral print bandeau top with more substantial a bottom than that poor string puppy.
It covered my top – with some minor, allowable spillage – but my middle pushed puffily out over the waistband of the bottom. I tied a sarong around it and went up on deck.
Josh was already there, swimming around.
“Kellybabe! There you are. C’mon in!”
I threw aside the sarong and jumped in as quickly as I could manage.
“Hey.” Josh greeted me with a smacking kiss. He looked more closely at the little storm cloud hanging over me. “What’s the matter?”
“My tummy’s sticking out. Really out. This is my third bikini, and I’m spilling out of it."
Josh climbed out of the water and flagged down a waiter for drinks. Then he took his time inspecting me – wet, tanned, newly married, and with a swell of tummy on display.
“Kelly,” he said, his tone serious. He cleared his throat. “I keep telling you – I don’t know why you won’t believe me. I think you look outstandingly sexy and beautiful with a tummy. I think it’s attractive, it turns me on, I like how it looks, I like how it feels – what else can I say?”
I lay back on the lounge and pondered. Josh seemed sincere, and in truth, I liked the feel of my softening body. It felt ripe and sensual, and not like the enemy. I was married and I was tired of being at war with myself. Just at the moment, I felt utterly warm, soft, lusciously ripe. It was a pretty terrific feeling.
I sat up. “Here’s what I can say,” I announced. I drained the rest of my drink. “I say, bring me something from the burger bar.” Josh’s face lit up like a tropical sunset as we kissed.
When we docked, I was wearing my loosest dress, a floral patterned swing dress that nevertheless pinched around the arms and clung gently to my newly acquired fifteen pounds. Josh insisted on carrying me across the threshold, though I squealed that he would break his back, and before we unpacked we got down to business.
A year later, we were celebrating our anniversary with a cruise – not quite as lavish, but very nice indeed. We achieved our room and I unzipped my suitcase.
“Me for the pool,” I announced, and peeled off my dress. I wriggled into my new bathing suit. I thought it showcased my body very well. My breasts just fit into the 38D bandeau top, and the French-cut bottom gave free play to my smoothly rounded tummy and well-cushioned hips. I was rocking the two hundred pounds I carried, and I planned to eat my way to Alaska and back.
Josh swept me into his arms and growled. “Very sexy.” I slid my hand in between us and pressed against his round hairy belly, a gorgeous bear of a gut that I could never resist. My husband now carried around two hundred forty pounds, and I was dying to see what he looked like at the two-five-oh mark – which I expected he would make easily this week.
Then his hand was squeezing the soft flesh of my middle, pinching it into rolls and finding my navel, and his other hand was hunting up under the bikini top, and my free hand was working its way into his trunks …
The pool would have to wait.
